Beach Glass

by Suzan Colon

  “Maybe you wouldn’t,” Brigitte reasons, “but maybe Kate would. Better safe than sorry.” She turns back to her laptop, clicks something, and her portable printer hums to life. A few seconds later, she hands me a printout of the photo of Carson and me. “Here,” she says. “Inspiration.”

  FOR MOST PEOPLE, the last day of a vacation is a good time to buy souvenirs. Me, I’m off to buy condoms.

  This is silly, I think as I walk the path to the gift shop, where I know Anya, who seems not to like women too much, would give me a hard time for buying lip balm, much less condoms. She’ll figure out what I’m trying to do before I even know if I want to do it. I change my mind, turning around and heading for my tentalow to suit up for the morning surf session.

  But wait. What do I care what Anya thinks? Brigitte’s right. I should get the condoms, just in case. Even if I don’t use them, buying them is like sending a message to the universe that I’m thinking pro-actively, like Kate. So I turn again and start going back down the sandy path to the gift shop.

  And I stop again. I haven’t bought condoms since I met Daniel. As soon as we could stop using them, we did, so eager to feel the physical intimacy that came with our immediate monogamy. I was on the pill to keep from getting pregnant, something I didn’t want to do because of my family history of iffy fertility. But I made that choice over the condoms. I didn’t want anything coming between us, in this case literally.

  Daniel. What will it mean if I buy these condoms, which I’d only be purchasing because I’m considering sleeping with Carson? It will mean we are truly over. I know we’ve broken up, and I’m standing firm. If he won’t marry me, I’m moving on. But am I ready to move on yet, and this fast?

  I check my watch. Crap. It’s almost time for the morning surf session. I have to go back to my tent and get into my swimsuit. I suppose I could wait until later to buy the condoms or to decide whether or not to get them, but somehow I don’t think the decision will be any easier then. Biting my lips, I wonder about this whole Kate experiment.

  Then I look at the photo in my hand. The look that Carson’s giving me and the confident expression on my face. It’s amazing to see myself that way. I want to feel that again.

  I don’t have to go as far as Kate might, Kate who would welcome the chance to make love on a beach under a full moon, soft waves caressing her as lovingly as a man’s worshipful hands. But I could get a taste of that.

  The bells above the door at the gift shop jingle my arrival, and Anya says “Hi” without smiling. I nod at her, hating the way I feel embarrassed and self-conscious. What do I care what she sees me buying, I think as I grab chewing gum, neon pink lip balm with SPF, a trashy magazine, and mints, hoping the condoms will go unnoticed.

  Then I head over to the toiletry section. My eyes rapidly take in all the things travelers typically forget to bring and things they might not have thought of. Shaving cream, toothpaste, tampons, soap, moisturizer, bug spray, tweezers, even sewing kits. It’s like a mini-drugstore in this section of the shop, and the only thing they don’t seem to have is the one thing I came here for.

  “Looking for something?”

  I jump, not having heard Anya slink my way. “No. I mean,” Kate, come on. I’m Kate today, Kate the Great, all the way. “Yes,” I say, my voice strong but calm, “I was looking for condoms.”

  Anya hesitates, and something vulnerable in her eyes catches me off guard. “We’re out,” she finally says. “Just sold the last box.” She wanders away as I sigh, imagining one of the bridal party taking off her diamond-heavy ring and using it to line up an unsuspecting surf instructor in her sights.

  “SHE LIVES! KATE is back in action!” Randy greets me with a big grin and a bear hug as I join the rest of the group on the beach for the morning surf session. I didn’t want to go, but I don’t have much time left for the Great Kate Experiment. Besides, Kate isn’t the type who would allow a brush with a terrifying death by drowning stop her from surfing again. I am, but she’s not, that fearless bitch.

  Randy starts applauding me, as does everyone else, and I give a dramatic formal curtsy, and they all laugh. Evan comes over and gives me a friendly hug. “Glad to see you okay, Kate,” he says. The honeymooners pat me on the back, and the bridal party girls bring their hands together at their hearts and give me the yoga greeting, Namaste. Touched by this, I bow back to them.

