Catching Feelings: Chapter Three

There was only one hard and fast rule for teaching beginners how to surf at the Immani Surf School. Chris—for all his faults—had decent priorities too. I repeated the rule to myself over and over and over again until the urge to maim two of my students dissipated.

The rule? Don’t let anyone drown.

I typically didn’t judge students when they came in, because being new at something was often difficult and occasionally embarrassing. Though I could run waves with Chris now, I’d had to fall off my board thousands of times before I gained those skills. And people of all body types, of all ages, could surf with the right instructions, the right waves, and most importantly the right attitude. 

But I was not a babysitter. 

One of my students, a twenty-year old named Hunter, had lied on his waiver and did not, in fact, know how to swim. We never left the sight of shore and we didn’t go deep enough to where we couldn’t reach the bottom and still keep our heads above water. I had to be able to stand in order to help push the students’ boards forward at the right moment so they could catch one of the waves and attempt to stand. At five-foot eight, I was able to do it, but Hunter, at six-foot stupid could not wrap the concept around his thick skull.

Usually, there was only one bad apple in the crop. No, scratch that. Usually there were none. Most of the time the students who attended were adults excited to learn. Failure was the cost of the learning, but Hunter didn’t understand, because in addition to being afraid of drowning, he was being a whiny, pouty baby.

“My arms are tired,” he said, when I instructed him to paddle beside me.

“That’s okay,” I said through a fake smile. “Just sit up on the board like we practiced and paddle over when you’re ready.”

I turned to Julia, a fifty-year old crossfitter. She paddled over to me and I watched the waves, feeling the ocean, and when I saw one coming, I prepared myself and Julia.

“It’s a good one,” I said. “Start paddling. Three. Two. One.”

I pushed her forward and grinned as she stood on her board on the small one-and-a-half-foot wave that took her straight to the beach, cheering as though she’d gone through her first barrel. She was pumping her hand wildly as she sat on her board, and moved to the side to clear the path and to paddle back out. 

“Woo-hoo, you’re amazing!” I clapped for her.

I turned to Hunter who was still frowning at the water, but at least quiet. Then I motioned for my second problem-child to paddle toward me. What in god’s name Jessica was doing there was beyond me. Less than a week ago, she dumped Chris, and today she was taking a lesson through his surfing school. I oscillated between thinking him a coward for pawning this lesson off on me and honestly, a fair bit of sympathy.

Maybe Jessica had vouchers she wanted to use. Maybe she was trying to get back with Chris. Either way, from the way she was glaring, she was pissed as hell I was teaching today’s lesson, and thus far unhappy with my performance. I wondered if this was Chris’ intent in having me sub. Maybe it wasn’t cowardice on his part, maybe it was calculated revenge.

“Are you sure this is where we should be?” she asked for the third time. “I really think we were catching better waves when we were over there.”

I inhaled deeply through my nose and tried not to think less of her. I wouldn’t have thought less of her if she’d listened to my explanation when she’d first asked the question. Because if it was about the ocean and figuring out how it moves, how it behaves, and how to read it, I could explain the basics to her. But she’d looked down her nose and continued to insist and insinuate I didn’t know what the hell I was talking about. 

“Come on,” I said in my fake-cheery voice, instead of throttling her. “The waves are picking up, this next one will be great.”

She turned her head, but prepared as I grabbed the end of her board, adjusting her feet so they weren’t tangled in the leash, the rubber material connecting her back foot to the board. 

“Three. Two. One,” I said and I pushed her along.

Despite her obstinance, she did well, waited until the right moment to push her front foot forward and balanced her way to standing. Both myself and Julia cheered for her as she made her way down. 

“Tides are shifting,” I said once all three had paddled back to me. “We’ve got fifteen or so more minutes.”

They were all exhausted by the time we surfed on our bellies to shore, but I’d followed the prime directive of the surf school. No one drowned. 

“Please get off your boards here,” I said when we reached knee high water. “Pick them up and we’ll walk them back to the surf house. Five minute walk.”

Hunter huffed and Jessica rolled her eyes, but they both complied and as a group, I led them back to the house where they racked their boards on the stands Chris had built into the side of the porch. Julia and Jessica dispersed and I showed Hunter to the outdoor showers. 

“Thank you for your help,” he said. “I-uh, know I screwed up.”

“Maybe take a swimming class before a surf class,” I said, softening the reprimand with a laugh. “But you did great.”

“Thanks,” he said again, his cheeks pink. I watched in horror as he looked everywhere but at me, until suddenly his eyes flew to mine, like he had gathered enough courage. 

