San Andreas Island

by Angela Costello

  We sit down at one of the wooden tables near the fire pit. I can see the waves crashing, and I feel like I’m on top of the world. Tom sets three plates in front of us. The round plate holds a towering burger with a side of glazed carrots. One square plate is piled with edamame sprinkled with sea salt, while another is empty, for the edamame shells.

  I place my napkin in my lap. “I take it we’re sharing this giant?”

  “It’s pretty filling, and I thought we might want to save room for dessert later,” she says.

  “I don’t think I’ll be hungry for the rest of the week after we down this thing!” I say.

  We take turns trying to get our mouths around the burger. It doesn’t fit in my mouth and starts to fall apart. I swear they served us a portion big enough to feed three large men. I reach for my fork and knife and Natalia interrupts me by feeding me another bite. Why is everything about her sensual? Even the way she’s feeding me this monstrous burger right now. She’s successful in her attempt to make it in my mouth and my teeth grab onto a blend of pure heaven. I always take notes on these unforgettable foods, as if I’m ever going to make something like this at home. This one seems easy but I know it would be a flop in my own kitchen: arugula, truffle aioli, marinated tempeh burger, Swiss cheese, and sliced avocado (because it’s not a Cali burger without avocado, of course). I guess the complicated part will be making the aioli sauce. Even thinking about getting all the ingredients for just one part of the recipe blocks me from making future home cooking plans for this one.

  Tom drops off two water glasses and gives us our privacy. We down the water. Conversation is easy. We flow from where we’ve travelled to ideas for books we want to write someday. I take the edamame between my teeth, squeezing out the seeds, and tossing the soft shell on the empty plate. I do the same with two more. It has something else on it aside from the sea salt. “Butter?” I ask.

  Natalia shakes her head. “A ginger and garlic sauce,” she says.

  “Delicious.” I take another edamame in my mouth and squeeze the seeds out.

  We finish about three-quarters of our burger and our water glasses are empty. Natalia checks her phone and says, “It’s 12:40. Do you have time for a little walk before you head back to the office?”

  “I do. Once he brings us the bill, we can head out,” I say.

  “It’s already taken care of,” she says as she stands up and takes my hand.

  “Oh! Of course. I feel stupid.” How could I say that to the owner of her own restaurant? Ugh. Why don’t I have common sense sometimes? I’m such an idiot. She’s consistent, attentive and thinking two steps ahead every time. “Why are you so good to me?” I ask. She smiles and takes my hand.

  We stroll the SM Beach Boardwalk, continuing our conversation. “When was your first real kiss?” she asks me.

  “Real? As in, not a peck on the cheek?” Why am I blushing? I feel like a teenager.

  “Real, as in the first kiss that really moved you, and made your entire body tingle,” she says. We’re holding hands and I’m a little nervous that one of my colleagues will see me with someone who’s not my husband. But am I really doing something wrong? Is it wrong to finally feel good around someone? To have someone appreciate me, to care about my opinions even when they don’t match theirs, to take care of me rather than watch me exhaust myself taking care of them? I look around, and feel Natalia’s thumb caressing mine. I let myself fall back into a trance.

  “I’d kissed my boyfriend of course, but you’r asking about a kiss that moved me,” I breathe in deeply and a smile crosses my face. “So we were both 19. She was someone I just met on a trip,” I say. I’m getting butterflies saying this out loud.

  “She?” Natalia asks with a smile. We follow the boardwalk, dodging tourists, moms in Lululemon pushing strollers, skateboarders and surfers with their boards in tow.

  “Yeah. Oh my gosh, this is so weird,” I say, and bite a hangnail off of one of my fingers. “I’ve never openly talked about this with anyone besides Dylan or my therapist. I would die if my family knew I’ve been with women.”

  “Wait, been with? I thought we were talking about first innocent kisses. Ok, I’m all ears,” she says.

  My heart’s racing. “Oh! I didn’t sleep with her. I mean, I’ve slept with women, but not her, and not a lot of women, just—I kissed her, but nothing happened—you know…” Ugh, I’m rambling!

