Page 24 of The Last Sunrise

“I wish I would have worn a swimsuit. I’m dying to swim.” I sigh, debating just how annoying it would be to wear heavy, soaked jeans and top on the bike back to my hotel.

Then again, this is Europe, and there’s not a soul here on the beach to see me. Except Julián, who’s clearly used to going to nude beaches and has seen many, many, many women naked. I won’t be fully nude anyway, just in a shirt and panties. Of course, I wore the most boring panties I own, and I’m not wearing a bra for once. I have the urge to slap myself at the thought of caring what he thinks about my panties.

I shimmy out of my jeans, watching him like a hawk for a reaction, but there isn’t one. Not even a glance my way afterhe realizes what I’m doing. I toss my pants next to Julián’s shirt and my purse and try to untie the laces that Amara tied around my waist. The knot is too tight, and my nails are too short to get it to budge. Leaving it, I go back to the edge of the water and slip in. Julián’s about ten feet farther out than me, the moonlight shining off his bare shoulders and broad back. I walk out toward him, surprised how shallow the water is as I walk.

“Does it feel like a dream to live here?” I ask, breaking the silence between us.

“No. But if I were only here for a holiday, it likely would.”

Okay, so we’re back to being combative…

He seems to notice my defensiveness.

“Not talking about you,” he explains. “Just in general. Our island is suffering from the tourists, but on the other hand it’s surviving because of them. It’s a double-edged sword. Most of our working class can barely afford to keep their homes due to the land value increasing. The pollution, the cultural shift, it’s not very dreamlike.”

“I’m sorry. Not for asking, but for what’s happening. I guess when your livelihood depends on an industry that’s harming it, it’s not all sunny days, warm water, and yummy food.”

“Not at all. But hey, I’m healthy, my pare—that’s my dad—is healthy, and our business hasn’t been shut down.” Sighing, he adds “yet” tacked on to the end, making it known there’s something more to say. But he didn’t mention his mom, and I’ve been intrusive enough for now.

“And you? What’s it like where you’re from? I’m sure your life is night-and-day different from mine. I can tell by your clothes alone.” It’s his turn to ask a question, wrapped in an assumption.

The water is steady, the waves gentle, as if they’ve settled only to allow us to have a conversation in front of them.

“It’s boring. Everything is the same… day in and day out. I feel privileged and bratty saying that to you when you’re dealing with bigger things, but I’m so tired of being bored and lifeless. No passion, nothing to look forward to. Life feels like one endless loop of the same mundane day.”

“Everyone has a reason to have their own perspective on life. Rich girls can be sad too.” He grins. His response is understanding and not judgmental. Who would have thought he had it in him?

“Rich girls can be sad too,” I repeat. “I should put that on a T-shirt.” I laugh, imagining it going ironically viral online.

“See, you Americans, always stealing ideas and colonizing…”

“Hey, I took European history. Spanish people also colonized.” I splash a bit of water toward him, and he laughs, a sound I haven’t heard from him yet.

I’ve heard his sarcastic laugh, his annoyed laugh, his trying-to-hold-back laugh, but this one feels deeper, more real, like I can reach out and touch it.

“Fine. Fine. What do you do for work?” he asks.

I push through the embarrassment as I respond. “I don’t… I was in a local dance academy and had to leave… Then I got into a program for business just to have something to do to kill time, but honestly, I’ve never worked. Even when I wanted to, my mom wouldn’t let me, and even though she travels all the time, she would immediately find out. I always have keepers checking on me, so school was my only escape. But I don’t even know if I want to go back to school, which is causing a lotof tension between my mom and me. I know how spoiled that sounds, but that’s my story.”

I hesitate to drag my eyes to him, fully expecting some sarcastic and judgy comment, but it doesn’t come. I can’t bare the silence.

“What? You don’t have anything mean to say about me never working a day in my life?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. Not this time,” he says, disappearing as he dives under the water.

A distant beeping noise stops me in my tracks, and I realize it’s my phone. My alarm for my medication. I rush to the shore and grab my phone with wet hands, shutting the alarm off. I have a few texts from my mom and a missed call and text from Amara. I text them both, telling them I’m fine and safe, informing my mom I’ll see her at breakfast and promising to call Amara in the morning.

I leave Julián out of both conversations for two opposite reasons. I don’t want Amara to come here during my alone time with him. The realization of that makes me feel guilty and a little confused, but when I look out at the water and Julián, I can’t deny it. I’m increasingly attracted to him, and even though it won’t go anywhere or matter by the time the sun comes up, I want every second of alone time with this man I can get.

“Everything okay?” he calls out, his voice echoing through his cupped hands.

“Yeah! Just my mom and Amara, making sure I’m alive.”

He stands up and walks toward me, leaving the ocean behind him. “How old are you anyway?” he questions from a few meters away.

“Twenty-three. My birthday was last month. Why do you ask? How old are you?”

“I asked because you’ve mentioned your mom a lot and I started to get worried that I kidnapped a minor.”

---