“I’m serious though,” I said, deepening my voice and making it harsh. “Take a swimming class.”

I left him alone in the showers before he could get another word in and made my escape. The converted split-level beach house had an incredibly welcoming living area and kitchen. The fridge was covered in surfing stickers and magnets and the walls were a combination of surf photos and board racks.

Chris was in the surf shop room, standing at the welcome desk, typing away on his laptop. I watched him for a moment while he remained unaware of my presence in the doorway. Despite the stereotype of surfer beach bro, Chris infused everything he did with purpose and dedication, especially for his school. Even the way he typed furiously on the keyboard was infused with purpose. 

You’d think I’d have learned how to share space with him after all these years, but I hovered. Instead of quiet peace from years of friendship, I became filled with the familiar confusion on where to stand when I was around him. It somehow always felt like I was either too far away and projecting my true feelings of enmity, or I was too close, much too close.

I coughed to get his attention and leaned against the doorjam. “We’re back.”

“Thank you for teaching the beginner’s class today,” Chris said as he looked at me and then went back to staring at his laptop.

An awkward moment of silence and a clear dismissal.

“Yup. Anything else?” I raised a brow at him. Was he going to explain why he needed me to cover the class? Normally he at least said, Oh, I’m double booked, or I was sick, or Had a doctor’s appointment.

More silence.

I scoffed and shook my head. If he didn’t want to admit he asked me to cover the lesson because his ex-girlfriend was in the surf class, it didn’t matter. I knew the truth. I wasn’t going to bother asking him a question, which would inevitably involve him staring at me like I was a stranger, before talking to me like I was the biggest idiot in the world. 

So I didn’t speak with a question in my voice, or any hint of banter. “Don’t let that kid Hunter back in a lesson until he can confirm with you he took a swimming class.”

Chris’ eyes lifted from his laptop at my statement, and the question was in his eyes.

“Of course he didn’t drown.” I didn’t bother to stop my eye roll. In fact, I exaggerated it. 

Chris turned back to his laptop and I took a deep breath, but was saved from having to say more when Jessica came into the room, pushing past me.

He warmed immediately and crossed to her. “Jess.” 

And it was that, that moment right there, when he smiled wide and large and open to Jessica. A smile that made him so bright and good looking and appealing. A smile that made people want to be around him. And never, in all the time I’d known him, had he directed an ounce of that warm charisma toward me. 

Although, to be fair, I wasn’t sure if he was faking it now. I sure-as-shit wouldn’t be happy to see an ex who’d taken digs at me during the breakup.

When Jessica’s eyes darted to mine, I took that as my cue to leave. Either they were going to have a heart to heart, or she was going to complain about my instruction. My presence wasn’t required for either.

I walked back into the main area of the surfing school. Because of the early hour I’d met the students, I’d wisely—but regretfully—only had water so far. I made a cup of coffee for myself using the Caribou k-cups I’d come to adore from my years in Minnesota.

I placed the worksheets I’d brought for Theo on the picnic table that separated the kitchen from the open living room concept and checked my watch. He’d be here in thirty-minutes or so for our first lesson.

I took a sip of my coffee and went to find Hunter to ensure he didn’t drown himself by accident in the shower. With coffee in hand, I ambled barefoot to the front door and stopped so suddenly that coffee sloshed over the mug and burned my fingers. 

“Shit, fuck,” I cursed as I shifted the mug to my opposite hand, never taking my eyes from what still had me gaping.

This was my second time at Chris’ surf house since the remodel, but the first time I’d ever walked through the front entryway, and what I saw on the wall had my gut twisting—not unpleasantly. A large canvas photo hung on the wall directly in front of the door, and would clearly be the first thing someone would see upon entering the surf house. I had a matching photo on my work desk at home.

There were four of us in the photo. Ren, Theo, myself, and Chris. The first day we met, five years earlier, in Okinawa, Japan.

Ren and I had studied together in Tokyo and I’d convinced him to visit Okinawa where we’d rented boards. It was funny, in a dark way. I’d invited Ren because he’d been suffering a weeks-long depressive episode and I’d basically had to keelhaul him out of bed. If he’d been in a good state of mind, I probably wouldn’t have dragged him off the mainland. And if we hadn’t, he never would have met Theo who had been dragged to Okinawa by Chris to visit an old surfing friend who owned the school. When Ren and I moved back to the US the following year, we’d gone to California; and Theo and Chris, in their own way, had been waiting for us. 

In the photo, Chris and I were front and center, each on our own boards on the same wave, facing each other because he surfed goofy-footed—left-foot forward, while I surfed right-foot forward. 