  Last to greet me is Carson, who waits until the rest of the group turn their attention to preparing to surf. “Kate the Great,” he says, with that ever-present smile. Only today, that physical manifestation of joy seems directed toward me.

  Kate Experiment starts in three, two, one. “Cartoon,” I say, using his surfer nickname.

  He steps closer. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says. “When I didn’t see you at the sunrise surf session or breakfast, I almost went to your tent to beg you to come.” I crouch down to tether my ankle to my surfboard so he can’t see me smiling. “Evan talked me out of it, though,” Carson continues. “He said you might need some space after yesterday.”

  I stand up, tall and straight. “Nope, just needed to do a little extra yoga and meditation today, clear my chakras and all.” His sparkly eyes are sucking me in, making me feel Katy-wobbly in the knees, so I turn toward the water. “Waves look good today.”

  “Beautiful,” he says, not taking take his gaze from me. “Listen, Kate, you don’t have to do this. Wipeouts are scary. No shame in sitting this out.”

  Raising one eyebrow, I look him right in those green pools I’d rather swim in. “And let a bump or scrape keep me down? Someone told me that wasn’t living.”

  Carson laughs. “Was he drinking when he said that?”

  I wave my hand. “Maybe a little fuzzy from wine and chocolate, but he seemed to be making sense. Come on,” I say steadily, though my insides are quivering at the thought, “let’s get this surfing party started.”

  15.

  I WANT A T-shirt that says I RULED THE MORNING SURF SESSION. As I sit on the bed in my tent and put on makeup for the first time this week, I pause to pat myself on the back again. Despite nerves that were rattling my teeth in my head, I actually got back in the water and surfed again. True, Carson directed me to only the gentlest waves, but that just ensured that I looked like a total pro as I rode them. Kate may have gotten me back in the water after my wipeout, but I’m the one who was surfing. My confidence level has my bare toes tapping with anticipation for tonight’s fun.

  And tonight will be fun and far less pressure than I’d thought before. I’m actually glad there were no condoms at the gift shop. That took away any debate about whether or not to sleep with Carson. My mascara wand freezes in mid-lash. Well, he might have condoms. Huh. Hadn’t thought about that. But the Great Kate Experiment did not require sex. The idea was merely to try to entrance a member of the male species using Kate’s powers of confidence and self-possession. So far, so good. Carson must have asked me three times if I was coming to tonight’s graduation dinner.

  I look at myself in the full-length mirror propped in the corner of the tent. I remember the last time I looked in a mirror wearing this teal sundress. That pale, sad-looking woman has been replaced by a tan, smiling, surfing princess. I’m practically glowing. Wow, if Daniel could see me—

  My sigh slumps my shoulders. No, no, this is not part of the experiment! I already know what being sad gets me. Nothing. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, say “Kate the Great,” and when I open them, there she is again. I grab my black sparkly hand purse and run out of my tent before Kate disappears again.

  AT THE FRONT of the main house, the campers and instructors are boarding the van that will take us to Surf Taco, the site of our graduation dinner. My eyes scan the crowd for Carson, trying to look for him without looking like I’m looking for him. Maybe he’s already on the bus, I think as I climb aboard.

  He isn’t, but I find a two-seater and take the one by the window, thinking he’ll naturally sit next to me when he gets here. Bu
t Krystal, the only unmarried bridal party member, sees that Evan is sandwiched between Randy and the honeymooners, and she turns to me. “Kate, can I sit with you?”

  I consider telling her the seat is taken, but Kate the Great waits for no man. “Of course,” I say, patting the cushion. A few people later, Carson gets on board. I nod to him and return to my conversation with Krystal, who is asking me about yoga. I’m trying to focus on her, but I can’t help noticing that Carson looks particularly, um, wowzers. How can someone make a faded denim shirt and a pair of khakis look better than a red-carpet tuxedo? It’s not about the clothes, though. It’s the man filling them out so nicely that makes me forget how to breathe. On the way to one of the two seats right behind me, Carson’s eyes sweep over me in an admiring way, and he gives me a smile that’s more than just a “hi.”

  Last on the bus is Allegra. She has officially dressed to kill. The fully made-up bride-to-be is barely draped in a down-to-there top and an up-to-her-hoo-ha miniskirt. And the only thing that could make a woman move so fast in heels as high as hers is the empty seat next to Carson. I think the case of who bought the last box of condoms at the gift shop can now be closed.

