Emily.
My heart is pounding, I can feel the blood pumping through my chest, bursting through my ears, through my brain. I have to stop. I come crashing to a halt, heaving for breath, feeling the blackness trying to close in.
I bend over, my palms flat against my knees, heaving. I'm looking unfocused at my shoes, at the fabric that used to be white and is now brown. My breathing comes in gasps, ragged, as I watch a few drops of sweat hit the pavement, darkened, huge, circular. I start to come myself then as I feel the sea breeze coming off of the ocean, and I squint up into the sun.
I'd been running on the boardwalk, who knows how long, and I'd veered off back towards my apartment. Sprinting. But the alcohol, all the poisons I'd put into my body, was making it difficult. I'd had to make several stops. Today's performance was definitely one of the worst.
I just can't stop thinking about that call, what I said. I can't stop thinking about Alison. And even the run is not blocking it out. Why Alison? We were barely talking, it had been months and months since we'd even spoken on the phone. There are dozens of other people I could've called. Hundreds. Why her? That might as well have been my running mantra.
Why her?
I start walking briskly again. No breaks. I pass my green taco stand.
"Hola, amiga!"
It startles me, but I relax when I see Paulo's face. He was smiling at me through his window. He gives me a once over, lifting his eye brows.
"You looking a little rough today, girl!"
I smile weakly back at him. "What do you mean?"
"It's just usually half your makeup isn't usually smeared across your face," he says.
My hands immediately jump to my face, and I scramble to find something reflective. I bend over, staring into the metal of the side of the stand.
"What? I don't see anything?"
But he's laughing at me. "But you thought you might, didn't you? That's how I know you had a long night!
I sheepishly look down, stretching my calf against the side of the stand, not really wanting to get into it.
"You need breakfast? I've still got some breakfast tacos left."
I shook my head, still not having much of an appetite.
"No, thanks, Paulo. Not today. I could use a water though."
He tossed me a water bottle through his open window. I caught it, glancing down.
"Running like that down the street and you didn't bring no water?"
"That's what you're here for, isn't it?" I smirk back at him.
"True," he says. "The hangover is why I'm in business!"
I twist off the cap and start drinking. It tastes like the best water I've ever head. God's nectar. I immediately start to feel better, lighter. Maybe that call doesn't mean anything. Maybe she never got it. Maybe she was drunk too and doesn't remember it. But then I remember the last time we were both drunk together and painfully repress the memory, like pulling a record off a player before it can start. The lightness is short lived.
I toss him a dollar that I'd stuffed into my sports bra. I nod at him in goodbye.
"Okay, no tacos this morning. But do you want to hear a joke?"
I laugh lightly at him, turning back to face him. "How much is THAT going to cost me?"
He shrugs. "This one's on the house. I feel like you need it."
I playfully roll my eyes. "Fine. Hit me with your best."
"A skeleton walks into a bar," he starts. Oh, it's going to be one of those. "And says, give me a beer and a mop!"
He looks at me expectantly. I smirk a little.
"You're going to have to keep going. I don't think that was worth a nickel."
"Such high standards," he sighs, thinking.
After a moment, he starts again. "Okay, I've got it. A guy with dyslexia walks into a bra."
That one does actually make me laugh a little. "Oh my God, Paulo. I think I need to go home now," I say, pretending that I'm going to walk away, taking a few steps.
"No, no, wait, I've got one more," he called after me. "A baby seal," he starts. "Walks into a club."
I full on laugh. "That is so dark," I say to him, taking another swig of my water.
And it's as I'm looking up, laughing, throwing back the water, that I see her. Her. Her. I pull the water bottle away. She's standing there on the side walk, ten feet away, as if she's just teleported. I'm so confused, there's even a part of me that thinks I'm hallucinating it. That's not Alison standing there. No, it can't be, I'm still reeling from my last sprint. But as I stare at her, she only becomes more real, sharper, brought into clarity. It's like the seconds slow down to half seconds, the wind blowing through her golden curls in slow motion, slower, and slower, until I feel like time has completely frozen still.
"Hello, hello," Paulo says, wiggling his eye brows, having followed my gaze. I had totally forgotten he was there.
Somehow I manage to glance down. She has a suitcase. I probably wouldn't hallucinate her with a suitcase.
