Drowning Erin

by Elizabeth O'Roark

  “I don’t know,” I tell her. “It was just everything.”

  “You sound like you’re not over her,” Gabi says.

  “There was never anything to be over,” I reply. “We never went out once. And now she’s with my best friend.”

  “Ouch,” she says.

  “It’s fine. It would never have worked out anyway.”

  This is something I tell myself all the time, and it’s probably true. I just wish it felt true.

  “Maybe you were meant to meet me here instead,” she suggests.

  I really hope she’s right.

  34

  Erin

  Present

  By Thursday morning, when I meet Brendan at the airport for our trip to Olivia’s race, I’m recovered enough to at least pretend things are fine. And I’m really not that upset. Not too upset, certainly, to think about how good Brendan looks in everything. Right now he’s wearing khaki shorts and a navy T-shirt—nothing fancy, and he still looks completely edible.

  I assume Brendan’s heard from Rob by now. He’s probably waiting on me to bring it up, which I don’t plan to do because it’s really nothing I want to discuss. I’m just grateful he’s behaving as if things are normal.

  “I have to warn you,” I tell him as we find our seats. “There’s something about planes that puts me to sleep. So I’m probably going to snore or drool on you.”

  “How’s poor Rob ever going to join the mile-high club if you’re always asleep?”

  My smile falters a little. He must know. Perhaps he’s just heard Rob’s take on our split, which is that we’re undeniably getting back together.

  “Have you met Rob? Can you actually imagine him doing that?”

  He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “But you would?”

  “No comment.”

  “I always imagined you’d have a little wild side.”

  “Spent a lot of time imagining me in bed, have you?” I tease.

  His eyes linger on my mouth for one long moment, during which my heart seems to flop over, again and again.

  “No comment. Go to sleep, Erin.”

  I close my eyes, certain we’ve just had the one conversation that could make sleep impossible. How many times have I fantasized about having sex with Brendan? Countless. How many times have I squeezed my eyes shut, even with Rob, and pictured Brendan’s face? I feel guilty about it, yes, but is it really so different than what anyone else does? I guess it’d be better if it weren’t my fiance’s best friend, but Brendan was in my head long before I even knew Rob existed. And there’s only so much control you can exert over your own brain. God knows I’ve tried.

  We land and get the rental car. It's a 45-minute drive from the Reno airport to Tahoe, where we plan to take a quick hike before heading up to Squaw Valley. This means 45 minutes of watching Brendan’s thighs flex when he brakes, his broad hand resting on the gear shift, the way he leans back in his seat like he rules the entire fucking world. The effect of watching Brendan drive could be described as mildly pornographic without having just had the dirtiest dream possible about him on the flight here. So I’m either the luckiest girl alive right now, or the most tortured. Both, perhaps.

  I sneak a glance at him—the clean lines of his profile, his clearly delineated biceps even when he’s not flexing. I should be too upset for lust right now, but obviously I am not. And the very fact that I’ve spent weeks lusting after someone other than Rob, and that I’m doing so now, makes me think perhaps I don’t have quite as much moral high ground with the Christina thing as I’d like to believe.

  “So why haven’t you gone over to Amsterdam since Rob left?” Brendan asks abruptly, almost as if he’s read my mind. I wonder if he’s blaming me for the break-up, the same way I’m blaming myself to some extent.

  “I guess I should have,” I reply. “But at first he wasn’t going for long, and he always works such long hours here, I figured he wouldn’t have time for me anyway.” Clearly he’s had plenty of time for Christina, however.

  “If I were you, I’d have gone over just to get laid. I don’t know how you’ve held out this long, to be honest.”

  I assume what he’s actually saying is that he understands why Rob couldn’t hold out this long, and it annoys me.

  "You probably can’t imagine holding out for a week,” I reply with a roll of my eyes. “But that’s something I can take care of on my own when I need to."

  “Jesus,” he groans. "Don’t say things like that."