  “Kate, are you okay?” Krystal asks. “You look like you just swallowed a bug.”

  THE SITE OF our celebration, Surf Taco, is a loud, rowdy beach dive decorated with twinkly lights both outside and in. Surfboards hang from the ceiling in fishing nets, and tiki candles light the bar and each table in the open-air dining room. A large stuffed shark wearing a cowboy hat is mounted on the back wall. Surf company stickers are plastered everywhere, and great pop and dance music is playing over the noisy crowd.

  Our surf instructors are apparently well known and liked here. The bar owners, two expats from the States, give them guy hugs and bro handshakes. They lead our group to a big table on the porch that opens right out onto the beach. And then, apparently, it’s time to play musical chairs.

  A few people who don’t care where they sit just take any chair. Brigitte and William sit on either side of Nicholas, and Jamie and Dean sit next to each other. But Krystal moves so she can sit next to Evan, and Randy cleverly positions himself between two grinning bridesmaids. The seating options are dwindling rapidly, and as cool as I was about the bus, now I definitely want to sit next to Carson. How can I practice my Kate powers on him if he can’t even hear me?

  Soon Allegra and I are the last women standing, and Carson is being a gentleman and waiting for the ladies to take their seats. Crap. I hesitate another awkward second, and Allegra sits—and cheats by grabbing Carson’s sleeve and pulling him into the chair next to hers! I don’t know whether my shock is in admiration for her planning or over her complete and utter shame-orexia. Now I’m seated between a maid of honor and a cheating bride in a noisy bar, and I have no condoms and zero chance to talk to Carson. Fate, I totally hate you. Kate, I really need you.

  A waitress comes over to take our drink orders. “Mojitos all around?”

  I consider asking for two, but that might not get me the kind of attention I want.

  When the drinks come, Randy stands up and taps his glass with a knife to get everyone’s attention. His enthusiasm is infectious, and I can tell he’s a natural master of ceremonies.

  “At the beginning of the week, I don’t know if any of you had ever seen a surfboard up close, much less gotten on one in actual moving water,” he begins. A few giggles, many heads shaking no. “Now, at the end of the week, you’re all genuine surfers. So I’d like to propose a toast,” Randy says, as we all raises our glasses. “To Allegra, Lucene, Krystal, Lila, Dean, Jamie, William, and Kate,” he says. “Or, as they shall now be known in the surfing world, A-Bomb, Betty, Kannonball, Lilabelle, Mean Dean, JD, Will He Is, and The Little Mermaid.” Our surfer nicknames make everyone laugh, and glasses are clinked in celebration.

  The mojitos are sweet and basilicious, the fish tacos are crunchy, tasty fun, and this is all very nice but I’m not getting anywhere with my experiment. I check on my test subject and find him nodding politely at Allegra, who has been talking his ear off. His eyes quickly catch mine and plead at me. Without thinking or hesitating, I stand up, take my purse, and head not for the ladies’ room but right for the beach.

  And I grin to myself as I hear footsteps behind me. “Kate.”

  I turn around slowly. My casual “Hmm?” is a way of camouflaging my “Mmm” when I see Carson’s tall, athletic build, a moan-inducing silhouette outlined by the low light of the bar behind him.

  “Mind if I join you?” he asks.

  “Dude, this is a rescue mission,” I hiss, flicking my eyes toward our table, where I can see Allegra’s frowning face. “Be a surf ninja or suffer the consequences.”

  “I’m ninja-ing,” he says, hurrying to my side. “Thanks, Ninja Master Kate.”

  “That is not my surf ninja nickname,” I chide. “It sounds too close to something naughty.”

  The warmth of his laughter gives me the tingles. “Your wit is as sharp as a weapon, o surf ninja master.”

  “Yes, and I am skilled in the art of extricating a fellow ninja from a torture chamber.”

  “Aw, Allegra’s not so bad,” Carson says kindly. “I’d just rather be with you.” He gives me an unabashedly happy smile as we walk away from the bar, toward the shore.

