Page 67 of Is This for Real?
“But then best friends can’t ever turn into lovers?” My shoulders slump.
“Are we still talking about Jamie?” Zelda gives me a knowing look. “I’m saying that was the case for Jamie. Rory is a different story.”
He is.
I’d been holding on to this story of Jamie as my soul mate because he connected me to my parents. But that’s just a myth. Dating Jamie is not going to bring me any closure on the death of my parents. That’s something I have to find on my own. But I feel like I’m getting closer, now that I recognize that Jamie isn’t the partner for me.
Rory is the one who appreciates me just as I am. And I don’t want to be holding back my emotions, afraid of censure, nor do I want to keep wrestling with these past regrets. I need to open up more to Rory, and, once the book is done, tell him how I feel. I have to trust my judgment.
Chapter twenty-one
Iamagluttonfor punishment. I can’t believe I suggested to Rory that we do something romantic. I’m standing at Chelsea Piers by the Hudson River, waiting for him. We’re about to take a city lights night sail on the 105-foot, three-masted, SchoonerAmerica 2.0with live jazz. The three sails and the jib of the beautiful boat are billowing in the wind. Small waves are lapping against the hull while the onboard jazz band is warming up their instruments.
Rory appears with a backpack. “I brought dessert.”
“So did I.” I hold up a box of Levain Bakery cookies.
“Great minds think alike.” He opens his knapsack to show me a box of beignets. “We’ll be okay, then, if we get shipwrecked.”
“As long as the other passengers don’t see our contraband,” I say.
“We can take them,” he says. “Just use those skills you showed me during our snowball fight.” We walk across the plank to board the boat. We take our seats along the side.
The Boat Band, a jazz trio, is playing“I Thought About You,” “No More Blues,” “Autumn Leaves,” and “Along Came Betty.”
There's a breeze. Rory breathes in the air beside me and says, "That's one of my favorite things about New York City, that we're so close to the water."
"Did you really go surfing this morning?" I ask. Rory had texted me a picture of him surfing this morning.
"Yes, the guys said that the waves were great yesterday, and I figured I could still get back to work by 10:00. I didn't have any morning meetings."
"What do you like about surfing?"
"I like being in the water. And when you catch a wave, it's the most exhilarating feeling. It's such a rush of adrenaline. But even when you're waiting, I don't know. I get some of my best ideas sitting out there on my board. I feel like it gives me balance. I can get really caught up in work, and it gives me perspective. If I miss a wave, I will catch another. And I like the camaraderie."
I nod.
We sip our complimentary glasses of champagne as the boat sets sail down the Hudson River, passing Battery Park, toward Ellis Island. Seagulls swoop, the Staten Island Ferry passes us, and the salt air washes away my stress. I lean back against the wooden ship. The sun begins to set. Rays of pink, orange, and light blue streak across the sky as if exploding in joy, while an egg-yolk sun slips down under the horizon.
As dusk creeps in, the lights of the city shine like fireflies in the night. I lean my head against Rory’s shoulder, and he puts his arm around me, warming me. Nobody knows us here, so we’re not faking it. This is real. But I don’t dare disturb the equilibrium to express my feelings in words to Rory. This is enough for now. Just being together in the moment, not the future. It’s more than enough for now.
Chapter twenty-two
It’sSaturday,andJamie’sover helping me with my website. He’s sitting at my desk. I’ve pulled up one of the dining room chairs next to him to watch what he does so I can do it myself if it needs fixing. We’re chaperoned by Goldie, who is spread out on the bed, sleeping.
“I’m impressed,” he says. “I don’t think you really needed me to get this done.”
“That took me several hours of watching YouTube videos. It was painful and I gave up. You’re almost done, and you’ve been here for an hour.”
“You should’ve asked me earlier.”
“Yes,” I say. I should have, but I was worried it might stir old feelings. But it just feels like old friends between us. There are no sparks; it’s nothing like what I feel with Rory.
I check my email as he works. Trilby, my favorite teacher, posted comments on my opening five pages ofFake Dating Folly.I’m taking her online class, “Your First Five Pages.” She writes:“Okay. First two sentences. Gripping. I’m THERE. But then you start explaining in a long, convoluted sentence. Trust the reader.”
I barely trust myself.
Jamie is peering closely at the computer, typing away. I can’t believe I don’t feel anything—except fondness. He’s muttering to himself about widgets.
