by Ruby Ryan
She didn't laugh at the overly-poetic praise; instead she twisted enough to face me. "Afraid not," she said in an American accent. "But that's alright, because I think you're Irish enough for the both of us."
"Indeed I am."
She rolled back over and closed her eyes, and when I wrapped my arm across her body again she took my hand in hers and kissed my fingers. I lay back on the pillow and decided this was where I would spend the day.
"It's so nice to sleep in," she mumbled. "My last few Saturdays have been spent in the library..."
Saturday. Sleeping in.
The light streaming through my windows.
"Fuck!" I yelped, hopping out of bed and grabbing my phone off the side table. 8:45am. "Fuck me!"
5
HARRIET
He flew from the bed so fast that at first I thought he was repulsed by me, and what we'd done.
"Fuck me!" he said, dropping his phone back down. For a moment he stood there looking like a chicken with its head cut off, unsure of what to do. A nude, beautifully muscled chicken, with purple and yellow bruising along his ribs.
Oh God. All of my insecurities came charging back into my head. He was repulsed by me, and had only slept with me because he was drunk. Now that it was the morning he regretted it, and was horrified by what he'd done! Ice spread inside my chest, the ache of embarrassment, and now I was trapped here before he kicked me out or tried to pretend...
"I'm late for my flight," he said, opening the closet and pulling clothes off hangers. "I'm gunna miss my flight, oh fuck..."
"Flight?"
"I'm supposed to be on a flight that leaves in an hour!" He threw a duffel bag on the ground and began tossing clothes inside without looking.
I stared for several seconds while processing his words. His panic had nothing to do with me.
The relief I felt right then was so debilitating that I fell back into bed with a long sigh.
He pulled a shirt over his head and then zipped up the bag. He rose, took a deep breath, then bent over the bed to kiss me.
"Listen, love. I hate doing this..."
"No, I understand," I said.
"I'm sorry. I really am."
"It's fine!" In a flash of impulse I grabbed his phone, pulled up the contacts, and created one for me. "Now you have my number. Give me a call when you get back."
"I will." He glanced at the phone. "Harriet." My name on his lips tasted sweeter than any candy, and I found myself grinning from ear to ear.
"Help yourself to anything in the kitchen," he said, turning to leave.
"Wait!"
He spun. "Huh?"
"You're, uh, forgetting something." I let my eyes flicker downward.
He flinched when he realized he was completely nude from the waist down, then grabbed a pair of jeans out of the closet and shimmied into them, not bothering with underwear, then sat on the bed to tie his shoes.
"You," he said with a charming smile, "are one very helpful woman. Stay as long as you want, but don't steal anything!"
He gave me another kiss, more passionate and long that for a heartbeat I thought he might stay longer, but then he broke it off and left the room, closing the door behind him with a click.
And then I was alone.
I fell back into the soft sheets of his bed. His smell lingered in the air, a ghost of him that remained for several minutes. I felt a thousand emotions all at once: surprise at myself for going home with him, excitement as I replayed our sex in my head, nervousness at what would come next.
And worry that he might not call. He had my number, but I didn't have his.
No, stop it Harriet! You just had an incredible night with a hot hunk. Don't ruin it by thinking about it too much.
At least, not yet. Give it a day or two.
I dressed and went to the bathroom, and then decided it was time to head home. But as I tip-toed into the living room, a voice called out from the left.
"Sup."
I whirled to see a tall Latino bent over a bowl of cereal. He didn't really look at me; he was busy scrolling through his phone on the counter.
"Uhh, hey."
"Where'd Roland go?" he said, still not looking my way.
"He left. Said he had to catch a plane."
"Oh right. Belize." He shook his head and chuckled. "Motherfucker's always running late."
I struggled to think of something to say, couldn't come up with anything, so I said, "Okay bye!" and bolted from the door like I'd stolen something. I took the stairs two at a time until I was out on the street.
