by Jo Watson
“You know what your problem is? You lack confidence. This Matt arsehole didn’t notice you for three years, which, by the way, I find extremely hard to fathom, and now you think you’re not noticeable.”
A tightness formed in my chest and all I managed was a slight nod. Nail on head. Talk about hitting it. That was exactly how I’d felt for a while now. Somewhat invisible and not worth noticing. Suddenly, Alex looked around and then stood up.
“Come, the lighting is perfect, let’s go be smoking and sexy and overly happy.” He extended his hand for me to take, the green ribbon looked so prominent on his finger. “Bring that cocktail too. Nothing screams ‘over you’ like a cocktail in hand.”
“Okay. Fine.” I picked the cocktail up and slipped my hand gently into his. He pulled me out the chair with a gentle tug. God, his hand was really very smooth, and so soft. Wasn’t there a saying about surgeon’s hands? “Where are we going?”
“Well, nothing screams ‘over you’ like a beach either.” He led me by the hand to the beach and when we got there, he looked around thoughtfully.
“The sea in background, or the beach in background, or, shall we frolic in the waves?” he asked seriously.
I burst out laughing again. “We might as well go full cheese and frolic in the waves.”
“With our cocktails in hand,” he added quickly, striding towards the sea. It was that beautiful time just before evening, when the light was at its most vivid. This evening it was a bright, warm orange. We walked into the sea, which was warm and still. Calm. I was wearing a simple, knee-length beachy dress and Alex was wearing shorts, so we couldn’t wade in too far. Once we were knee-deep he turned to me and pulled his phone out.
“Okay, frolic.” He waved his hand around like he was directing me.
“Frolic?” I laughed. “How the hell do you do that?”
“Splash some water around and throw your head back while you laugh uncontrollably because you’re having the best day of your life!”
“This is ridiculous, you know that, right?” I shook my head and rolled my eyes. “This isn’t going to work.”
“You’re right. Wait there!” Suddenly, Alex was running off towards the beach and waving down a passing couple. I watched as he talked to them for a while and then gave them his phone. He ran back and motioned for me to turn around and face the photographers.
“What did you say to them?” I asked.
“That we’re on our honeymoon and very in love and need some photos.”
“Oh, God. This is so embarrassing.” I held my head in my hands.
“I know!” he acknowledged with a grin that looked caught somewhere between embarrassment and excitement. “We’ll both frolic together now.”
“Fine,” I said, feeling sheepish and embarrassed as hell, but hey, if this was going to help me get over Matt, then so be it.
“Smile and hold your drink up,” he ordered, as he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me closer. My body flinched in response. The other thing I’d noticed about Alex in the short time I’d known him was that he was very comfortable with touching, which he always initiated. Not in a creepy way, but he wasn’t afraid to put his arm around my shoulders or my waist. It was nice. I’d put so much thought and effort into trying to touch Matt over the years; accidental leg brushes, arm bumps, deliberate leans and hugs that lingered. And each time I did it, I’d hold my breath with anticipation hoping and wishing that this would be the time that the lean turned into more. But it never did. So there was something nice about this easy, relaxed, no-strings touching.
The couple on the beach indicated to us that they were ready to take the shot. I struck a totally lame pose, one that was meant to give off the vibe that I was sooo over it and having the best time of my life. But as I did, without any warning and with seriously surprising strength, Alex scooped me up into his arms. I nearly lost grip of my drink and burst out laughing. Alex did too and suddenly we didn’t have to pretend we were having fun. He dipped me and I spilt my cocktail all over myself. I squealed in shock as the cold liquid and ice cubes hit me. Alex lost grip of me and I plummeted into the water below.
“Oh God,” I said, looking up at him, laughing from the shallow warm waters. “I can’t believe you did that.”