"Alison?" I ask finally.
She moves, like a portrait coming to life, and walks towards us. She stops just in front of me. The breeze picks up again, and I can smell her. Her. The scent I could track like a blood hound.
"The green taco stand," Alison says, her eyes grazing over it.
I can't stop staring at her. It's like I've seen a ghost. Taco stand? I have no idea what she's talking about. How did she know about this place? How did she get here?
"We're actually called Me Gusta," Paulo says with flare. "Though 'Green Taco Stand' that's a little easier, I guess."
There's a short pause, where I still can't manage to say anything.
"Can I interest you in anything? I'll even through in a discount since it seems like you know my friend Emily here."
Alison smiles, the one that's slow, spreading like a sun rise over her face, and shakes her head no. I look at Paulo, stalling, trying to figure out what to say. I feel like I've gone into shock.
"Nothing for me. But it does seem like your friend is actually my friend," she says, with an intonation, in only that way Alison can do. Like flirting but also like intimidation.
I look back at her. I see her move, almost like a jerk, as if to take my arm, but then she doesn't.
"How long have you known Emily?" she says so calmly, with that smile. Those dimples.
"Oh, Emily and I go way back, chica. She's been doing her morning booze run past my business now for what, a couple of months?"
This snaps me out of it a little.
"Pualo, no—" I say, trying to stop him.
"Yep, couple of months," he continues, enjoying my discomfort. "I've only seen her yak once. Just over there—" he said pointing to a patch of sidewalk. I follow his finger, feeling extremely embarrassed.
I laugh awkwardly, taking Alison's arm and pulling her away.
"That's enough! Thank you, Paulo!"
"Bring your beautiful friend back later!"
Beautiful friend. It's enough to make my cheeks feel hot.
Alison actually resists my arm on hers for a moment though, dragging her feet, turning back to him.
"Wait," she says. "I've got one."
Paulo looks at her a little confused. I literally have no idea what's about to come out of her mouth.
"Two peanuts walk into a bar. One was assaulted."
It takes him a moment, but then he laughs loudly. I can't help but look at her in surprise. Had she overheard my conversation? How long had she been standing there?
"I'm stealing that one from you!" he shouts after us.
She lets me continue to lead her away, but turns her face back to mine, with that smile, her eyes twinkling, a little bit like she's proud of herself and looking for my validation. A smile plays my lips, I can't even help it. I think, she will never not surprise me. Which reminds me.
We come to a stop as we turn the corner.
"Ali," I say, "what are you doing here?"
She searches my face without making an expression, like she's trying to have all the facts before she speaks. But after a moment, I also feel like I see a flicker of annoyance before she sighs, looking downward.
"You called me last night. You asked me to come."
"I-I-what?" I stammer.
"I thought you might not remember, you sounded pretty gone, but…" she says, trailing off.
I stare at her in disbelief. I'm shocked. Why would I do that? Why would I call her and ask her to come? And why would she do it?
"Alison-I mean-I'm so sorry. I don't remember calling you," I say finally. "I don't remember asking you to come here, I mean, I can't believe I did that. I'm so sorry," I say, starting to fully ramble. "I can't believe and I did that and I can't believe—" but I cut myself off.
She looks back at me expectantly, waiting.
"That you came," I finish dully.
Her expression shifts. Her gaze is suddenly more serious. Our eyes are locked. I feel like there's a tendril, pulled taut between us.
"Of course I did," she says solemnly.
The moment drags out, everything feels charged.
"What else did I say?" I say, not being able to hold her gaze any longer. I push a hair that's come loose from my pony tail out of my face, I almost want to close my eyes. Like I can't physically stand to see her tell me what I said.
"I was just-I mean," Ali falters, her eyes fluttering away. I realize it's one of those rare moments that she doesn't look perfectly composed. She's pressing her hands together, massaging her fingers.
"I'm just—I'm worried about you. I want—" and she broke off again, before steeling herself. "I want to spend time with you. And, look, I know you didn't expect this. And we didn't plan it. But I'm here now."
I keep staring at her. I guess I'm not used to Ali, well, telling me the truth.
"It can be like a vacation. Let's make the most of it?" she asks, lilting her head to the side.