  Natalia hushes my jumbled thoughts by pausing our walk in front of a lady selling freshly cut mangos from a cart. She pulls us under the cart’s shady striped umbrella. Mango Lady repeats to the crowd, “Mangos, six dollars! Mangos, six dollars!” Natalia’s chestnut eyes are inviting me closer. She’s doing that thing again where she’s managed to get us completely alone again. The sounds of people walking by and cars on the road fade into the background. She hands the woman a ten-dollar bill and waves for her to keep the change. Mango Lady smiles and hands Natalia a clear plastic cup overflowing with ripe sliced mango. We each grab a slice and resume our walk. She holds the cup between us every so often so I can reach for another slice.

  I explain, “It was up in Santa Cruz. You know where that is?” Why am I stalling? This is such a juvenile topic, easy and light. She knows I’m stalling, but she goes with it.

  “I’ve never been, but it’s that beachy San Fran area with a bunch of stoners, right?” she asks.

  “I guess you could say that. But isn’t anywhere you go in California full of stoners nowadays?”

  “Good point,” she replies.

  “It’s about an hour outside of San Francisco,” I continue. “It’s such a cool area. I drove up there with a guy I was dating at the time. My mom hated him, and I don’t blame her. I have no idea what I was doing with him. He didn’t have a car, was rude to me, he used my truck to go to band practice, and I found out he was also skipping band practice to hook up with one of our friends.”

  Natalia doesn’t give her opinion just yet, and lets me go on another tangent. She has so much patience for my rambling.

  “So anyway, he and I were over there visiting some of his friends who went to UCSC. Oh my God, that campus is just absolutely gorgeous! We have to go some time.” Did I just say that?

  “I’d like that,” Natalia responds casually.

  I smile uncomfortably and play with my hair. “Does everyone go on tangents like this?”

  “You’d know that more than I would, doctor,” she says.

  “I’m not a—”

  “…doctor. I know, I know. But to me, therapist, psychologist, doctor, you’re all the same,” she says.

  I have to rein in the nerd in me and stop myself from explaining the difference and just focus.

  “Ok, so you were in Santa Cruz and a hot blonde came out of nowhere and gave you the kiss of a lifetime?” she asks.

  “Wow, you’re good. Pretty much,” I say. “My boyfriend and I were walking around with his friends all over that amazing campus. I swear it’s in the middle of the forest. These college kids get to walk down pathways and across wooden bridges to their classes, under hundreds of giant redwood trees.” I close my eyes. “I can smell that air right now. It’s like fruits and berries and pine and fresh air, and just raw nature. Their dorms are tucked right in there, in the middle of this majestic forest.”

  “It sounds amazing,” Natalia says.

  “It really is. And we walked around the little town in the afternoon. It’s so cute over there. Kinda reminds me of Big Bear, ya know?” I say. “But I used to get so socially awkward, and I didn’t know these people. They were his friends, so I was really insecure and never comfortable, and just wanted us to keep doing things and not just sit around and talk, because that’s just the worst. I’ve always just hated small talk, never knowing what to say, probably because I honestly didn’t care about what they were talking about. I either wanted to disappear during slow moments or when everyone’s just hanging around and talking, or I was desperate for us to kee
p doing things and stay busy and active. I’m good with that. Anyway, at night we hung out at a bonfire on the beach.”

  “So here’s where the magic happens,” Natalia says.

  “Yes! Oh my God, and it was so sweet.” I can hear myself speaking louder and in a higher register. All the memories are flooding back as if I’m right there at 19 again. “So we’re all sitting around at this bonfire. And I just loved every second of it because being at the beach is my favorite thing in the world! There were about five of us and then some other people joined later. I don’t know where they came from. A couple of guys were playing guitar, and my boyfriend was helping keep the fire going and getting more wood from the truck. He was so wasted, and telling loud stories and everyone was laughing. I seem to always date the life of the party and I’m the wallflower.”

  “But someone ended up seeing this beautiful wallflower.” Natalia helps me get to the point.