Okay. That's why I wasn't the kind of girl to have a one-night stand. Getting stabbed in an alley was preferable to me than an awkward conversation. And I'm only exaggerating a little.
I pulled up Google Maps on my phone; we were in Cambridge, only 1.2 miles from my apartment. Close enough to walk, especially with the sun making the day feel warmer than it really was.
Thank God I hadn't dressed fancy last night or this would be a stereotypical walk of shame. In jeans and sneakers, it was actually a walk of pleasure! Just a girl out for a stroll.
I stopped to get coffee, and then felt a buzz in my pocket. A text from an unknown number:
UNKNOWN: Sorry again for speeding out of there, love. I had a great time last night.
I grinned so hard that the barista rolled her eyes. I took my coffee, sat down, and thought of something clever to say. As an introvert, I was a thousand times more charming via text than in person.
HARRIET: Don't apologize! After I pawn half your clothes I'm probably up $100. A better night than usual for me.
UNKNOWN: You're getting ripped off, then. My clothes are worth at least $125.
HARRIET: Sounds like I need to find a better pawn shop. Got any jewelry?
UNKNOWN: I'm not gunna HELP you rob me!
HARRIET: It'd speed up the whole process for both of us if you did. You make your flight?
UNKNOWN: By the skin of my teeth. 30 minute delay saved my arse.
Arse. He actually said arse like some Irish cartoon! The smile wouldn't disappear from my face. I spent the next minute typing, deleting, and re-typing what I hoped sounded like a casual farewell:
HARRIET: Have a safe flight. Call me up when you get home if you want to go out again.
UNKNOWN: Will do, thanks love!
I stared at the text for five minutes while my coffee grew cold, then realized I had ten missed texts from Jason and Jon. Checking in, asking where I was. If I was okay.
I texted back that I'd give them details over brunch, then left the coffee shop to head home.
Already I couldn't wait for Roland to get back.
6
ROLAND
I needed to quit drinking.
Or at least, drink less.
The hum of the airplane was muted, but even that noise was enough to make my head pound. The dryness in my throat hadn't been obvious in my rush to leave my apartment, but now it was all I could think about. The scratchy feeling, the difficulty swallowing.
I knew it with the knowledge of someone who'd learned the hard way three dozen times. Drinking hard after a fight was a mistake. My body was too dehydrated, my muscles aching and sore. I needed water, and electrolytes, and protein for recovery. Alcohol greatly inhibited the body's ability to heal, especially in the immediate aftermath of strenuous exercise when it was doing everything it could to stimulate blood flow and restore glycogen.
But where I came from, it was bad luck not to buy a fellow a drink after knocking them on their arse. That's how disputes were settled in Belfast: a few punches, some bruised ribs, and then everyone shaking hands and telling jokes over a pint.
I couldn't not buy that big fucken oaf a drink after I'd embarrassed him in front of the whole damn bar. And if one drink turned into ten, well, that was tough to avoid.
But that didn't stop me from regretting it the day after, especially on a plane somewhere over the Eastern seaboard.
I shook the ice in my tiny plast
ic cup and drank what little water had melted, then pulled out my phone to re-read the texts from Harriet. Now there was something I didn't regret. She wasn't like the other girls who threw themselves at me after a fight. Her shyness was cute. Endearing, in a way. And damned if I couldn't keep myself from saying hello to someone with orange curls like those.
My sigh held the regret of a hundred old relationships. This feeling was nice for now, but it would fade. Because they never lasted long with me. As soon as they found out who I was, things changed.
And not for the better.
Still. While I sat in my seat trying to coax the last few drops of water from my complimentary drink, thinking of Harriet and the way her hair smelled made the plane ride a degree more tolerable.
The Belize airport (who the fuck was Philip S.W. Goldson?) looked more like an elementary school than an international airport, and the control tower was barely 30 feet tall. The concourse smelled musty and salty as I slung my duffel bag over a shoulder and wandered toward the exits. Andy, who'd coordinated the whole trip, mentioned something about taking taxis from the airport to the hotel, but I didn't know where the latter was, and my phone was still spinning while looking for signal.