I think about what she's saying, and not saying. We could make this awkward. She could go home having never spent time with me. Or we could be our old selves. Have a good time. We were friends, right? Even best friends at one point? Why shouldn't I just be happy she was here? Something about the way she's holding herself makes me think she really wants me to say yes. Stay.
She looks around slightly uncomfortably, and I watch how the afternoon sun is glinting off of her bright blue eyes. She looks alarmingly good for, what I assume, was travelling over night.
"You know," she starts. "I've never been to California."
And the way she says it, it's like there is a vulnerability there, a fragility. I can't help it. I shake my head, finally snapping out of it. Without really thinking, I pull her tightly into a hug, my arms wrapped around her back, one hand pushing up to the nape of her neck.
"I'm sorry—" I start.
"Don't," she interrupts me, her breath in my hair.
"No, I am, Ali. I should've done this when I first saw you. I'm so happy you're here," I say, and I swear I can feel her relax, that she's relieved to hear me say this. It makes me hug her a little harder, to think that she thought I might not want her here. I feel her fingers play with the pony tail at my back.
I think of all the times I wanted her to be here, which was a lot freshmen year of college when I'd first moved. We talked all the time, on the phone all through the night. It used to annoy the shit out of my roommate. I would go down the hall, sit talking to her for hours on the phone in the stairwell. Sometimes, I would go walk the campus, describing everything I saw in detail. Ali always loved my stories about school. Back then, it physically ached for me to think of her back in Rosewood. I hated being so far away from her. I must've thought a million times about bringing her here, showing her my life, all the little things I know she liked. It was one of those things that I always assumed would just happen, but it never did.
I'm not sure how long we're hugging before I pull back from her slightly, my arm still around her waist, my other on her shoulder. Her face is still close to mine. It's a tense moment, the invisible tendril feels taut again. I become aware of how I'm touching her, where I'm touching her. I let my hands fall from her body, taking a step backwards. I wonder if there will always be a part of me that is afraid of Ali's rejection.
"I can't believe you've never been here. Where do you want to go first?" I ask, tentatively, slightly excited, nervous.
"It's spring break, you don't have to go to school, right?"
I shake my head.
"Do you have room for me in your apartment?"
My apartment. Oh my God, it's a wreck. Ali seems to read my expression seamlessly.
"How about I get a hotel? You can come enjoy the amenities with me."
On the last part, she slips her fingers against mine, taking my hand. At this touch, it's like I'm entranced by her. Like she's put a spell on me. I feel like I see her in slow motion again, all the times she's ever looked at me like this over the years. On our walks to school, in class, at dinners, on my bed, in her bed. All the times I know I shouldn't return the look, but I do.
"That sounds good," I say back, smiling again at her.
"And, honestly, Em?" she says. "I really want to see the beach." She glances over my shoulder, like she's trying to see the ocean, but the buildings are blocking it. As she does this, the wind catches her hair again, she is so beautiful. She pushes it back behind her ear.
"We can do that," I say, slightly transfixed.
And then I think suddenly about what we can do, what she would love. And I must be smiling in a certain way or Ali can read my mind like always because she tilts her head towards mine.
"What is it?" she asks, a smile at the corner of her mouth.
"I've got an idea," I say.
"What is it?" she says again more eagerly, a light in her eye, squeezing my hand. She always loved a good secret.
"It's a secret."
"Oh, Emily," she says with a sigh. But I know she's not going to give up. I glance down at her bag.
"Did you bring a bathing suit?"
She looks at me like I've just asked if she's ever ridden in a car. Like, duh. Of course. I glance wearily back towards my apartment.
"Well, let's go up and change. We can go to the beach now, you can go to a hotel later."
I let our hands break away as she follows me down the street and up my apartment stairs. I try to look at everything how Ali would be looking at it, for the first time. My apartment building isn't anything special, even kind of plain and simple. But it's nice by California standards. And it's close to the ocean. So of course it costs an arm and a leg, enough to rent a mansion in Rosewood. But I don't know if she'll necessarily be impressed, and it makes me nervous as I reach for my key, which I've tied into my shoe lace. I open the door, holding it open for her as she rolls her suitcase in.
Her eyes sweep over my apartment, and I get the impression she's heavily masking her reaction.
"Here, the bathroom is over there, you can change first."
Alison.
