Page 124 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
“Little bit.” I hold up my thumb and index finger, centimeters apart. “You're up early.”
“Still on New York time. I woke before my alarm and couldn't go back to sleep, so I figured I'd try out the gym.” She mops her face with a towel, then steps off the treadmill. “Hope that’s okay.”
“You don’t need my permission,” I remind her, feeling like a guest in my own home now. “But could you turn down the volume on your alarm before tomorrow?”
“Oh no, I'm so sorry! Did it wake you?”
I nod as Piper walks by me, still wiping sweat from her face. My eyes travel from her sports bra to her very short running shorts. I lose all train of thought before remembering she’s myfakesister.
“I didn’t realize it was so loud. I wanted to be sure I woke up this morning. I've got a lot to do before I start my internship tomorrow.” She pats her chest with the hand towel.
She’s been hiding a fair set of curves under all her flowy skirts and dresses. Really nice ones.
I gulp, then move toward the door. “Not a problem. I'll check the waves. Maybe I can get a ride in this morning.”
I rush down the hall, needing to put as much space as possible between Piper and me. Forget being irritated with her and her stupid alarm. I’m irritated with myself now.
What is wrong with me?
I can’t stop thinking about the bead of sweat I glimpsed trickling down her chest into the small rivet between her…
And there I go again.
I need to get in the oceannow. If Piper and I are going to live in this house together for two weeks—possibly longer if I can keep putting Dad off—I can’t think of her in any other way than as the annoying girl whose mother married my dad awhile back and is now unmarrying him for the price of my house.
After I check the surf report on my mobile, I backtrack through the kitchen to the gym. Piper’s leaning forward on a weight bench, her elbow on her knee doing bicep curls. I have a straight shot of her cleavage. I swallow hard and force my gaze to the surfboards and wetsuits hanging on the other side of the room.
“Just gonna grab a board!” I say too loudly, my entire focus on the opposite wall. “These aren't boards from any surf shop; they’re hand-shaped by the most talented blokes in the business. Can’t risk them getting stolen from the garage or an outdoor shed.”
I don’t understand why I feel I have to explain myself. Piper doesn’t know I’m thinking about her not being a kid anymore, and I sound like an idiot.
I pick out which board will work best on the low waves today, grab my wetsuit, and head for the door.
"Have a good surf," she says, breathing heavily.
Which really doesn’t help my focus.
It occurs to me that I could invite Piper to come with me. She used to surf. She might like to today. And while I was successful at avoiding her yesterday, that’s going to be more difficult for an entire two weeks.
I walk past her and pause, the invitation on the tip of my tongue when I change my mind. It’s better not to get too friendly. Andbestnot to give my addled brain anymore opportunities for inappropriate thoughts. I’m not sure what it might convince me of if I were to see Piper in a bikini.
Instead of an invitation, I tell her, “I moved out of the upstairs bathroom yesterday, so you have it to yourself. I’ll use the one down here.”
“I noticed. Thanks.”
I step outside and breathe in the salty air. The pebbled paving stones under my feet bring me back to myself. In the partially enclosed outdoor shower, I slip out of my trackies and into my wetsuit before carrying my board across the cold sand, damp from morning dew. It’s firm under my feet until I step into the water. The retreating tide tugs me in, welcoming me home.
I jump on my board, and as I paddle out to the lineup of other surfers, my whole body settles into the familiar exertionof swimming against incoming waves. Fighting the waves is useless. They will always be stronger. Patience is key. A couple meters forward, one back, a couple more forward. Eventually, I’ll get where I want to be.
After my convo with Dad, I’d spent most of yesterday squirreled away in my room working on my business plan but mostly avoiding Piper.
Today, I need the freedom the ocean provides. The Pacific stretches in front of me. There’s no start or finish to it. Just endless possibilities for new waves.
Being out here is what keeps me sane. Surfing reminds me that I don’t have control over the ocean, but that doesn’t mean I have to be pushed in any direction a wave takes me. Not out here.
I duck dive under a wave, its power surging over me. It’s not a big one, but still a thousand times stronger than me.
Conquering a wave isn’t about beating it. It’s not about making it smaller, about being bigger or stronger than it. Conquering a wave means letting go of resistance. Letting it move through you, around you, over you, until you find the place where you can ride it—dance with it. The wave still has all the power, but you’re the one in control.
