Page 16 of This Is Who I Am

Maybe things can be different with Cass. But I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. Either way, I have another scrumptious dinner to look forward to tomorrow.

* * *

The waves are small and not too wild this morning—perfect for a beginner—but I’m still convinced I’ll make a fool of myself. My body feels sluggish, heavy with last night’s booze and thoughts I haven’t been able to shake off. The things Cass told me and the things I didn’t say.

My stomach tightens at the memory, and not just from the hangover. She laid herself bare, and what did I do? I sat there like a statue, my words trapped behind years of carefully constructed walls.

I paddle out, determined to focus, but my mind keeps replaying the way she looked at me, and what she said.

I settle onto my board, legs dangling in the cool water as I draw in a deep breath. The salt air stings my lungs, sharp but insufficient to slice through the fog in my head.

“You’re overthinking it,” a voice calls from nearby.

I glance over to see Sadie Ireland paddling toward me, a knowing grin on her face.

“You don’t know what I’m thinking,” I counter.

Sadie flows onto her board in one fluid motion, water streaming from her shoulders. “Fair enough, but I still know you’re overthinking it. I can tell.”

Before I can protest, another surfer glides up beside her. Her wife, Devon. I know her from the tabloid pictures from a few years ago of Sadie Ireland kissing another woman on this very beach.

Sadie nods toward her.

“Dev, this is Estelle. She took my surfing class this week.”

Devon studies me. “How’s it going?”

“I try,” I say on a sigh.

Devon smirks. “That’s your first mistake.”

Sadie laughs. “She’s right. You don’t try, you just do. The ocean doesn’t care how hard you’re thinking about it.”

Easy for them to say. They make it look effortless, all muscle and grace, their movements second nature in a way mine will never be. I adjust my position on the board, trying not to look as unsure as I feel.

Devon watches me for a second, then gestures to the waves rolling in behind us. “Next one’s yours.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know?—”

“Exactly.” She paddles a little closer, balancing on her board like it’s an extension of herself. “When you feel the wave catch you, just pop up. Don’t hesitate.”

“And if you wipeout,” Sadie adds. “No big deal. Just get back on the board and go again.”

Their confidence in me is baffling. But maybe I just need to borrow a little of it. I take a deep breath, reposition myself, and start paddling as the next wave rises behind me.

“Now!” Devon shouts.

I push up too slowly, too hesitantly, and the wave surges past, leaving me wobbling awkwardly before I topple into the water.

When I surface, Sadie is grinning. “Not bad.”

Devon chuckles. “Not good, either.”

I huff out a laugh, brushing wet hair from my face. “Again?”

Sadie winks. “That’s the spirit.”

By the time I catch a wave—really catch it, even if only for a few exhilarating seconds—my arms are burning, my legs unsteady, and my lungs full of the salt-bright air. But I do it. I stand. Wobbly, barely in control, but upright. And for that fleeting moment that the ocean carries me, nothing else matters.

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