I go to change in bathroom like Emily directed me. I can see a sort of panic in her eye, she's worried about the state of her apartment. Like, it's not great, but it's nothing that she hadn't already described. Old food, clothes everywhere, there's a bit of a smell. But I honestly don't care, I'm just happy to have a place to put my things down and finally change out of my airport clothes.
It's weird seeing her again. She looks different, darker somehow, but still the same. I guess it hasn't been that long in the grand scheme of things, but it's felt like forever. I feel like I've imagined her a hundred times here and it is both everything I expected and more than I expected at the same time. Just stepping out of the cab onto her street, it almost overwhelmed me. I thought, I've actually done this, I'm actually going to see her. I was nervous, excited, scared.
And, at first, it was nerve-wracking. I thought… I thought she might turn me away. She looked so shocked when she saw me. I got really worried that maybe things were actually broken between us because of what I…we did. It was the first time I experienced that fear, I hadn't realized how hard I'd been holding onto the hope that everything was okay. I knew we hadn't talked, but we had texted. But that look on her face. I wasn't sure what I was going to do if she had told me to go home. And not in the way of, I don't know what I'm going to do if Redbox doesn't have the movie I want. In a way of, I don't know what I'm even going to do with my life, my whole life, if Emily doesn't want to see me.
But it was okay, I guess, with some convincing from me. I told her it would be like a vacation. Just fun. Just us girls. It doesn't have to mean anything that I flew across the country for you. Can't it just be random? That's so Alison.
I blanketed the side of me that knew it wasn't random though. If lying to her meant I could stay, I would do it.
I look in the mirror at myself. Make sure I'm perfect. I remove some of the makeup I'd put on this morning, not wanting it to get smeared by the water, make me look like a raccoon. I put my bathing suit on, it's a bright pink. Nothing fancy though. I'm actually surprised I managed to grab the matching pieces in my hurry this morning. I pull a sheer white cover up over it.
I step out of the bathroom and notice the apartment looks significantly different. Emily must have been quickly cleaning up while I was getting ready. All the food is gone, a bag of trash by the door, and she's lit a vanilla candle. She's also opened all of the windows, and I can feel a cool breeze moving through the room.
It actually makes me smile. I think, it's cute. Like something she would've done for me back in high school. But then again, maybe it's something she would've done for anyone. My smile fades. But she glances up at me, while moving dishes into the dish washer and smiles, reassuringly almost. With those brown eyes. The way she still looks at me. It's always surprising. I always expect it to be faded, weathered, but it never is. She's one of the few people I believe actually loves me.
I move over to the window, putting my hands on the frame, and close my eyes, breathing in. It smells so good here.
"Are you ready?" she asks.
I look back and she's changed now, into a white tank covering her suit and board shorts, with light blue flip flops.
"Let's go, I can't wait a second longer," I say back to her.
She smiles, slinging a big beach bag over her back and grabbing two folding chairs in the corner.
As we walk back down the street, I really try to take in all of the sights. I am strongly reminded of Cape May, and a part of me wishes Emily had been there with me for a summer. Looking at her now, it seems wrong that she never had been. She fits in flawlessly, like she belongs here. She's wearing reflective aviator sunglasses, looking so chic and beach ready. You'd never know she was from some small Pennsylvania town.
She keeps a running commentary for me of the different streets and places, where we are in the general LA metroplex. It's comforting. Like a personalized walking tour from Emily Fields. We cross the street, a big one, "Ocean", going over a concrete path that people are biking, roller blading, running, walking on. There's a lot more people than I would've thought. We move into the sand and I bend over to take my flip flops off. It feels so good under my feet.
It's still a long walk to get close to the water. We pick out a spot where no one else is around. She drops our bag and chairs, looking up at me.
"I'll be right back," Emily says, a secret smile playing her lips.
"Where are you going?" I demand.
She laughs and puts one finger to her lips. It's a secret.
Oh, it kills me. I want to know what she's doing so bad. But I let her have her fun. I playfully glare at her as she walks away. I look at her, in those board shorts, glancing down. Her legs, they're so long. Impossibly slender. And her skin, just a shade darker from the sun, beautifully bronzed. I realize what I'm shamelessly doing, and turn away, crossing my arms.
