Page 60 of Is This for Real?
Rory backs away, hands up. “Don’t shoot. I come in peace.”
“Scary, isn’t it?” I ask. I don’t understand how he looks so good in pink cleaning gloves and a frilly apron embroidered with “Super Mom.” I should continue cleaning the tub and take a cold shower.
“It’s good we already ate our breakfast,” he says.
He disappears back to his bathroom, and I finish mine. It is quite a satisfying experience to make it sparkle.
We compliment each other on our shiny bathrooms and then head to the bedrooms. They’re easier. We strip all the beds, wash the linens, dust, vacuum, and mop. And then close the bedroom doors. Now it’s just the top floor with the kitchen, living room, and dining area.
“Let’s do the rest tomorrow since we’re still using this area and bring in the Sunfish from the bay,” I say. We eat a quick lunch. It has stopped raining, but it’s still cloudy. Rory checks the weather forecast.
“Why don’t we go sailing? It looks clear for the next two hours. No thunder or lightning,” Rory says. Rory is an avid sailor. He and his dad sail a J-24 up in Maine at their cabin.
“That will be fun—unless the water is freezing. But I saw wet suits in the closet.”
We suit up and bicycle down to the bay with our life jackets, the rudder, and the daggerboard.
The bay water is cold, but not yet unbearable.
We lift the boat off the wooden rack and slide it into the water. As the wind grabs the sail, we jump in. I handle the daggerboard while Rory takes the tiller—the long handle that steers the rudder. The wind is strong, and we tack out to the little islands in the middle of the bay. A Sunfish is small for two adults, so we’re tight together.
“Coming about,” Rory says. We both duck low, heads bent as the sail passes over our heads, and the boat switches directions. My body is right next to Rory’s, our legs scrunched up in the cockpit.
Rory catches my glance; he has a huge grin on his face.
“I love sailing,” he says.
“Me, too.” A seagull cries out.
The air smells of seawater and fresh wind.
“Does Theresa sail?”
“Yes.”
We sail ashore at one of the islands. It’s mostly mucky marsh, so we just sit on a slim stretch of sandy beach for a bit, looking out over the bay in front of us, with Fire Island across. Rory leans back, stretching his feet out.
“It’s good to get away from it all,” he says.
“Yes,” I say. “You know, Olivia didn’t think we were dating.”
“Why did Olivia not believe we were dating?”
“We seemed on edge around each other.” I’m not going to say that I didn’t look at him like I’ve slept with him. There’s nothing we can do to address that. I let the sand sift through my fingers. It’s cool to the touch.
“Maybe I wasn’t caveman enough when Jamie was hitting on you,” Rory says.
“He wasn’t hitting on me. He was just being more flirtatious than usual.”
Rory raises an eyebrow at me. “I’m not inviting any random woman to choose a dog with me.”
“It could have been in my professional capacity as a dog boarder. But no, you’re right.”
“And why do you think your sister brought up the pictures?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she was trying to encourage Jamie since she didn’t think we were dating.”
“Or make me jealous. You haven’t done any pictures of me,” he says. He almost sounds jealous.
