Page 26 of Britta & the Beach Boy
“Another time. They’re rellies of Georgia and Cassie. You’ll like them.”
For a second Rhys looks like he might change his mind, but he changes the subject instead. “Did you get the tunes I sent you? For meditation?”
“Yeah. I used them this morning. They worked until I let McVey throw me off.”
“What was McVey doing there?” Even separated by a screen and thousands of miles, I see Rhys’s eyes go dark.
“Same as always. Stirring up trouble.”
While I tell Rhys what happened, Britta gets her own call. She turns her back to me, and I can’t hear her over Rhys, but I keep an eye on her.
Georgia didn’t say specifically why she wanted me to keep an eye on Britta, but Georgia mentioned to me once in Paradise that I’d made Britta smile for the first time since losing her mum. Isuspect that’s what she wants me to do while Britta’s here—get her smiling again.
So, when Britta’s shoulders drop, I have a hard time focusing on what Rhys is saying. I want to make sure she’s okay.
After a fewuh huhsto what I’m only half-listening to,Archie motions our table is ready.
I interrupt Rhys. “We’re grabbing some lunch. Thanks for calling, mate.”
“Kill it tomorrow, dude. You can do it.”
We end the call, and I hold open the door for Stella and Britta. As Britta passes, I ask, “Everything okay at home? Your dad all right?”
“Yeah, he’s good. There’re some problems with the construction onBritta’s, but I’m sure that will be taken care of.” Her expression doesn’t hide the worry that her voice tries to cover.
But then she brightens. “Nothing I can’t handle, though.”
I squint, trying to determine if she really believes that, but she schools her face into a big, but empty, smile before I can.
“Did it help to talk to Rhys? That was nice of him to call. Does he always do that before your competitions?” She peppers me with questions that don’t leave any room for my own questions about whether she really is okay.
I get the feeling this isn’t the first time she’s evaded concerns about herself by plowing the questioner in the opposite direction. In fact, as I think about it, she did it atBritta’sonce when a customer asked if Britta missed her mom.
Britta answered with a smile and a,we all do, but we’re doing great. How’s your family?
At the time, I thought she was being strong, but now I wonder if evading and redirecting is a defense mechanism.
I’d know. I do the same thing when anyone asks what my plans are once my surfing career is over.
I want to ask Britta more about her coffee shop and whether she really is okay, but I don’t want to fill her with the kind of blinding dread and anxiety about the future that I get thinking about life after pro-surfing.
Beyond the coffee shop, I hope Britta has some sense that eventually she’ll be able to answer questions about her mum and what life looks like without her.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do that with pro-surfing. Partly because I love it as much as I do, but mostly because it’s all I know how to do.
The thing with chasing a dream as big as being the best surfer in the world is that surfing is the thing I’ve spent my life focusing on. Not school, not vocational training, not a future that doesn’t involve surfing. I’ve spent the last twelve years chasing nothing but waves.
Dad always said that kind of single-mindedness was exactly why I would be the best. I believed him for a long time. But the older I get, the more I can’t keep from worrying about what happens if I’m not the best.
Not if.When.It’s inevitable. I’ve been up and down the rankings so many times. Even if I beat all the odds and win the WSL Championship this year, it could be my first and only win.
Being around Britta makes that even clearer. She hasBritta’s,Paradise, and her family. She knows where she fits. She knows what her future looks like.
And maybe I like that the one thing she knows nothing about is the one thing I do know. When I talk about surfing, she looks at me like I’m smart. Like I actually know things.
I’m not smart, I didn’t go to uni. If a conversation doesn’t involve the ocean or surfing, I have little to say. Britta will find that out soon enough, but I think I’d like to see as much of her as possible until she does.
So, I guess I’ll ride this wave until it gets frothy and hope I don’t get too hurt when her time in LA is over.
