Page 97 of Backslide
Welp. They tried to tell us.
Noah scratches at the back of his neck, visions of sleeping in his rental car no doubt dancing in his head. “Is there anywhere nearby to stay?”
“There’s Dillon Beach Resort just a few minutes from here. I can’t guarantee they’ll have a room, but it’s not quite high season, so maybe? I’d offer you a bed here, but I’ve got family in town and we’re all filled up. Unless you want to sleep with the goats.”
A bed. As inone. Singular.
I guess Maggie has assumed we’re a couple. And why not? But still, even the suggestion has me avoiding Noah’s eyes.
Regardless, this is not an option. And I do not want to sleep with the goats. I picture myself curled up in hay under the red incubation lights. Suddenly, Humbug and his friends seem slightly less cute.
“Okay,” Noah says. “We’ll try Dillon Beach.”
“But what about the cheese?” I ask, trying not to think about the reality of what is essentially a night away with him—to keep thepanic out of my voice. “What about the oysters? There’s really no way to get back?”
“It’s not too hot,” Maggie says, an understatement. Suddenly, it is bone-chilling. “I think the oysters and cheese will be fine. I’ll pack the coolers with extra ice. As for whether you’re really stuck… I’m afraid so.”
I push the thought of a night with Noah out of my mind. I can keep it together, keep my hands to myself for one night. Not subject myself to more potential disappointment. I got this.Do I got this?
The truth is, I have to keep it together. Because, while Noah has been teasing a bit, I know he would flirt with a cement pole if it stopped in front of him. He’s always been that way, just charming and radiating warmth. (Well, when he’s not being a pain in the ass.) He put a stop to what was happening in the hot tub. Out of wisdom, I now believe. So, if he has self-control—if he’s maybe not even super tempted anyway—then I can surely handle this, too.
I mean, how sex-deprived am I? Mental note: If I ever make it home, I need to get out more.
We thank Maggie and ready to get on our way. While she adds extra ice to the coolers, Noah tries calling the hotel up the coast, but there’s no answer. We will have to roll the dice.
Consummate hosts, Maggie and one of her farmhands walk us to our car. The umbrellas have gone from helpful to a nice gesture, purely symbolic. The rain is blowing sideways. My feet are sloshing in my sandals. I am a drowned rat.
Thanking them, we climb inside the Jeep’s warm embrace and then, at the last minute, I roll down my window a fraction. “Maggie!” I shout over the drumming of the rain against the windshield. “What’s the black baby goat’s name?”
“Mike,” she shouts back and keeps on walking.
Despite our current predicament, I cannot stop laughing.
Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe it’s nerves. Maybe it’s the way Noah’s right eyebrow dips when he’s surly.
But I cannot stop pushing that button.
“Maybe it’s a sign,” I say, grinning. “That Mike and I are meant to be.”
“Meant to be what?”
“Meant to live out a quiet life of oyster farming and oyster shucking and oyster eating in West Marin, of course.”
“There might actually be worse things,” he concedes. “Minus the Mike part.”
“But Mike is the whole game!”
Noah frowns. “Mike isn’t the whole anything.”
“Hmm. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re jealous.”
“I am,” he says. “Of Mike’s attention. Why didn’t he teach me to shuck too?” He smirks at me and then glues his eyes back on the road.
It is truly torrential. And I should stop needling Noah since we’re driving down perilous roads during a perilous storm. The trees are drooping with the weight of the water, swaying with fatigue. The tall grass is getting a beatdown, the wooden fence posts teetering. But I figure I’m keeping it light.
I am airy. Breezy. Not freaking the fuck out.
I don’t love the feeling of being trapped in general, and it doesn’t help that I’m alone with Noah, carrying this slightly punchy energy—somewhere on the spectrum between goofy and breakdown. I have had more than one vision of us slipping down a mountainside to our sure death in some disaster-movie-style mudslide. But it’s been such a relaxing and delightful day, such a pressure-free break from all the things (despite the fact that I brought a major source of my stress along), that I’m almost game for whatever comes next.
