Catching Feelings: Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Friends with Flair and Baristas with Purple Hair

Even after more than fifteen years of surfing, jogging out of the water with my surfboard felt a little Baywatch. Maybe less so with my wetsuit instead of a tight red bikini, but still: water dripping down my body, wet hair slicked back. Hot, right?

I was amping myself up on purpose, trying to delay the inevitable crash back to reality, to my thoughts, to my real problems. Surfing made my mind go blissfully silent with its pure physicality. 

Board in hand, I strode up the beach toward two well-worn and brightly colored umbrellas. 

“You two seem to be enjoying yourselves,” I said.

Among the umbrellas there was a cooler, beach chairs and my favorite people in the whole state of California. While the boys were great, nothing could compare to the girlfriends. 

“Well, yeah, Orelia,” Jayna said, lowering her bright pink, heart-shaped sunglasses so she could stare at me over them. “You took my kid into the ocean for ninety minutes. This is the most rest I’ve had in weeks.”

Vivian, who seemed to be sleeping, showed the barest signs of life. “Ditto. Are they still alive?”

Jayna wore an itsy-bitsy bikini, and laid in the sun. Motherhood did not mean frumpy swimsuits for her. She was also a pipsqueak compared to Viv and I, even with the few inches of height she gained from her Afro space buns. Her dark skin shone in the sunlight, and I couldn’t tell if it was sweat or lotion.

Viv on the other hand wore as much black as you might see at a funeral, with dark makeup, a black sun hat, and a black shawl to protect her from the evil sun. 

We all had vastly different ideas of what was appropriate beach wear.

My gaze returned to the ocean where their kids were still surfing. The waves had dissipated with the tide, and although I was done, they were still happy to stay in the calm water. At eight and twelve years old, I couldn’t fault them for it. They were each on their own boards as the small waves got even smaller, but instead of trying to surf them, the kids appeared to be doing a balancing act that might’ve possibly, but not certainly, been surfboard yoga.

“Oh yeah, very lively,” I said as I sat on a towel cross-legged and took a drink of water.

Tattoos covered nearly every inch of Viv’s visible skin, which as a tattoo artist herself, was to be expected. My skin was nearly as pale as Viv’s was, but unlike her, I spent so much time in the sun I’d managed a tan and freckles. 

They were both about five years older than me and at very different life stages, but when we’d met two years before at a bereavement support group, that hadn’t mattered. They’d each lost their husbands and I’d lost my father. All three of us had hated the grief counseling and all three of us had ducked out before the first session concluded.

I smiled at the memory. Vivian had left first, Jayna had followed, and I’d thought, Screw it, I’m out too.

The grief we all shared wasn’t funny, neither was running from it. However, gratitude lanced through me because it led to our friendship. But I didn’t want to go down memory lane today. Not on such a perfect day. 

“Are you heading out?” Viv asked eventually and straightened slightly in her beach chair. “I swear it feels like we just got here.”

“That’s because,” Jayna said as she reached her foot over to Viv’s chair and gave her calf a nudge. “You fell asleep for half of it.”

Vivian stretched big and smiled wide. “It was wonderful. But if you’re leaving now we’ll miss out on your life updates.”

Sometimes—oftentimes—at least one of us had a social battery struggling for bars. When it came to that, we used Life Updates. They were simple, rapid fire, off-the-cuff sharing of work, family, and friends. It didn’t have to be in depth and we could always pass if we wanted, but it at least allowed for connection, even when we struggled.

“No, you won’t,” I said, shaking my head. “I can give ‘em to you fast right now. Work: I’m hearing rumors of a big project coming my way that could lead to a lucrative and longer term project. Family: my sister Clem won a play-in seat at the World Series of Poker in July in Vegas. Friends: housewarming party last night was a blast. Irredeemable embarrassing nightmare: I accidentally eavesdropped on a breakup…and got caught.”

Irredeemable embarrassing nightmare was not normally on the Life Update list.

Vivian and Jayna stared at me, then slowly at each other. When they turned back, it was with a burst of laughter.

“I’m not sure what I want to hear about first,” Vivian said, and although her face was straight, her voice dripped with laughter.

Jayna practically vibrated with interest. “Definitely the embarrassing nightmare. Whose breakup?” She visibly stopped herself. “No, work first. Congratulations on the job, that sounds exciting.”

My real full-time job was in translation: Japanese to English and vice versa for a publishing company based in New York. It was the best job I’d ever had because it paid enough for me to live well, required me to use my college degree, and it was different each day because of the projects. The work no longer caused me additional anxiety because I learned to manage my workload and my boss trusted my discretion for working hours. I had time to chase waves and occasionally cover classes. It was rare for Chris to ask that of me, but in the five years we’d known each other, I’d probably done it a dozen times or so. It was nice…and not. It always felt like a real opening for friendship, but from experience: it never ended that way. 