There aren't a lot of people out, but enough not to feel lonely. God, if I lived here, I would be out here every day. Tanning. Reading. Listening to music or maybe just even listening to the waves. I look out over the ocean. Imagine what it would be like to live on a boat, out there, looking back at people like me on the sand. Like I was outside of the world. Untouchable, special, isolated.
I turn back towards our stuff, grabbing the folding chairs. I set them both up, before jumping into mine. I pull off my cover up, happy to finally just be in my bathing suit. I push my sunglasses down and lean back. I close my eyes. I'm lost in the sounds of the water, the wind, the warm sun on my skin, it honestly feels like heaven. It feels like a world away from Rosewood, away from being Alison DiLaurentis.
I don't know how much time passes. But I open my eyes when I hear sand kicking up behind me. I look over my shoulder.
"Oh my God, Emily," I say gasping. "No way."
Emily is grinning at me, from ear to ear, her face red from the exertion of carrying two surf boards.
"That's right," she says. "You're catching a wave today." She drops one of the boards on the ground next to me. She stands the other one up vertically, its tip buried in the sand, while she leans against it. Looking like a literal fucking model.
"Emily," I say, protesting, my voice lower.
It is just like her to do this, to make us do something athletic. I glance down at the board. There is no way I'm going to be able to stand up on that thing. It is three times my size.
"Ali," she says back, determined. "You can't say you've really been to Cali if you haven't been on a surf board in the Pacific."
I want to object, but she does have a weird sort of logic. I look apprehensively back at her.
"You're going to help me?"
"Of course," she says, her hip brushing the board she was leaning on. "I won't leave your side."
"You are literally," I start, following her hips up to her eyes, "the only person I would do this for."
Her face instantly brightens even more. "So you'll do it?"
I nod my head, grumbling.
"Oh, good! I can't wait! Here," she says, reaching into our beach bag. "Put this on."
She hands me a long sleeved shirt. It's bright blue and seems water proof. I'm not really sure what it's for, but I take it, shrugging it over my head.
She lays both boards on the ground. She shows me some of the basics.
"Alright, when you want to stand up, you need to do it like this." She does something that looks like a push up and she's standing, her knees bent. She looked so smooth and fluid.
I try to mimic her.
"Make sure you're farther back on the board. Let's do it again. Do it with me."
I try again, doing my best to imitate what she's doing, but not feeling at all like I look anything like she does.
"One more time, make sure your feet are like this."
I make the adjustment, doing it again. I swear, I already feel tired.
"One more time," she says.
I look back at her, feeling myself becoming stubborn, crossing my arms.
"I feel like a dumb ass, Emily. Can we just go out there?"
She laughs at me and nods. She pops up, filled with energy. I've forgotten what it's like when she's like this. How she used to look when she was swimming. So happy and in her element. There is really no part of me that ever needed to surf in my life, but I want to do it for her because she looks so happy.
"Alright, help me carry these," she says, and she moves to the back to pick up both boards. Catching on, I move to the front, taking the noses of each in my right and left hand, on both sides of my body. We lift, and I'm surprised because they are actually much heavier than I thought. I'm impressed for a moment that she was able to carry both over to our stuff.
We're walking towards the surf when suddenly a small wave crashes and the water slides over my feet.
"Holy fuck, Emily," I say, gasping, almost jumping backwards out of my skin. "It's cold as shit!"
And, I can't believe it, she laughs at me again.
"What did you think, Alison? It's not the Carribbean."
I actually don't even know what I thought. It's not that the water wasn't cold on the East Coast. But, damn, it was so beautiful and warm here, I thought for sure the water would be warmer. The water hits my feet again, and I can only think suddenly of all those people from the movie Titanic with icicles on their faces. I drop the front of the boards, and take a step away from the surf.
"I can't get in that," I say, matter-of-factly, looking at Emily, crossing my arms.
Emily drops the back of the boards too, and they lazily try to find traction on the sand as the water attempts to pull them out. I realize Emily is giving me a mischievous look.
"Yes, you can."
"No," I say to her, becoming concerned at the look she has in her eye. She starts walking towards me purposefully.
"No, Emily. No, don't you dare," I say, turning. But before I can run across the beach, she has me around the waist, behind me, powerfully in her arms. She lifts me cleanly off the sand, and turns us back towards the surf.