  “We were all just kicking back and listening to the music and sitting around a bonfire. It was such a gorgeous night. And then this girl came over to me,” I say. “I hadn’t seen her the whole day, so she must’ve been one of those randoms who ended up joining us later. She sat next to me on one of the blankets we’d spread out, and started talking to me about one of the guys who was playing guitar. I don’t remember what she was saying, but I do remember being entranced by her lips. And every once in a while, she’d touch my hand when she was trying to make a point.” I slow to a stop, and Natalia follows suit. I look into her eyes and take a deep breath.

  “You know those moments when you go through something so intense at the time, and then years and years later, you can still feel it on your skin?” I look at Natalia without waiting for her to answer. I graze my fingers along the top of her hand and across her arm. I can’t believe I’m touching her like this. And she’s letting me. And we’re in public. And I don’t care. “Like this, you know?” I whisper.

  “This is one of those skin moments I hope we always remember,” she responds, placing her hand on top of mine.

  “I like these skin moments with you,” I say.

  “Can you tell me more about your first skin moment with Miss Blondie?” Natalia asks. We’ve fallen into this pattern now a few times where I get distracted and she finds a way to pull me back in.

  “Do I sense some jealousy?” I tease.

  “Do you still talk to her?” Natalia answers with a question, and for a second I can’t tell if she’s joking or not. Is she jealous? If she is, I kind of like it. She actually cares.

  “Oh my gosh, you’re so cute! You’re a little jealous of Miss Blondie. Well, rest assured, we only sext when I’m bored,” I say as I kiss her hand.

  “Very funny.” She playfully punches my arm, puts her arm around my shoulder and guides us into motion. We’re walking away from the pier and I can see the roller coaster and ferris wheel at the end of the pier.

  “So we were sitting by that bonfire with everyone, and she asks me to go with her by this cove area because she had to pee,” I say. “And I swear my boyfriend couldn’t care less. I don’t even think he remembered I was there, to tell you the truth. And this girl and I end up walking quite a ways. I remember it was really dark, but we ended up getting to this hidden cove where it was like the quietest spot at the beach. She goes into the cove area and pees. It takes her for what feels like forever. So I walked over to the shore and waited for her by the water. I kept dipping my toes in and out of the water, and it was super cold. I remember I was shivering a little and of course my hoodie was in my truck. And I could see the moonlight hit the water in such a way that it looked like a painting.” I move my hand as if I’m holding a paintbrush, painting the scene for us.

  “She comes back out of the cove and takes my hand. I’d never even held a girl’s hand before. I mean, maybe my friends? But I don’t know. I really don’t remember a girl ever holding my hand the way she did. You know? And my heart was beating so fast, and my palms were so sweaty. I remember being so embarrassed that I tried to pull my hand away to wipe it on my jeans. But then she took both of my hands and clasped them in hers so that we were facing each other under that moonlight, and time slowed down. She said, ‘Close your eyes.’ And I did. I can still feel that nervous excitement in my veins like I did that night. I felt so ugly at that time in my life and was wondering why she was even giving me the time of day. I mean, there I was, standing with this cute blonde girl, and I was the person who hated how I looked so much that I always wished I could be invisible. I literally cut out every single one of my pictures in all my yearbooks. But I was standing there about to have my first real kiss. Then, all of a sudden, I felt her hands unclasp, but she didn’t let go of me.”

  I close my eyes and run my hands alongside my arm as if I’ve been transported under that same Santa Cruz moonlight. “She slid both of her hands along my arms, up to my shoulders and my neck and then held my face.” I cradle my chin and cheekbones in my hands. “And for the first time in my life, I felt the softest pillow lips press against mine. And her tongue barely touched mine and it was like our mouths were making love.” I feel like I’m in a dream as I keep my eyes closed, telling my story and reliving that magical night under the moonlight. “It was the most—” Just like how a dream can turn into reality, I’m both startled and entranced when I feel Natalia’s lips touch mine. I’m breathing her in as I keep my eyes closed as my brain blends the 19-year-old blonde and Natalia’s kiss into one moment. I taste the sweet mango, and feel her gentle mouth playing with mine.