We were both bent low on a small wave, holding hands and grinning like maniacs at the success of the silly maneuver.

Chris was shirtless, his manta ray tattoo covering his entire left pectoral. My hand twitched against my will as if some part of me wanted to trace the animal. Staring at myself, I recognized the surprised delight on my face at being pulled into something ridiculous. In the photo, I had longer, and darker hair falling to my waist. I tugged at the shoulder length locks now, happier with them, happier with myself and my life than I’d been at twenty-five.

Ren and Theo were off to the side, slightly farther back, sitting on their individual boards. Ren was smiling wide, arms lifted in a cheer for Chris and I. Theo might as well have had cartoon heart eyes for the way he stared at Ren.

Chris and I, well…I hadn’t always been uncomfortable around him. The opposite actually and this photo was proof. My first impression of him had been an overwhelming, sky-high chemistry that had been embarrassingly one-sided. I forced myself to turn away from the photo, from the joy and excitement on both our faces. I tried to ignore the blatant pleasure mixing in my gut alongside confusion.

I stared at my coffee for a long moment, then remembered that I needed to make sure Hunter had figured himself out. Venturing outside, I found his car already gone. 

Good riddance.

Jessica came outside moments later, her hair suspiciously askew as she climbed into her Mercedes-Benz. I waved goodbye and did not receive a response as she peeled out. I may or may not have flipped her off as she turned the corner.

When I turned around, Chris was staring at me, brows raised high. I opened my mouth to defend myself and remembered this was Chris and also maybe Jessica wasn’t completely out of the picture. 

I shrugged at Chris even though I had a biting comment on the tip of my tongue.

He moved to sit on the outdoor bench facing the ocean, which left me with the decision to either sit beside him and take in the view, or stare into the sun, shielding my face with my hand. Again, I was irritated by my inability to make a comfortable decision about the space between us.

“Anything to say for yourself?” Chris asked, voice cool and filled with chastisement.

My hands clenched tightly on the coffee mug. If he expected me to apologize for eavesdropping on his breakup, he wasn’t going to get it. Lasting a full surf class with Jessica was more than enough penance.

Instead, I stood there sweating, blinded by the sun as I opened my mouth—not to apologize, but maybe to explain. What came out of my mouth wasn’t what I’d planned. 

“Don’t take her back,” I said as I crossed my arms over my chest, or tried to before I remembered the coffee.

Chris hadn’t told us he and Jessica broke up and I had a sneaking suspicion he planned to get back with her. I didn’t like it one bit and wasn’t willing to examine why. 

“Excuse me?”  His head snapped towards me, shaking the pretend calm-cool-and-collected act.

“Just trust me,” I said, words I had certainly never said to him before. “Don’t take her back.”

“Everyone likes her,” Chris said instead, which was a hell of a lot less convincing than if he’d said he liked her.

I looked away from him and focused for a long moment on the row of lemon trees he’d planted on the edge of his property. 

Deep breath, Orelia. “Of course we said we liked her. You were clearly serious. She—well, she isn’t very nice, and she wasn’t nice to you.”

From Chris’ glare, it was clear he was aware I was being careful with my words. I didn’t know how to tell him that she wasn’t nice to me, specifically. She’d found my personal styles to be simplistic and she’d frequently commented on my “humble midwest origins” as if it were something to be ashamed of compared to the upper echelon societies of California and New York. Jessica kept her critiques to me, never going so far as to insult or demean Theo and Ren. Then again, she’d used them as benchmarks for the success she expected of Chris. Theo was in Hollywood, Ren was a CFO, but apparently Chris’ successes didn’t measure up. Neither did mine.

“You’re lying,” Chris said, shaking his head.

Any of that remaining warmth from the photo dissipated.

“You’re impossible, you know that,” I snapped and without waiting to take a breath, continued. “She narrowed in on me fairly quickly at being single, and she thought we had a sordid history.”

Chris bit his lip in thought making it clear to me that this wasn’t new information. I stared at him for a moment, eyes open and squinting against the sun. Absurdly, I wanted to yell at him, really yell at him. His usual aloofness always affected me, but I thought I’d perfected the art of accepting it. Obviously not. 

“I don’t know what side you saw of her,” I said quietly after another deep breath. “But she made people feel bad about themselves, Chris. And she knew she was doing it.”

I didn’t know how to express to him the condescension and honestly hurtful way Jessica had sweetly sliced me to ribbons. My eyes drifted away from Chris’ face, but returned immediately when he spoke.

“She made you feel bad.” It wasn’t a question, but surprise colored his tone.