"No, damn it, Emily!" I yell, struggling hard, my efforts almost bringing us to the ground as she takes a few uncontrolled steps as I thrash around. But she's stronger than me, and I feel the ice cold water splash around my ankles as she carries me even faster into the surf.
I make one last strangled yell as she brings us crashing down, her back first, me in front of her, into the water.
It feels like I have literally jumped into an ice hole. I bring my head above the water, sputtering, spitting out the salt water, wiping my eyes away. I can feel her arms arounds around my waist still, clutching at my water shirt, or whatever you call it.
"Oh my GOD, Emily," I say in the strongest voice of betrayal I can muster. My teeth instantly start chattering. But all I can hear is her howling in laughter. I can feel her push us off, even farther backwards into the water. It feels like I'm just being dragged away, out to fucking sea.
I struggle to get free, the cold, I feel, is stabbing me right in the blood cells. I try to stand, but she won't let me. She holds onto me tightly from behind, keeping me in the water. Finally, I just stop struggling, livid. I resolve that I need to go to the gym more, that I need to be able to over power her if I want.
My whole body is shaking, goose bumps having erupted violently all over my skin. I involuntarily push against her, eager for any warmth. Realizing that I'm not trying to break free any longer, her grip loosens. She begins to rub my arms under the water. I assume she can feel the goose bumps as my wet shirt floats around my torso and is loose around my arms.
"I'm sorry, Alison," she says, laughing.
"No, you're not," I say, still angry.
"But see? It's not so bad," she says against my ear, and my teeth suddenly stop chattering.
I become aware of our closeness, that my back is against her breasts. That our legs are tangled together, sliding across one another under the water. I feel her hands differently suddenly, one pressing against my arm, the other actually touching the skin of my stomach, under the shirt. A familiar warmth starts to emanate from my center.
I press my hands against her thighs to turn around and look at her. She lets me, moving her hands to my waist, still under the shirt, thumbs against my skin. I assume to make sure I can't get away, but she is giving me that look again. It reminds me of our hug from earlier on the street. Our faces only inches apart. I glance down, watching how the surf shirt clings to her skin, impossibly close, leaving nothing to the imagination. I can see the outline of her bathing suit top. I think about what's under it. I have a powerful urge to wrap my legs around her waist. But I resist. I try to remember why I have never visited before, why I didn't call her 6 months ago. But it's difficult with the warmth spreading from my center, to my legs, to my toes.
"Mermaid," I say, reaching out to touch her face. I couldn't stop myself. I had to do something. Her hair is splayed around her, wet, her cheeks pink from our struggle. The sun glitters off the water, reflecting onto her face, her body.
"My mermaid."
I don't even know who is talking at this point. Some other version of Alison that seems to always rear its head when I'm with Emily. Not smart Alison. Not controlled Alison. Emily closes her eyes, breathing in. I think, this is the perfect time to kiss her. She wants you to kiss her. She wants you.
But as I'm leaning in, I feel a strange pulling in the water, an odd gravity. I feel both of our bodies move backwards. I glance over her shoulder, spotting a wave building up behind us. I smirk.
I wait until the perfect opportunity. Her eyes are still closed. I lean forward, my lips almost brushing against hers, our noses touching, and say, "Don't look now."
Her eyes open, startled, looking deeply within mine, her lips are parted. She is so sexy, I almost feel bad for what I'm about to do. But I do it anyway, I motion with my eyes for her to look behind her. And, as she does, I grab her shoulders, turn her full on, as the wave catches her right in the face while I duck down under it.
The force of the waves knocks us apart, and I struggle to find my feet on the ocean floor.
"Ali!" she says, coming up a few feet away. She looks at me in shock. "I can't believe you just did that."
"Sweet revenge," I say to her, smiling wickedly and winking. Her cheeks look pink again.
She smiles back uncertainly and follows me back to the boards. She was right, I am warmer now.
I actually did it. I actually surfed. For about 4 seconds. Then I went crashing into the water.
Surfing was honestly exhausting. I do not need to do it again. But the best part was how much Emily touched me, how close she was in the water. I loved her hands on me, her attentive eyes always making sure I was okay. It was hard not to fall right into them. She really did look like a mermaid.