  Without words, we both stop to take off our shoes, already in unspoken agreement that we’ll walk in the gentle surf. The lights and the noise of the bar fade behind us, and the beach is lit only by that nearly full moon. I notice that each of us is holding our shoes with our outer hands, leaving the hands closest to each other free to hold. I desperately want Carson to take my hand. Kate looks out at the water, enjoying herself no matter what. I don’t get her at all.

  “So,” Carson says, though he doesn’t follow that with anything.

  “So,” I say, drawing out the word.

  “You’re going home tomorrow.”

  “Looks that way.”

  Carson pauses, gazing out at the water. “Beautiful night.”

  I shrug. “If you like a moon and stars and a beautiful beach.” I turn to show him my teasing smile.

  He plays along, sighing dramatically. “Yeah, around here you just have to learn how to tolerate romantic settings.”

  “Mmm,” I murmur noncommittally, but my insides tighten up as the butterflies put on their flight goggles. Here it comes. This is where Kate and Katy must meet and decide what to do when Carson makes his pitch.

  “This is the most perfect place and time for me to ask if I can come back to your room tonight,” Carson says, confirming my thoughts. “It doesn’t get any better than this.” Just as I’m about to give him the reasons why I can’t, as soon as I can think of them, he adds, “But I decided against it.”

  I stop walking, almost dropping my sandals in the water. “What?”

  Carson turns to me. “Evan and Randy have been coaching me for hours with all these great, well, actually kind of horrible guy moves to convince you that we should make love tonight. Randy told me not to even try to get back to your room, to just do it right here, on the beach.”

  “So?” I demand, complete with hand on hip. “Why’d you change your mind?”

  “Have you ever had sex on a beach? The sand gets everywhere. It really hurts! It’s nowhere near as fun as it looks in the movies.” Carson’s lips twist into his version of my teasing smile.

  “Oh, fine,” I say, feeling like a fool. I turn away from him, but he comes over to stand in front me.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” he says. “Is that all you wanted from me, Kate? A one-night stand? Because I like you a lot more than that. So much that I’m not willing to be That Guy.”

  I look up at him. “What guy?”

  “That guy you have a fling with on vacation. The guy you tell all your friends about when you get home, but you can’t remember his name. That guy.”

  Whoa. I really underestimated Carson, thinking he was only interested in being That Guy a
nd in me being That Girl. Embarrassed, I petulantly mutter, “I’d remember your name.”

  “Gee, thanks,” he says, stung. He starts walking away, not back to the bar, but in the direction we were headed.

  “Carson, wait.” I catch up to him. “A one-night stand isn’t what I wanted either.”

  “Then why are you so offended that I’m not trying to use you tonight and wave goodbye to you tomorrow?”

  “Because,” I say, taking his arm to stop him from walking, “I don’t know, maybe I’m confused.” Without thinking, I start speaking honestly. “What’s with all the intense staring, the touch on the back of the hand, and the seashell, if you weren’t interested?”

  “I didn’t say I wasn’t interested. I said I didn’t want to sleep with you tonight.”

  “Oh. Okay, that cleared things right up. So not confused anymore.” I roll my eyes. “Can you make this a little plainer for me?”

  “Stay with me.”

  For a moment, I’m taken aback. Not by the words, but by the way Carson said them. Stay with me. A short sentence overflowing with undisguised emotion. His smile and his eyes are so full of joyful vulnerability, like the first time you tell someone you love them. It’s such a risk, knowing that they may not say it back. But Carson’s fearless heart is out there for me to see. “Stay here with me,” he says again, coming closer. He takes my shoes and throws them on the sand with his so he can hold my hands. His hands are warm, strong, smooth as they wrap around mine.

  “I don’t understand,” I say, more softly this time, still amazed by his willingness to show his feelings. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “Don’t,” Carson says, as though it’s that simple. Then excitement mounts in his voice as he continues. “Don’t go. Stay with me tonight, tomorrow, the next night, as long as you want. Do you really have to leave?”

  “Yes—I mean, I should. I have, uh, things I have to do.” What things, I wonder? What things could be more important than this incredible man asking me to stay with him in this exotic, entrancing place? It’s not the minutiae of my life but Carson’s intensity that makes me hesitate.