Alex was also laughing. He extended his hand for me and pulled me up with such force that I slammed into his chest. I was about to pull away when he wrapped his arms around me, I did the same and then whoosh, almost with that actual sound, we both fell into a strange, quiet moment. We looked at each other, arms wrapped around each other tightly, and no one moved. A kind of bubble descended on us that seemed to make all the sights and sounds around more muted and subdued. This only seemed to highlight Alex even more, bringing him into clear focus until it felt like he was all I could see. And then, we both started smiling at each other. I didn’t really know why I was smiling, but it felt good. This bubble was only burst by the sounds of clapping coming from the shore.
I pulled away from Alex and looked towards the sound. I’d totally forgotten that we were being photographed.
“Brava!” one of the people shouted. I found myself blushing stupidly at this. We made our way back towards the beach and walked up to the couple.
“Thanks so much.” Alex took the camera back and immediately went to photos.
“It’s a pleasure,” the man said. They were an older couple, if I had to guess, I would have placed them in their mid-sixties.
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” the woman said with a smile.
“Enjoy what?” I asked.
“When it’s just the two of you and you’re very much in love. Soon the kids will come and then everything changes.” She gave us a nod.
“Kids?” I felt my eyes widen in shock.
“The honeymoon phase is a special one. Cherish it.” She put her hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “And you two look very in love.” And with that shocking statement, they turned and walked away.
Alex didn’t seem to have noticed the rather awkward conversation that had transpired, he was too busy flicking through the photos of us. Then suddenly, he stopped and gasped.
“What?” I asked, moving towards him.
“This has got to be the most romantic photo ever taken.” He held it up for me to look at and I had to agree with him.
The sun was setting behind us, the water was shimmering with an orange glow, and the two of us were silhouetted against it. It was like one of those photos you might find in an advert for a honeymoon destination, or on a postcard. It was one of the most romantic images I’d ever seen, and if I didn’t know the story behind it, I would have guessed that the couple in this photo were head-over-heels in love with each other.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“We have to post this one,” Alex said with a smile. “Hashtag definitely no filter.”
“Wait!” I stopped him. “No one will believe it’s real if we do. I mean . . .” I swallowed. “It kind of looks like we’re . . . in love, or something like that. It’s too much too soon.”
Alex looked back at the picture again. His demeanor changed somewhat as he inspected it quietly and thoughtfully. In the short time I’d known him, I’d gathered that he was a great thinker. I could see that he thought everything through. He obviously had a brilliant mind, I mean, he was a doctor after all. And then he started nodding, slowly.
“You’re right, we’ll save it for later.” His finger swished over the screen again, until he came to the shot of me free-falling into the water. “This one.” He held the phone up to me.
I laughed. It was a great action shot. I was falling, still clutching onto my cocktail, legs flapping, skirt billowing, genuinely laughing. Alex was also laughing while he reached a hand out to grab me.
“That’s a good one,” I said. We both began walking back to our table on the beach. I was wet, and before I could do anything about it, Alex ran off towards the pool area and grabbed a big towel. He sprinted back and wrapped it around
my shoulders. The kind gesture caught me off guard. He barely knew me and yet he was rushing around getting me towels and fixing my knees. He was a genuinely nice guy. If you had to describe Alex to anyone, the first thing you’d say was, “He’s such a nice guy.” God, his girlfriend must have been mad to let him slip through her fingers. But what’s that saying about nice guys always finishing last? Maybe he was too nice.
We sat back down, ordered another two pink cocktails, and Alex sent the photo to me.
“Where should we post this?” I asked.
“Mmmmm . . .” He lifted a finger to his lips. I smiled. He always seemed to put something to his lips when thinking. “Definitely Instagram, maybe Facebook too, or is that overkill?”
“It would be overkill if we changed it to our profile picture on Facebook,” I offered after some careful consideration. We were really taking this very seriously. Social media was no laughing matter, and defriending someone these days was as brutal as getting a divorce.
“Good point. But we agree to both Instagram and Facebook?” He looked up at me and raised a questioning eyebrow.