He stood and took a step toward me. I took a step back instinctively and the sympathy on Chris’ face wavered then disappeared.

“It doesn’t matter how she treated me,” I told him. “But you should give a shit for how she treated you.”

Surprise, which had been obvious in his tone, was now written clearly on his face. A cloud finally covered the sun, making it bearable to stare at Chris. Because he was no longer sitting, I was forced to look up into his face. Dark skin and dark green eyes.

Chris took another step forward, and this time I didn’t move. 

My phone pinged once and my gaze lowered to the manta ray tattoo visible at the dip in his shirt. Something in his face, just then as I looked back up, made my breath stutter.

Ping.

Ping. 

Ping.

Shaking myself, I pulled my phone from the pocket of my ratty jean shorts. Breaking eye contact, opened one of the messages on my phone. Three unread emails from my boss Dulcie, two texts, and a phone call I’d somehow missed in the last thirty minutes.

“Oh,” I said, a little stupid. A little slow to come back to reality. When I peeked up from reading emails, Chris had taken a step back. 

“Everything good?”

This was the big work project Dulcie had been hinting at for weeks, but the concern laced in his voice was… Oh, no—those were butterflies dancing in my stomach. 

“It’s a new work project,” I said, not quite meeting his eyes. “I know today was supposed to be my first lesson with Theo, but it’ll have to wait until next week.”

I had a lot of flexibility with work, it’s what allowed me to surf regularly throughout the week, but some things couldn’t be ignored. And this big project was one of them. A zing of excitement shot through me as I skimmed the words, more focused now. 

“You’re smiling at your phone,” Chris mumbled.

“Yeah,” I said slowly, completely dazed by the email. “I’m going to translate Night of the Fox by Hotaru Hayashi.”

“And that’s good?” he asked with a half-there smile that broke that damn for my excitement. 

“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod,” I squealed, because I couldn’t help it. I really couldn’t help it. “She’s only like the most prolific Japanese fantasy writer actively publishing. Do you even know how good she has to be for an American publisher to be willing to translate?! And they want me to do it.”

I pressed my hands to my face as the grin over my face felt too vulnerable to share. Peeking between my fingers, I realized that Chris was smiling…at me.

“This is different then?” he asked, amusement and not disdain threading his tone. “From what you normally do, English to Japanese. Short stories, non-fiction, that kind of stuff?”

I made several intelligible sounds that didn’t form actual words. He knows what I do. A stupid thing to think, really, but as I stared at him, Chris shifted from foot to foot, as if embarrassed. And his easy grin faded. 

“It’s very different,” I acknowledged. “This could take my career in a whole different direction.”

“You better get to it then,” Chris said, sounding slightly forced, slightly awkward, but not as rude as usual.

“Yeah, tell Theo will you?”

“He’ll understand,” Chris said and there was a shift in tone, from awkwardness to something much sweeter: comfort.

I had to be imagining things. Maybe this email, this day in general, wasn’t really happening. “I’ll shoot Theo a message about what he’ll need to do with the exercises I left for him, but I don’t need to be here for it.”

“I’ll let him know,” Chris said as I turned to leave. “Orelia?”

My heart did a weird dance when he said my name and I turned back to him. “Yes?”

“Coffee mug,” he said, and held out his hands.

“Oh, right.” I passed him the mug, slowly, careful not to brush our fingers. 

“Thank you for covering the class today,” Chris said, and this time it sounded like he meant it. 

“No problem,” I said, throat dry as I got into my car and focused on backing up, keeping my eyes in the rearview mirror and then on the road.

I didn’t look at Chris again as I got out of there. Why it took several minutes before my pulse settled, I couldn’t be sure.

When I returned home, my phone started going berserk again before I made it to my home office. It was the group chat I had with Ren, Theo, and Chris.

What Chris hadn’t done three days ago, he was doing now. Announcing his breakup. And echoing sentiments I’d said earlier, an influx of true feelings about Jessica also entered the group chat. Nothing outright disparaging, but enough for Chris to read between the lines. To see I’d told the truth.

Before I could stop myself, I opened the text chain between myself and Chris and sent the message.

Orelia (11:02am): Sorry. 

Chris (11:02am): Could be worse. I could have ignored your advice. 

Orelia (11:03am): To be fair, it was more like an order

Chris (11:04am): You are bossy. 

Orelia (11:04am): Bossy? You’re one to talk 😏 

I was clearly high. What the hell was I thinking? I put a smirking emoji in a text chain with Chris. My heart beat at a maddening pace as I waited for a response, waited with baited breath, like it mattered. So it hurt even more when a response never came.