Page 33 of Beach Bodies

Even to my own ears, my whisper sounded like steel, and for a moment, I felt dangerous.

We stared at each other, Jessica still crouched and tear-streaked by the messy guts of her luggage, me sitting on the side of the bed with clenched fists, the engagement ring cold in its tiny box in my sweatshirt pocket. The ring I’d meant to propose with– but Jessica kept putting me off when Isuggested we take a romantic walk.We can do romantic walks in Cincinnati! We only have a few days here, Lil. I want to take advantage of…The trainer. The nutritionist. The life coach. You name it.

‘You look like a goddamn Barbie doll, Lily. I’m fat. OK? Look at me! I’m disgusting!’

‘I thought our love went beyond how we looked.’

Jessica stood, rage and tears mingled in her face. ‘I’m sleeping at my parents’ tonight.’

It’s only now, all these years later, that I see how she may have heard my comment.I thought our love went beyond how we looked.I meant it as a reassurance. That even though ofcourseI was attracted to her sexually, our bodies and how they looked were never at the root of our love. Now, I think she heard it as me agreeing that she was disgusting. If I could rewind time, I’d overcome that cold feeling that had taken hold of me. I’d wrestle it back with all my strength. I’d stuff my own pain aside. Then I’d burst up from the bed and enfold her in my arms and topple over with her on the mess of unpacking. I’d pull out the ring and thread it on to her finger and whisper,You’re beautiful. Period, over and over, until she believed me.

‘May I take your order, ma’am?’ says the cheerful smoothie mixologist, snapping me out of the memory.

I roll my shoulders and plaster a smile on my face.

‘Spinach and carrot juice, please, with a touch of jalapeño.’

‘And would you like to add any protein powders to that this morning?’

‘Why the hell not,’ I say. As he puts the veggies through the whirring juicer, I can’t help but think of that bag of M&M’sat Miami airport. It’s not like things would have turned out differently without it. There would have been another bag of M&M’s, or chips, or whatever, at some other time. The problem wasn’t that we live in a world full of snacks. The problem was that we live in a world full of Riovans.

Even in the flames of my anger after what happened to Jessica, when I was soliciting every news outlet on God’s green earth to help me take down the Riovan, part of me always knew it wouldn’t be enough. Knock this place down, and another will rise up. The problem was too big for me– a Medusa, a cancer, growing faster than I could ever hope to excise it.

‘Enjoy,’ says the mixologist, handing me a cup full of muddy brown-orange vegetable sludge.

When I walk away with my beverage, I notice Daniel is no longer behind me– in fact, he’s left the dining hall.

Good.

*

Sunday during my beach shift, storm clouds roll in late in the morning. The other lifeguard signals to me and I give a thumbs up; time for storm protocols.

It’s a familiar routine. I switch the safety flag to red, then make for the shoreline, blowing my whistle and waving at the half-dozen swimmers still in the water.

‘Everyone out of the water, please!’

People gather up towels and beach bags, looking nervously at the sky. I don’t blame them. It’s hurricane season, after all.

As the wind picks up and the waves roll in with climbing intensity, I put up the DO NOT SWIM warning sign. That’swhen I notice a straggler who seems to think it’s time to bodysurf.Yeah, bud, that’s how you die.I blow the whistle in two sharp bursts, then shout, ‘Hey! Time to come in!’

By the time the first fat drops of rain hit the sand shortly after, the last guests are running towards the hotel, including the errant bodysurfer. My fellow lifeguard is beating a retreat with his gear, and I signal to him that I’ll be right behind him. Alone on the beach, I linger for a moment, relishing the roar of the waves and the pelt of the raindrops, letting the wind rip through my hair.

The first night I planned on proposing to Jessica, a storm came up suddenly, just like this. The rocks would be slippery, wet. Too dangerous. I put it off.

There’s always tomorrow, I thought.

But the next night, she wasn’t herself. ‘I’m hitting the gym,’ she said when I suggested a walk. ‘My trainer set a really aggressive goal for me, so.’

‘But didn’t you already work out this morning?’

‘Yeah, well, some of us have to work harder at it than others,’ she said, with a hint of bitterness that I now know was a warning sign of what was to come. But at the time, I brushed it off, reminding myself that she’d been up at six for the sunrise yoga and hadn’t stopped since; she was just tired and cranky. I’d give her some space. We had four days left. There were parts in our life that were tight– money, our small apartment, our shared closet– but time was not one of them. We were rich in time.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Well, have a good workout. I’m going to hit up the sauna, if you want to join me later.’

I yelp with surprise at a sudden masculine voice behind me.

‘Need help?’

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