  "What's wrong with that? Guys do it. Why shouldn't I?"

  "It's not that you shouldn't do it. It's that you shouldn't sit there wearing shorts that end just below your ass and put that image in my head.”

  I laugh, assuming he's kidding, and then take in the tension in his jaw. My eyes flicker to his lap, where I discern an unmistakable bulge that wasn't there a minute ago.

  "Oh," I say ineptly. "Geez, Brendan. I'm flattered. I figured that threesome with supermodels you probably had before we left would've taken the edge off.”

  He gives me a dirty look out of the corner of his eye. "I'm not that bad."

  "I'm not judging you. If I were a hot 28-year-old guy, I'd probably be doing it too."

  "Yeah, but I think your image of me is based a lot more on some bullshit of Rob's than it is the truth."

  "It's not any bullshit of Rob's. You took home more girls during that summer we worked together than I've even met over the course of my life."

  "I was 24, Erin, 24 and stupid, with some money and my own apartment for the first time in my life. That doesn't mean it's who I am now."

  "No? How many girls have you had in that hammock?"

  "Honestly? Not a single one."

  I stare at him incredulously. "Why?"

  "I didn’t get the hammock to have sex in. I don't have girls over to my place.”

  “Never?”

  “It’s best to keep sex separate, so no one gets the idea that it means something.”

  Would it be the end of the world if it did mean something, Brendan?

  I don’t ask because I’m pretty sure that for him, the answer is yes.

  We arrive at the Rubicon trail faster than expected, thanks to Brendan’s inability to obey the speed limit, and hike it faster than anyone should, thanks to Brendan’s inability to walk at a normal pace. We sit for a while at the end, taking in the view.

  “This would be a great area to lead tours,” he says with a sigh, leaning against a rock and closing his eyes.

  I feel a small shot of panic. Not even two months ago I didn’t want him moving home. Now the idea of him moving away makes me feel slightly ill. “Better than Colorado?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “No. Similar, actually. It’s a good place to try a lot of different things.”

  “What do you mean by ‘different’? I thought you were just leading bike tours.”

  “No. When I go somewhere I want to try it all—biking, hiking, rock-climbing. I don’t want people to feel like they have to choose one activity. I can’t do it yet, but eventually I’ll offer multi-sport tours, things that can be customized. Someone who’s only got a week in Colorado will be able to squeeze in every damn experience possible.”

  “I never would have guessed there was altruism behind your decision to start your own company.”

  He smiles. “It’s not all that altruistic. I plan to charge an assload of money for the experience.” He jumps to his feet, and reaches out a hand to pull me up.

  “In a rush?” I ask.

  “No,” he replies, “but there’s one thing you can do here that you can’t do at home, so we need to make a pitstop.”

  He leads me down to the tall rocks overlooking the bay. I’m just about to say something about the view when, without warning or hesitation, he pulls off his shirt. I stare. I know I shouldn’t stare, but his chest…it deserves its own calendar and commemorative stamp. “You ready, Doyle?” he asks.

  I know he’s talking about jumping in, but
for a moment my mind goes in another direction. He dives in before I’ve managed to craft a response.

  A moment later he surfaces, shaking the water from his face and doing a leisurely backstroke away from the rocks. Just like that, I’m back to staring.

  “Come in!” he calls. “It’s pretty warm. There must be a spring underneath.”

  I’ve never heard of a hot spring around here, but I definitely need to cool a few things off before we return to the car. “Turn around.”

  “You’re not planning to strip, right?” he asks. “It’s the middle of the day.”

  “I know I’m irresistible, but I’m sure as hell not jumping in fully dressed. I’ll freeze to death walking back. Just turn around.”

  He does what he’s told with a really unnecessary roll of his eyes. I strip to my bra and panties and jump before I lose my courage.

  I plunge below, discovering water so cold I am momentarily paralyzed by it. I’m pretty sure it’s only a desire to beat him senseless that propels me back to the surface.

