Page 76 of This Is Who I Am

A silence settles in the room.

“Okay,” Suzy says after a beat. “Now someone please say something inappropriate so we can continue on a bright note.”

“I shaved my mustache for this,” a woman I haven’t met before remarks drily.

And just like that, we’re laughing again. Maybe Suzy was right and this group will actually help me—especially now that Estelle has gone.

CHAPTER36

ESTELLE

One of the things I miss the most, apart from the lovely people, is surfing in Clearwater Bay. I can surf in Berkeley, but I have a half-hour drive to get to a beach with waves I feel comfortable with as a novice, and it’s simply not the same.

There’s no Devon with encouraging words in the water. There’s no middle-aged ladies surf club with Sadie Ireland. There are no raucous drinks at The Bay afterward, followed by only a short stroll home.

It’s hard to believe how deep the place has sunk into my bones after only a few months. The placeandthe people.

Picking up my life in Berkeley is easier said than done because ninety percent of it revolved around the university I no longer work for. My friends are as busy as I used to be, running from classes to meetings to office hours to more meetings while life just passes them by.

I’ve been texting with Hunter and Bobby, trying to set up a weekend in San Francisco, but they always have something going on.

Every time I go to a restaurant, I think of Savor and I think of Cass even more than usual. Her final words are like an echo in my brain and I’ve had to ask myself whether I really am a coward. Whether I should have given us another chance—something I was open to before she slept with Sadie’s former makeup artist. Before she made it clear what she really wanted.

I’ve been back almost three weeks and every day I’m hit with the disconcerting sensation that this town, where I spent most of my life, no longer feels like home. I miss Clearwater Bay—the people, the place, the surf—so much more than I thought I would. Turns out, moving on didn’t just equal moving back here.

My phone chimes with a message from Bobby, who texts me almost every day.

It’s a picture of a rocking chair he made with the message:

What do you think? Suitable for Suzy’s fiftieth?

With a much-needed smile on my face—messages from Bobby always have this effect on me—I text back that it’s stunning, just like its maker.

He texts back almost immediately with a picture of himself in full party get-up: a hot pink tuxedo with satin lapels, sheer shirt underneath, and enough sparkle to make RuPaul weep.

The big do is this Saturday at Savor. Do I look the part or do I look the part?

I message back that I’m speechless and we go back and forth for a while and all I can think of is how much I’d like to be at Suzy’s birthday party. How much fun it would be to see them all in their glad rags, chattering away, being merry, drinking too much. To see Suzy in her element as the belle of the ball. To see Cass…

But I’m no longer invited to the party.

I keep staring at Bobby’s messages, as though if I look at them long enough, I’ll miraculously be invited again. Or that he’ll send me another message that says:Estelle, please come. We miss you. Cass misses you.But life’s not like that. I know that much.

I toss my phone on the couch. The silence in my apartment is too loud. I haven’t played music in days because every song seems to remind me of Cass somehow. Even the instrumental playlist I used to swear by while cooking—in order to focus on the food and not be distracted by too absorbing lyrics—somehow conjures up the image of her in the Savor kitchen, sleeves rolled up, chef’s hat tall on her head, joy written all over her face as she taste-tested something off a spoon and asked me, “Tell me honestly, babe. Does it need more sass or just a little more Cass?”

How I miss her.

And not just her. I miss Suzy’s unfiltered honesty. Hunter’s one-liners. Bobby’s outrageous commentary. How Sadie, just with her presence, made balancing on a board in the water so much easier.

In Berkeley, everything feels flat. Like I’m living in a paused scene, and someone forgot to hit play again. I’m so tired of pausing.

Maybe that’s what cowardice really is—letting yourself linger in safe, familiar stillness instead of taking a leap into the messy unknown. Maybe Cass was right, after all.

I pick my phone back up. I open Bobby’s message again and stare at the words:

The big do is this Saturday at Savor.

No one explicitly uninvited me, nor told me to stay away. Maybe the only person keeping me from going… is me.

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