“Thanks,” I said, but since I’d emphasized the eavesdropping thing, that’s clearly what they were waiting for. “It was at the housewarming party. Eavesdropping on the friend-not-friend I have. He totally caught me.”

“You should just apologize,” Jayna said with a shrug as she sat up fully. “What happened, happened. You know, maybe comfort him: it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”

I scoffed so hard at her advice I nearly fell over.

“Screw that.” Viv said, beating me to a response as she turned to Jayna. “She’s talking about the surfer dude who never gives her the time of day.” 

I wouldn’t have phrased it like that.

“Oh,” Jayna said and considered that. Her bright voice didn’t change in tone. “Yeah, don’t apologize. Lord it over his head. Make him suffer.”

Laughter bubbled through me. “I love you guys.”

“We love you too,” Jayna said. “What else are you doing this weekend?”

“Are you begging me to take the kids again?” I laughed and dug my feet into the sand, so they were completely covered.

“If you’re willing,” Viv said.

“Sorry, not today,” I said with a shake of my head as I got to my feet. “I need to get going. For the work stuff, I want to make sure I have all of my other projects in a good spot.”

“Boo,” Viv said, but she stood as well to give me a hug. “Thanks for helping the kids with surfing again.”

I looked toward the ocean where Derek and Willow were splashing each other. Teaching them to surf was supposed to be a healing process for me as much as a helpful gesture for my friends. But as of late, it had started to feel like a crutch, like something I couldn’t let go of. Dad had taught me to surf and as Clem had pointed out, he’d now been gone almost twenty years. There was nothing left, but fading memories and surf lessons.

“Of course,” I said, refocusing and trying not to feel useless. “They’re actually really good, I honestly don’t think they even need me anymore.”

I accepted Viv and Jayna’s hugs and headed up the beach to my car, surfboard under my arm, wetsuit slung over my shoulder. 

After forcing myself to change into real-people clothes, shorts and a tank top, I threw all my gear in the car and secured my surfboard on the roof. On my way home, I stopped a few blocks short, at my favorite coffee shop. Since I’d already been hella productive, I rewarded myself with a chocolate monstrosity that somehow also passed as coffee.

As I was waiting for my drink, I stared at my phone, debating whether or not to issue a real apology to Chris. Texting him was almost as bad as talking to him in person, and frankly, I didn’t want to. And maybe that made me a coward, but goddamn it, I could live with that.

“Oreo.” The purple-haired barista read. “Oreo.”

Instead of facepalming, I reached for my drink. There’s no way he actually thought that’s what my name was, but the confidence with which he said the word was impressive.

“It’s actually Oh-ray-lee-uh,” I said, catching his gaze and hoping if they ever ran into another poor soul with the same name, they might surprise them by pronouncing it correctly.

The barista shrugged, completely unembarrassed and turned away from me. I stared at my cup, surprised to see that even though they’d butchered the pronunciation, they’d spelled it correctly.

Taking a large sip of coffee for strength, I opened my phone again, clicking into the text chain between myself and Chris. The last time we messaged each other individually outside of the group texts was so far down my messages that I had to scroll to reach his name. The last thing we texted about? A perfectly cordial, perfectly curt carpooling message from three months ago.

And there were dozens of other conversations within the text chain that were now five years old mimicking the exact same thing. A few times to cover surfing lessons. The only other exceptions were literal condolences when my grandfather passed, and the same when his childhood dog died. Texting him first always left me feeling stupid and vulnerable, just like talking to him. His one-word answers and zero follow-up contrasted sharply to the way he treated our friends.

As I was trying to muster the courage for a text, I nearly dropped my phone when three dots appeared beside his name, and then stayed there for the next two minutes. I tried not to let it phase me, but as the seconds ticked by I grew increasingly stressed. 

Chris (11:56am): Can you cover a beginner’s surfing class for the school on Tuesday before your Japanese lesson with Theo? 6am

Was this a trap? To get me alone and accuse me of eavesdropping? I rubbed my face and debated a slap to get me to focus. If it weren’t for the eavesdropping fiasco, I’d have assumed he was just double booked.

Orelia (11:58am): Sure

I debated writing something else, and the three dots next to Chris’ name indicated he might’ve been considering the same. But five minutes later it became clear nothing else was coming. His three dots disappeared, and I knew I wouldn’t be getting another response, or a follow up. I nodded my head, put my phone in my back pocket and went home to work. And I definitely didn’t spend any more time worrying about my next interaction with Chris.  

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