We were done now, and I am watching her clean the boards in the surf. She had taken her surf shirt off and pitched it onto the sand in front of me. She was just in her bathing suit, and I couldn't help but stare at her, captivated. Her two piece was a light yellow, a color I could never pull off, and it made her skin look more caramel. Her hair was starting to dry in the wind, looking tussled. If I had thought she was gorgeous before, that was nothing. I had not seen her on the beach. I'm happy she can't see my eyes under my sunglasses.
She drags the boards back up beside us, falling into her beach chair. She steals a glance at me and smiles lightly. I pull my own surf shirt off, realizing she was watching, but also kind of wanting her to. It was still soaking, the water dripping down on me as I pull it over my head. I threw it by hers.
"Do you remember," I start. "Telling me all about Malibu?"
"Yes," she says, looking away and up into the sun "My roommate used to get so mad when you'd call. She knew I'd be on the phone forever."
"How is Pepperdine now?" I ask, leaning back lazily into my chair. "Tell me another story."
Emily looks uncomfortable for a moment. I know why, after all. I just feel guilty for knowing more about her life than she'd realized she told me. I wanted her to tell me now, so it wasn't a secret between us.
"It's… good," she says plainly.
I have to force myself to keep looking at the ocean, to not bore into her, force the truth out. We're adults now. She can tell me if she wants.
"But, I can't wait to be done. Sometimes I think," she says, with a pause. "That college just isn't for me. Not any more at least."
I look at her, holding back and thinking, I'll have to be satisfied with that.
I close my eyes, drift a little bit in the relaxation of the moment.
"Are you having fun?" she says, bringing me out of a daze.
"Yes, today is perfect so far," I smile at her, thinking it's so sweet that she would ask.
"Well, what would be the next perfect thing we could do?"
My smile widens, mischievously at her.
"Margaritas. On the beach."
Emily.
I felt like we were acting so differently than we usually did. Maybe it was being out of Rosewood. Maybe it was just her being in Califonira. But it was like we were the best form of ourselves. It was so nice to be alone with her. It was so nice to have all of her attention. Is this what our vacations would be like?
Ali was light and present, she was usually distracted and closed off. She always seemed like she had a million things on her mind. Not here. It felt like all she could see was me. I couldn't help but imagine taking her to other places. To Malibu. Up the PCH. I wanted to see her face as she saw everything for the first time. I wanted to hold her hand.
But that wasn't what we should be doing. Right? That wasn't who we were. It was just difficult not seeing it that way while she was here now. It was difficult not acting on it. She'd almost kissed me, when we were in the ocean, before surfing. And I'd wanted her to. It felt so silly afterward. We'd already slept together, I'd already kissed her, but I was still nervous. She still made my breath catch in the back of my throat.
A part of myself had always hoped that after we'd had sex, real sex, that that would be the end of it. I'd hoped that after being with Ali like that, in a way I'd always imagined, I'd no longer feel the way I felt about her. That I would feel like I'd already climbed that mountain, seen its view at the top, and I could move on. But instead, I felt like I had been at the top, climbed down, gone home, and then yearned to go back up it again. Explore every trail, every river, every tree. It was maddening. Like, I had known Ali for years and years and years. How could I feel like there was still more I wanted to know about her, so much more I wanted from her?
Over dinner, I'd watched her eat, and I just couldn't take my eyes off of her. I'd taken her to a Mexican food restaurant just off the beach. We'd spent hours there. We'd easily had a pitcher of margaritas, and we were laughing so much, she was laughing so much. But it wasn't so charged, so tense, like last time. It was that easy comradery where we were just enjoying each other. She asked about places I'd surfed, people I'd met, bartending stories. I noticed she was careful to avoid asking about Paige or Northern California. She didn't ask me about Pepperdine again. I didn't ask her about Rosewood or Charlotte.
We were having such a good time, it was enough to make me wonder why I hadn't been talking to her, why I hadn't called her. A part of me thought it was because it was just too painful, I didn't want to hear the awkward silence over the static of the phone. But, honestly, after coming back from Pennsylvania, everything just seemed to fall by the wayside. It wasn't only Ali. It was all of my friends here, my friends back home, Paige, my mom. I'd started just throwing away mail, rather than read it. The last one I'd read informed me that I'd lost my scholarship. So, I was paying my own way this semester, with my dad's money, but still failing every class. Things just didn't seem to matter any more. My dad had worked so hard, been so good, and one day he was just gone. Why bother working for anything?