  “Motherfucker,” I gasp as I emerge.

  My eyes aren’t even open before I hear him start laughing.

  “You fucking liar.”

  He keeps laughing as I scramble for the sun-warmed rocks, pulling myself out half-naked and too cold to care whether or not he sees. I hear him swimming toward the rocks as I reach the top. I use his clothes to dry off before I struggle into my own.

  He’s still laughing, the bastard.

  “I’m sorry,” he calls, beginning to climb out. “I bet you feel better, though, don’t you?”

  “Not as good as I’m about to feel,” I reply, gathering his clothes and pitching them into the water.

  I lay back on the rock and bask in the sun, laughing to myself as he jumps in after his stuff. This is a moment that never would have happened with Rob. In part, because Rob wouldn’t have jumped in the first place, and he certainly wouldn’t have lied about the temperature. But I wouldn’t have thrown his clothes in, either. We never had that kind of relationship, and I sort of wish we had.

  Moments later I feel Brendan’s shadow looming over me, and before my eyes are open he’s wringing out his soaked clothes on my face and chest.

  “Now we’re even,” he says with a grin as he lies down beside me.

  I laugh, and he does, and I silently marvel at how content I feel. Yes, we had a good hike, and we’ve got good weather, but I have a feeling I could be doing anything with him, in any weather, and I’d feel the same way.

  “This has been a perfect day,” I tell him.

  “You’re like a different person here,” he says.

  I squint at him. “How so?”

  “You’re like you were when I first met you. You were a little firecracker back then. Game for anything. Happy. It all seemed to end when you got together with Rob.”

  I sigh. “I should have known we’d have to discuss it eventually.”

  “Discuss what?”

  “The break-up,” I reply, glancing at him. “What else?”

  He stiffens and slowly sits up. “What break-up?” He looks shocked. And very unhappy.

  “I thought you knew. I’m surprised you seem so upset—wasn’t it your dearest wish that he find someone better?”

  “I’m not upset, and I didn’t think he’d find someone better, I just…” He shakes his head, as if he can’t get his mind around this. “Why?”

  There are so many reasons, but I focus on the ones that don’t involve him. “We haven’t been getting along for a while. And then he drops this bomb about Christina—”

  “Christina?” he asks. “Are you trying to tell me he’s been hooking up with Christina over there?”

  “He says all they’ve done is kiss. But for six weeks he never once mentioned her name until it came out by accident, when he’d mentioned pretty much every other employee. So I find it hard to believe things are entirely innocent.”

  Brendan’s face hardens. “I find that hard to believe too.”

  He’s the second person I’ve told, and they’ve both assumed Rob is cheating. Do I just know Rob better than they do, or am I incredibly naïve?

  “I guess he’s sleeping with her plenty now,” I say. I attempt to sound cheerful, but it ends on a rasp.

  He puts an arm around me, and I lean into his shoulder.

  “I’m so fucking sorry, Erin.”

  I hate that he’s sorry. It’s as if he’s confirming that I have indeed lost something.

  “I’m fine,” I say, brushing at my eyes. “Honestly. And nothing is over, necessarily. We’re just taking a break until he’s home, and then we’ll see.”

  “Why wouldn’t you just end it?” he asks, suddenly angry. “You deserve so much better than that.”

  “We’ve been together a long time, Brendan. It’s not a decision you make overnight. And he swore he didn’t cheat, and I believe him.” Sort of.

  He pulls on his T-shirt abruptly. “The sun’s gonna set soon. You ready to head out?”

  I nod, sorry our afternoon is ending on such a sad note. He seems more unhappy about my break-up than I was, which doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.

  We walk back to the car in silence. The sun has begun to fade, and in its absence, the cold seems to seep into my bones. I wish I hadn’t mentioned the break-up. I hate the pall it’s cast on everything.

  By the time we finally get back to the car, I’m shaking with cold. I jump in place, trying to get warm. “Can you pop the trunk?” I ask him. “I need my sweatshirt.”