My stomach grumbled in anger. Getting some food inside me before the chaos of our college reunion was a good idea, I decided. I'd just be grumpy until then, and I didn't want that to be the first thing my old pals saw, especially since it had been so long--
I slowed to a stop in the baggage area.
Across the room stood a cluster of four guys I recognized. Each of them held up a cardboard sign that said, "UGLY IRISHMAN" in black letters, and they wore the shit-eating grins of men who thought they were clever.
A smile broke through my own face as I approached. "Excuse me gents," I said, "did you mean to write handsome fucker on your signs? Because I know where one of those is."
"No, I'm fairly certain our signs are accurate." Andy looked like Barbie's perfect husband, with perfect black brown like a dollop of chocolate frosting and an easy smile.
Orlando stood next to him, skin dark and eyes sparkling. I could see a joke forming in his mind.
Sam and Ethan lingered to the side with their signs, both introverts whose awkwardness at seeing someone for the first time in ten years was plain.
I hugged each of them in turn, and Orlando held me tighter than the rest. We'd been roommates back in the day. "Christ, it's good to see you," he said with a flash of white teeth.
"You fuckers didn't all have to pick me up at once."
Andy waved it off. "Our flights all landed close together, especially since yours was delayed. Plus this way we can grab some lunch on the way back."
"Lunch sounds like a good plan. I'd murder a nun for a cheeseburger."
"Dude," Andy said with a self-deprecating grin, "don't take this the wrong way, but you smell awful."
I followed them to the exit doors. I was prepared for blasting heat to hit me in the face, but it was a pleasing warmth that smelled like the ocean, and the warm sun felt fantastic on my face. I inhaled it all deeply.
"Last night was a fight night." I showed them my knuckles, and then lifted my T-shirt to reveal the grotesque splotch of purple and yellow up my side. Sam visibly flinched, and Orlando whistled through his teeth.
"You know, they have these things," Andy said, snapping his fingers like he was trying to remember something. "With water and soap, and you stand up in them... what's the word?"
"Showers?" Ethan said.
Andy pointed at him. "Bingo! Showers. Sort of a new invention to civilization, so I don't know if they've made it up to Boston yet..."
I shoved him in the arm as we walked toward the parking lot. "Yeah, well, I had a busy night after the fight. And was late this morning."
I didn't intend to brag ab out my sexual exploits, but that drew oohs and jeers from the group.
"Same leprechaun accent," Orlando teased, "same bare-knuckle boxing, same success with the ladies. You haven't changed a bit in the last decade."
"Guess not," I said, hoping they wouldn't find out just how wrong that statement was. How much in my life had changed.
I couldn't handle them treating me differently for it too.
Andy had rented an SUV for the week, and we drove with the windows down and took in the sights. Belize was obviously more tropical than New England, with as many bicyclists and walkers as there were cars. Coconut and palm trees were everywhere we looked, and the roads were a haphazard assortment of dirt and pavement. We stopped in Belize City proper at a little restaurant that Andy already knew everything about--he'd done all his research ahead of time, apparently. But they had sandwiches and burgers, and I chowed down on the latter with a plate of chips and a coke, and felt a million times better after.
"Here's what we've got planned," Andy said. Apparently our lunch wasn't the only thing he'd planned out; he had an itinerary for the entire week. I shouldn't have been surprised; that's just who Andy was. He probably had to plan out his trips to the bathroom.
We drove north out of the city, and soon we were on a road with the Gulf of Mexico to our right. I felt myself growing excited as he pulled into a gated resort neighborhood, with a curved parking loop that ended in front of a huge villa.
"Holy fuck," I muttered as we walked inside. The living room and kitchen were one enormous space, leading out to a back deck that overlooked the beach. The wind coming off the ocean was stronger here, blowing my straight red hair around my face.