Ali noticed when I would get lost in my thoughts like this. She didn't ask though, it was like she knew what I was thinking, always.
"Do you want to go out? There's some cool bars and clubs around here," I ask when we're walking out of the restaurant. She loops her arm into mine.
"No, no, I'm so exhausted," she says back. "I think it's like 10 PM already my time, and I feel like I haven't slept at all."
"Oh yeah," I say, looking at her face. She is starting to look so tired. "That time change is killer."
"Can we just go back to your place? Watch a movie?" she asks again, tilting her head and looking at me. That look is so dangerous. So hard to say no to.
I vaguely remember that she wanted to get a hotel earlier. But I don't want to deal with the inconvenience of taking her to one, getting her all checked in. Also, more secretly, I want her to just be with me.
We walk back to my apartment, my cheeks feeling warm from the margaritas. Ali's arm stays wrapped around mine, sometimes she leans her head against my shoulder. I feel that old excitement. I don't know whether to quell it or enjoy it.
When we get inside, she goes to the bathroom to change again, we're still in our bathing suits. I change quickly into a t-shirt and pajama pants, grabbing my laptop, and settling onto my bed. My back is against the headboard as I glance through movies on Netflix.
She reappears in a blue t-shirt and shorts. She smiles sleepily at me, she's adorable, as she slides into bed, under my comforter, facing me and the laptop. She already looks like she's going to pass out. I'm exhausted, too, from barely sleeping last night, to my run this morning, and then surfing, I just put on something random. "Clueless."
"I love this movie," Ali breathes, her eyes already closed, as the opening song plays.
I look down at her, watching her. It's nice when she's not returning my gaze, with that pointed examination she can have, that x-ray vision. I take in the small details of her face, like I've done a thousand times before.
I want to be closer to her. I slide down the head board, inching ever so closer, until I can feel her arm against mine. That's close enough.
I start to watch the movie, but it's not long before my eyes close, Ali's arm warm on mine.
I'm back in my house, my house in Rosewood, though it looks different. Warped. Not the right colors. I don't notice though. My dad is in the kitchen cooking, I can't see what. I stare at him.
"Dad, what are you doing here?"
"I'm making breakfast, hon," he says easily back, not even turning to look at me.
"Aren't you supposed to be…" but I can't remember what he's supposed to be doing. I'm confused. There's something I should be remembering, just on the tip of my tongue. Something important. I feel uneasy.
"In Texas?" I finish uncertainly. No, that's not it.
"Yeah," he says, handing me a plate of eggs.
"No," I say suddenly. "You're dead."
He finally looks at me, confused. He has the same haircut he had when I was growing up, not like what he looked like when he died.
"No, I'm not. I recovered, don't you remember?"
But I can't remember. Did he? Did he recover? Why does everything feel wrong then? Is he really alive?
I can't bring myself to hug him, though. I feel like it's not really him, that it's someone else. A twin maybe. It's not my dad.
I feel someone moving me, I realize I'm saying something to them. I don't know what. The moving stops.
Alison.
I awoke to the closing credits of the movie. I shut the laptop, moving it off of the bed. Emily's fast asleep beside me, it's pitch black in the apartment without the glow of the computer screen. I move out of bed to get my phone charger, noticing my phone was dead. I felt super groggy, feeling sick almost, unlike myself. When I return, I slip back into bed beside her, but I feel her moving in the bed, flinching.
I glance over, she's still twitching, but she's started talking, too, but I can't tell what she's saying. She definitely seemed agitated.
"Emily," I say.
No response, still kicking and mumbling.
"Emily," I say again.
And, then, she distinctly says back, "You're dead."
It was weird. And even a little creepy. But she's definitely still sleeping, I assure myself. I lean over her, watching her face. I sadly wonder about what she's dreaming. I want her to feel better.
So, I push her shoulders so that she's facing away from me, she's surprisingly compliant. I wrap one arm tightly around her midsection and hold her close, settle my chin on her shoulder.
This seems to help. She stops moving as much, stops talking. I remember back to when we used to snuggle like this, back before I went missing in high school. I've missed it.