  “Fuck,” he hisses. He’s come to a dead stop in the middle of the parking lot, with his hands in his pockets.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask.

  He looks at me with wide eyes. “I don’t have the key.”

  “What do you mean you don’t have the key? I saw you put it in the pocket of your shorts!”

  “Yeah,” he says. “The shorts you threw into Emerald Bay.”

  One hour and several testy conversations with a Hertz employee later, it is concluded that we will have to wait until morning, when the Tahoe office opens, to get a replacement key. It’s now dark, and I’m unbearably cold.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper to Brendan for the hundredth time.

  He grins. “It’s really okay. You’re the only one of us suffering, Frosty.”

  This is true. I don’t think I’ve ever been so cold in my life, and I live in a state where it hits 30 below in the winter.

  Adding to my misery, there’s some big convention going on in Tahoe, and after we Uber into town, it takes us over an hour to find a single available room, which has one double bed.

  “Nothing else?” Brendan asks, pleading in his voice.

  The woman stares at her computer. “I’m sorry. This is all we’ve got at the moment.”

  “We’ll check somewhere else, then,” Brendan tells her. “Thanks anyway.”

  “No, a double is fine,” I argue, teeth chattering. “I’m freezing, Brendan. Please.”

  Once again he gets that look on his face, as if I’ve asked him to scale Everest. It’d probably hurt my feelings except I’m too damn cold to feel anything, emotional or otherwise.

  I take the world’s longest hot shower while he runs across the street to find us some food, and as my temperature returns to normal, I begin to recognize just how awkward tonight might prove. Brendan is huge. That double bed is probably too small for him alone, and tonight there will be two of us in there. And one of us hasn’t had sex in almost two months. I feel like I can’t breathe normally at the thought.

  He’s back by the time I emerge from the bathroom, wrapped in nothing but a towel because my clothes are still wet.

  “I bought you a T-shirt across the street,” he says, “so you’ll have something dry to wear tonight.”

  He hands me a T-shirt that says, “I Put the ‘Ho’ in Tahoe,” and starts laughing as he watches my expression. “It was all I could find.”

  I don’t bother to point out that h
e has purchased himself a perfectly non-offensive T-shirt; I’m just excited to wear something dry. I eat while he showers, trying not to focus on the idea of him in there, naked. What would Harper do in my shoes? I know for a fact she wouldn’t be sitting on this bed right now, eating a cheeseburger. I picture opening the bathroom door, climbing into the shower with him, and then I decide this is absolutely not what I should be thinking about at the moment.

  I’m under the covers when he gets out, my stomach a storm of anticipation and excitement—two emotions that should not be there in the first place because nothing is going to happen.

  He turns off the light, but for some reason it only heightens my awareness of him. The bed sinks a little under his weight, and his bare leg comes into contact with mine.

  “Please tell me you’re wearing something,” he says.

  “Of course I am,” I reply. “Did you really think I was going to climb in here naked with you?”

  “I’m sorry,” he huffs. “But I just came into contact with several unclothed body parts, so I had to ask. Whatever you’re wearing has got to be minimal at best.”

  “I’m dressed.”

  “Okay.” He sighs unhappily. “Well, good night.”

  “Good night,” I reply. His leg brushes mine again by accident. This bed is way too small for anyone his size, plus another human.

  “Sorry,” he mutters.

  I tell him it’s okay, when in actuality it’s so not okay. Brendan’s thighs are like solid rock, and the fact that I’m in bed with him and we are both practically naked would be bad enough without the brush of his thigh every ten seconds reminding me of his presence.

  His leg brushes mine again, and my whole body is strung so tight that I practically jolt in shock when it happens.

  He exhales. “So what, exactly, are you wearing?”

  “The stupid T-shirt you bought. Everything else was wet.”

  He groans. “So you’re wearing nothing but the T-shirt?”