"If any of you are worried about price, don't be," Andy said reassuringly. "I know we agreed to split it five ways, but I splurged a bit when choosing the place, so I'll happily cover the extra cost of anyone who wasn't prepared to spend this much."
"I've got the money," I muttered, admiring the view.
Andy put an arm around me and pointed back into the villa. "The shower's that way, down the hall. First door on the right. You know, the shower? That thing you so desperately need?"
A smile spread on my face against my will. "Fuck that."
I threw down my duffel bag and leaped off the back deck, landing in sand as soft as pillows. I pulled off my shirt and tossed it over my head as I sprinted down the beach, toward the endless spreading blue tipped with white, and I cheered over the sound of the waves crashing as I reached the water.
I stopped long enough to think about what I was doing, and to look up and down the empty beach, then thought fuck it and stripped my jeans off. Bare-ass naked, I charged into the water, high-stepping through the shallow parts until the sea floor dropped off and the water covered me to my chest. The water was cool, not cold, and paired with the hot sun on my head the entire thing felt amazing.
I dipped my head under the water, then came back up in a splash, savoring the salty taste on my lips.
My buddies were on the beach watching and laughing. Ethan stepped close enough to dip his feet in the water, and sighed up at the sun with his eyes closed.
"Look what I found," Orlando said while picking up my jeans. "Guess I'd better take these inside..."
"If you think a little nudity is going to embarrass me, mate, you don't know me at all!"
They all laughed as I floated on my back, letting all of it--the water, the sun, the wind blowing across the surface--wash over me.
We spent the day on the beach, which it turns out was our own private beach. After I went in to change into swim trunks, Orlando and I kicked a soccer ball around on the hot sand. Ethan sunbathed, while Sam read a book in a deck chair.
Then came the drinking.
First it was just drinks on the beach; ever the host, Andy made batches of margaritas with enough tequila to strip the skin off a potato. Then we went to dinner at another restaurant Andy had hand-picked, where we had another three rounds of drinks, and then we went back to the villa and played beer pong with glasses from the cupboard.
It felt just like college again. Loud music, casually hanging out while playing drinking games. I couldn't believe I'd b
een dreading this trip; we all fell back into our old college relationships with ease.
"No fucken way," I said, jabbing Orlando in the chest. "Are you mad? Root for the English?"
Orlando held up both hands, one of which held a shot of tequila. "Hey. I'm just saying. Since Ireland didn't qualify, who are you pulling for in the World Cup?"
"Anyone!" I shouted. "Literally anyone other than England! Let me tell you this, mate. If England were playing ISIS in the first group, I'd have to sit down and think really hard about who to cheer for."
"Alright, alright, sorry I asked."
Sam stood over the kitchen table, balancing a ping pong ball between two fingers. "Feels good to get away," he said, tossing it across the table, where it bounced off the rim of a glass. "Work's been hectic lately. We've got this big new contract that starts when I get back..."
"No work talk!" Andy said. "This is a vacation!"
"...missing a lot of the prep work," Sam said. "I hope my boss can handle it without me."
Ethan retrieved the pong ball from the ground. "Can't they get on without you? We use a temp agency at my office, and they always fill in nicely."
"If you know a temp agency that specializes in radio astronomy engineering, I'll hug you so tight you break a rib."
"Hey," Ethan said, looking sideways at me, "Roland's the only one who can pull off the bruised look. I'm just a fragile computer nerd."
"I'm not so sure he pulls it off..." Orlando teased. They roared with laughter, and I bombarded them with a flurry of middle-fingers.
"You still got a big boner for trains?" I asked.
Orlando's eyes lit up like a little kid, which was answer enough.
"They just renovated most of the Amtrak cars around the country! Completely refurbished, with a bigger viewing car that's almost entirely viewing glass."
"Wow," I said, but Orlando took my mockery for genuine excitement.