Pulled Under

I try to extend this emotion when we finish, so I tell him that I’m taking him out for lunch to celebrate his success. When he says that he really should get to work, I say, “I won’t take no for an answer.”

This is me being bold. This is also me being stupid, because he really does have a lot of work to do. We’re only a few bites into our pizza when he gets an angry phone call from his uncle, wondering why he’s late for work. Lunch ends abruptly and this blah vibe carries over into everything we do for the next few days. I pick a movie for us to see and it’s terrible. I arrange a picnic on his lunch break and we get rained out. And unlike the movies, there’s no romantic gazebo to hide under. Karma is doing everything it can to keep us apart.

On Tuesday we hit rock bottom.

Ben arrives at Surf Sisters with the summer campers, but we can’t let any of them in the water because there’s a rip current. It’s hard because everything looks fine on the surface of the water and the kids don’t understand. This makes them cranky, and when I try to convert the lesson so that it works on the beach, it all falls flat. Their bad mood boils over into mine, and I wrap up the lesson a half hour early.

“We’re done?” Ben asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve stretched it out as much as I can without going in the water.”

“What am I supposed to do with them?” he asks. “The van won’t be here to pick them up for another thirty minutes.”

I’m sure that I will look back on this moment as a lost opportunity. But my funk keeps me from coming up with any creative solution to the problem. So, instead of saying, “We can go shell hunting,” or something like that, I say, “I’m sure you’ll figure out something.”

He shakes his head and asks, “Why are you being this way?”

“Because I can’t change the ocean current,” I snap. “And I can’t magically put kids in a good mood. And I sure can’t seem to make you happy about anything.”

It is totally irrational, and I can’t believe it as I hear the words come out of my mouth. But that’s what I say. I can’t really read Ben’s reaction. I’m not sure if he’s angry or just confused, but I am totally off the rails. Luckily, Sophie has come down to help with the lesson, and she distracts the kids before they get to watch me break down.

“Who do you think can build a better sand castle?” she says. “The boys? Or the girls?”

The kids all shout, and within thirty seconds Sophie has them split into two groups who are happily building away. Fearful that I might start crying in front of everybody, I say a quick good-bye and head up to the shop. This is strategic on my part because I know that Ben can’t leave the kids, so he won’t be able to follow me.

I hide out in the shop’s storeroom for about twenty minutes and make it back down just as they’re finishing. The sand castles look great, and the kids are having a wonderful time. I’m really disappointed that I acted the way I did. I feel like I let them down. Ben walks up to me, and I still can’t read his face.

“I’m really sorry,” I say, convinced that it’s too little too late.

“Me too,” he replies.

There’s an awkward silence.

“Do you want to do something tonight?” I ask, half prepared to hear him say that he doesn’t ever want to do something with me.

“Sure,” he says. “Whatever you want.”

I am so not good at this. Considering my current track record of bad ideas, I decide to stop with the boldness.

“I want you to pick,” I say. “None of my ideas seem to be working out too well lately.”

He gives me a little smile. “The picnic almost worked out.”

“You mean except for the thunderstorm.”

“Yeah, but the sub sandwich tasted good. Wet . . . but good.”

It feels nice to joke, even a little bit. “Still, I’ll let you pick. Surprise me.”

He nods. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

The ultimate surf maneuver is to ride inside the barrel or tube of a wave. It’s super difficult, especially here in Florida where there aren’t usually waves big enough, but when you do it, you are surrounded by water collapsing on you from all sides. Your only hope is to keep aiming for the light at the end of the barrel where you come back out again. That’s how I’m feeling about things with Ben. Everything is collapsing around me, but I’m still aiming for that light, still hoping to ride this wave all the way in to the shore.

Since I don’t know what he’s got pla

“You look great,” he says.

“Thanks,” I reply. “Is this appropriate for where we’re going?”

“That all depends. Can you dance in it?”

Dancing. I like it already. I should always let him decide what we’re doing.

“I can dance in anything,” I say with some surprising confidence. “Where are we going dancing?”

“There’s a party down the beach.”

Suddenly my mood drops.

“Whose party?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” he says. “Kayla promised that it was going to be huge and fun.”

“Kayla?” I say, trying to control my anger. “Seriously?”

He looks utterly confused by my reaction. “Is that a problem? She invited us to a party, and I thought it would be fun.”

“Kayla didn’t invite us to a party. She invited you to a party because she likes you. She saw me have a breakdown today at camp and probably figures she’s in the perfect position to swoop right in.”

“No,” he says, completely oblivious. “She knows you’re coming with me. I thought you would like this.”

“Why on earth would I like this?”

Is it possible that he doesn’t know that Kayla and I are mortal enemies?

“You said you never get invited to these parties. I thought you might like to go to one and meet some new people.”

I’m trying to keep my voice down so my parents don’t hear, and as I take a deep breath, I realize why he went for this.

“Is that what this is about? You want me to meet people?”

“I don’t see why that’s a bad thing.”

“I don’t want your charity,” I reply. “I don’t need you to find people for me to hang out with once you’re gone.”

“It’s not charity.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I have in fact met all of these people? It’s not that big an island. I’ve grown up with them, and they never became my friends. That’s not going to magically change because they see me arrive at a party with you. They might be nice to me while you’re around, but they’ll be making fun of me the second we leave.”

None of this has occurred to him, and I see him trying to make sense of what I’m saying.

“It’s just a party,” he says. “You said you wanted me to surprise you.”

“Well, you certainly did that.”

“We can just drop by and then do something else.”

“You still want to drop by?” I reply, incredulous.

“I don’t want to be rude. I told Kayla I’d go.”

“Oh, yes. Let’s make sure we look out for her feelings and not mine.”

“Fine,” he says. “We won’t drop by. We can do something else.”

“No,” I say. “I don’t feel like doing anything. You go to the party. You have fun. Meet all the people you want. I just want to stay home. Alone.”

It’s at this point that I think we might be breaking up. It is excruciating and painful and more than I can bear.

“Okay,” he says. “I really am sorry.”

There is a hesitation, and for an instant I think he can save the moment. I don’t know what he could do, but I know I don’t want it to continue this way. I look at him with sad eyes and wait for him to say something. Anything. But he doesn’t. He bites his lower lip for a second, and then he turns and walks away.