I nodded. “We agree.”
I went to my Instagram account and opened it, going straight to my profile in case my news feed had pictures I didn’t want to see. I pulled the picture up and looked at it.
“What filter are you using?” Alex looked up from his phone.
“Hashtag no filter,” I said with a smile as I typed that.
“Hashtag happiness?” he asked.
I nodded. “Hashtag beach vibes.”
“Hashtag happy hour,” Alex offered; we were both nodding and typing.
“Hashtag blessed!” I proclaimed, typing away with a smile, even though hashtag blessed was one of the most nauseating hashtags that had ever been invented. In fact, hashtags in general gave me a sense of uneasy cringe. But fuck it, I was going to hashtag the hell out of this.
“Hashtag happy life?” He stopped typing and looked at me.
We both burst out laughing at the same time. To be honest, as much as this was all truly ridiculous, because it was, I was having more fun than I’d had in a while. Maybe this break was exactly what I needed?
“And post it on five, four, three, two . . .” Alex started counting down and when he reached one, I pressed the post button and then started giggling uncontrollably. There was something so deliciously silly about this whole thing, and even if it didn’t have the desired effect—throwing the middle finger to our exes (not that Matt was technically my ex; well, I’d been in a relationship with him, even though he hadn’t with me)—I didn’t quite care at this stage. Three cocktails in, some sand and sun and someone to laugh with, I was starting to feel remarkably okay! I don’t think I had felt this okay in a very long time.
But my merriment stopped when Alex suggested we unfollow and unfriend them now. It felt like someone suddenly punched me in the gut. If I unfriended him and unfollowed him, I could no longer look through his photos. Something I did late at night when I felt like torturing myself. In those moments, I always knew I shouldn’t be looking, because the results were always the same—it inevitably made me feel like crap. Like a loser stalker. But as much as I told myself not to look, I always landed up doing it, like slowing down at the scene of an accident.
“Can I look through his pictures, one last time?” I asked, feeling the immense gravity of the situation.
“We’ll do it together.” Alex pulled his chair over to my side of the table. We sat next to each other in total silence, shoulders touching, each one flipping through our Instagram accounts. Matt’s Instagram was peppered with pictures of him and Sam, there was the odd one of me and him, but mostly there were images of him and Sam that made them look like the power couple of the year. Once Instagram was complete, we went to Facebook and did the same thing. When we’d both finished we looked up at each other and sighed at the same time. The mood had changed, it wasn’t so happy anymore.
“Here.” Alex handed me his phone. “You do it for me.”
I nodded and did the same, handing Alex my phone. We sat and looked at each other for a while, as if communicating silently. We didn’t need words in this moment. We were both on the exact same page and it felt great to finally have someone to talk to, or simply sit in silence with, that understood. Then we both nodded and did it. Cutting them out of our social media lives, which in this day and age is like severing a limb. I just hoped I wouldn’t now have a phantom limb that would constantly itch, but that I would never be able to scratch.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
We must have sat in silence for ten minutes after our mass social media murder. I knew it would be hard, but I hadn’t anticipated it being this hard. The sun had set, and the colorful twinkling lights of the beach bar came on. Couples started making their way there and taking seats. I looked over, and our friendly bartender from the other night waved at us. I waved back at him. He smiled at me and held up a basket of what looked like bar snacks and put them down. My stomach rumbled at the sight of the snacks. God, I was hungry.
I looked back at Alex, who’d obviously seen the whole thing play out too. “I’m starving too,” he said and walked over to the bar. I followed him and we reassumed our usual spot.
“Bonsoir,” the barman said. My French wasn’t that bad that I didn’t know what that meant.
“Good evening to you too,” I said back politely, while peering into the basket.
“You know you are wanted by the police?” he said, polishing two glasses for us. “Fugitives from the law.”
“Really?” I asked.