  I almost lose my balance. We unlock lips and open our eyes. “I never knew the memory of my first real kiss could become even more special,” I say, catching my breath.

  “You deserve to feel special everyday,” Natalia says.

  “I have an idea,” I say, as I take her hand, leading us towards the pier. “We still have some time before I need to be back for my next patient.”

  We walk underneath the words Santa Monica Coaster sign written in sea-green letters on a wooden sign.

  “Are you serious? We’re gonna go on that thing right now?” She says.

  I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but right now I’m loving this carefree feeling. “It’ll be fun. Why not,” I say more as a command rather than a question. I pull her towards the line.

  Her head tilts back as she looks up at the monstrous roller coaster. Its track circles all around the pier. The ferris wheel is right next to it, stopping and going as passengers get on and off. I can smell churros from a stand next to it, and hear the symphony of rides, carnival games and people cheering and screaming. A loud roar charges overhead as the coaster runs on the track and barrels past us. I’ve seen it a thousand times when I head to the office every morning, and it’s on all the postcards and tourist paraphernalia in all the markets in town.

  “Another first together,” I say to Natalia as we reach the back of the line. We’re packed like sardines between the narrow railings that go from the wooden planks of the pier, and take us up along a staircase I’d guess is a couple stories high. I’m wondering if there’s one other person in line who’s on their lunch break from work and just happened to want to take a ride on a roller coaster. You never know.

  We inch our way up the staircase, shoulder to shoulder. I can feel Natalia’s tension, and she hasn’t said a word since we first got into this line. “You ok?” I ask.

  “Eh, kinda. I dunno. Not really,” she says. She’s gripping the rail so tightly, I can see her knuckles are white.

  “When was the last time you were on one of these?” I ask. It’s a new feeling to see her vulnerable for the first time. I’m more attracted to her in this moment than ever before.

  “I dunno. But the last time, I had a panic attack. And I think the time before that, too. Or maybe it was after I got off the ride. I dunno. I just remember saying I’d never get on one again,” she says.

  “Oh my gosh, I had no idea! We don’t have to ride. It’s not
a big deal. We can back out of line and go play some of those games over there,” I say and point to a blue awning about 50 yards away. “I just thought it would be fun,” I say.

  Natalia looks like she’s seen a ghost. I have no annoyance towards her. She could change her mind a dozen times and I wouldn’t be bothered. But I say one stupid thing, and I can’t stop beating myself up. “Hey, I’m right here with you, ok?” I say.

  “I have to do this. I can’t back out. I want to do this. I’m just so embarrassed right now. You seeing me like this. I’m freaking out. But I have to do this,” she’s stammering. Her speech is rapid. Her nervousness is endearing.

  “I’m right here,” I say again. All I’ve ever been certain of in my life is that my superpower is connection. I’m not the confident one when I walk into a room, or the one with the entertaining stories, or the most brilliant. But I can connect when someone’s down or needs love and attention. I can take someone from panic to calm. From freaking out to ok. “Where did you say you grew up again?” I ask her as a way to distract her.

  “What?” She asks, without moving her eyes from the coaster.

  I hold her hand and we take two steps up the staircase. We’re almost at the platform where the line splits, and everyone stands where they’ll be on the roller coaster. There are two people ahead of us. They’re probably a couple, so I’m guessing we have about 60 more breaths until we’re next to climb into the coaster. Her hand’s shaking and sweaty.

  “Can you tell me where you grew up?” I try again. She’s not even looking at me, just fixated on the rollercoaster as it roars along the track. We hear the cheers and loud screams and laughter.

  “Uh…Florence,” she says, still not even turning towards me, holding onto the railing and my hand for dear life.

  “Florence, Italy, wow. That’s incredible. And when did you move to the States?”

  I can see her balancing freaking out and trying not to be rude to me. “Um, six.” The couple ahead of us moves up onto the platform and walks to where they’ll end up in the back of the coaster. The roller coaster hasn’t made it back around the pier yet, and I can hear it in the distance. My attention is focused solely on Natalia’s face. Her eyes are fixated on exactly where the coaster is on the track.