He placed the glasses down in front of us and instead of producing a tequila bottle, produced a large jug of water. “But don’t worry, I covered for you. I said I had no idea who you were. I told him you were probably just crazy Americans!”
“And did they believe you?” Alex asked, pouring me a glass of water.
“Of course! Everyone knows Americans are crazy.” He smiled at us and leaned in across the table. “So, what’s next?” he asked, looking down at the magazine that Alex had put on the bar counter once again.
“Hey, how do you know what we’re doing?” I asked, sipping the cool lemon-flavored water and grabbing for a piece of bread.
“Oh, I told him,” Alex said. “Hope you don’t mind?”
I shrugged. “You know my most embarrassing moment on Earth and I don’t even know your name?”
“Julian.” He extended his hand and I shook it.
“Val,” I said to him and he nodded.
“So what do you think of this picture?” Alex asked, holding his phone up for Julian to see. “Does it scream ‘over you’?”
Julian pulled his own phone out. “What are your social media names?”
“On Facebook I’m Alex Fletcher and on Instagram DrFletcher,” he said.
“And you?” Julian asked me.
I gave Julian all my relevant details and within seconds we were all friends. Julian looked at our pictures thoughtfully and started nodding. “So over them!” he declared. “So, what’s next?” he asked again, gesturing at the magazine.
Alex cleared his throat, flipped the magazine open and started reading.
“ ‘Number Five. Bitch About Bae. That irritating thing he did in bed which he thought you liked, but you didn’t! The way he always insisted that corduroy was having a comeback and his pants were fine to wear out, the way he sat on the sofa in his boxers with his leg up, so his one ball dangled out and rubbed against the communal seating area. The way he got toothpaste on the sink and you had to scrub it off when it dried and went hard. The way he left used floss out, farted in his sleep, snored, said ‘Dear Lordy-Lord’ when he came . . . take your pick. The point is, rip him off that pedestal with your girlfriends. Remember all the bad, irritating and hurtful things he did (don’t leave anything out).’ ”
There was a collective pause after Alex had finished reading. We all looked at each other for a few moments, and then Alex and I began shaking
our heads and laughing.
“Okay, well that one is just ridiculous!” I said, stuffing some nuts into my mouth. “And I can’t even pass comments on things like what he did in bed . . . Well,” I pondered, “actually, sometimes I could hear them through the walls of my apartment, and he did make a rather strange sound when he came, at least, I think he was coming.”
“Wait!” Alex held his hand up. “You did not tell me he was your actual next-door neighbor.”
Julian shook his head. “Had you told me that the other night, I might have made you the winner.”
“Wait! Let’s not jump the gun here,” Alex piped up. “My ex lives in the same building as me, with another guy! That counts too.”
“But I can hear them having sex through the walls,” I quickly added. “And let me just say, she likes him to ride her like a thoroughbred Arabian horse.”
Both Alex and Julian recoiled at the image I’d just painted.
“I’m not joking, the other night she said, and I quote, ‘Yes! Oooh, yes, baby, yes, ride me like an Arabian horse, baby. Giddy-up! Yes, like a thoroughbred.’ ”
“You guys’ lives are seriously messed up.” Julian turned and produced another bottle of tequila. “I was going to suggest you stay off the hard stuff tonight, but it looks like you might need it again.”
“Thanks,” we said in unison, taking the bottle from him.
“It’s all part of the healing process,” I exclaimed quickly, just in case he thought we were alcoholics. “The post-breakup drunken bender. Everyone does it. At least it’s not crack.” I laughed at my own joke.
“You know . . .” Julian leaned in, “if you wanted something a little harder, I could get you—”
“No. No! It’s okay thanks.” I quickly cut him off and Alex started nodding in agreement.
“Tequila will do.” Alex opened the bottle and started pouring us a shot each.
“Just joking!” Julian laughed and then leaned over the bar again. “So, start bitching,” he said expectantly.