Page 32 of Second Tide's the Charm
He turns back to the camera. “If she starts singing ‘Baby Shark’ I think it’s fair that I instigate a mutiny, right?”
“Oh, so I’m the captain in this scenario? I like the sound of that.”
Adrian shakes his head, still grinning, and we go on, talking about the various kinds of sharks that begin their lives in the protected waters of estuaries around the globe. It’s easy. Simple. Comfortable.
Yes, the camera’s rolling, but I’m on the water, teaching people about my favorite subject. The camera isn’t my enemy, or a representation of people looking to find fault, it’s a teaching tool. That I found my footing thanks to opening up to Adrian is a topic to investigate later. For now, I inhale the happiness of a breeze tinged with salt, and exhale all the baggage I brought with me, even though I traveled light.
Maybe I can do this. Let go of the past. Make a fresh start. Work with Adrian as a colleague, nothing more. One day at a time.
fifteen
adrian
We wrapped up filming by late afternoon. The trip back was quiet, both of us sweaty and worn out from hours on the water. Hope left to get cleaned up at Marissa’s and I congratulated myself on resisting the very unprofessional urge to ask if she wanted to grab dinner afterward, alarmed to realize I crave more time with her even after a whole day together.
Since my head is clearly not running the show, I decide to get out my pent-up physical tension with a quick workout. My home gym setup has become a haven, a place to decompress and work my body so my mind can rest. Up until a couple years ago, walks around campus and the rare days spent working with sharks in the ocean were the sum total of my physical activity.
After Hope left, I accepted a friend’s invitation to the gym and discovered lifting heavy things is excellent stress relief. My workout routine helped me cope with the pressure of starting the channel, something miles outside my comfort zone.
I push myself today, working out muscles tense from adhering to the new boundaries of our relationship. Breathing through a heavy set of bicep curls, I exhale and feel the tightness leave my chest for the first time all day, weary with the strain of holding my emotions in a vise grip. The weights are slick with sweat by the time I feel ready to process what Hope told me about her time in Michigan.
Her revelation about the council meeting disaster pulled me right back into the lonely days after our relationship ended. I was busy feeling hurt, struggling to reorient myself without Hope, but meanwhile, she was dealing with a career setback, making the hard decision to step away from the work she loved for the good of her community.
Finding out what she went through, and her reasons for staying in Michigan, was like balm on the raw ache of our breakup, easing the resentment of separation. My first instinct was to wrap an arm around her shoulders and tell her she’s being too hard on herself, but that’s not my role anymore. The thought of it being another man’s job has me grabbing a heavier set of dumbbells. But I do want her to be happy. To put her in my past, so I can move on too. Funny how a summer together might be the thing that breaks her hold on my heart.
We managed to maintain a good working relationship today, aside from a couple slip-ups on my part. Easier to move past the awkwardness when we have so much to talk about within the realm of research we’re both passionate about.
In between exercises, I watch the footage of us. It looks good.Welook good. Comfortable, but not in an overly-familiar way. Knowledgeable, and yes, nerdy. What viewers expect and keep coming back for. Hope is going to fit in just fine.
Reaching that conclusion comes easy, but it takes an entire full-body circuit before I feel up to testing that theory by sending the footage to Gabe, requesting him to edit it sometime this weekend. The moment theSENTconfirmation appears, I freak out all over again.
How will Gabe interpret what he sees on-screen? No doubt he’ll read into our banter, but it’s imperative that our followers don’t. The idea of exposing Hope to speculation turns my stomach. But it’s not just Hope I’m worried about. It’s us. Together.
I’m worried about the subtext picked up by the viewfinder. That people will be able to tell who we were to each other—two people who studied together on countless all-nighters, and binged sci-fi movies on long weekends, who knew each other’s takeout orders by heart and the things that made them lose their breath.
Two people who knew each other’s bodies as well as their own, who kissed and laughed and held and loved their way through five years together. Two people who were months away from sharing a home.
Sweat stings my eyes and I rub my arm across my face. I’m not about to cry over Hope. Not now, when she’s my colleague, and we’re past all this. Chest heaving, I take a swig from my water bottle. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I yank it out, grateful for the interruption.
Gabe: No problem. How’d it go?
Adrian: Better than expected.
Gabe: I expected her to push you overboard.
Adrian: She probably wanted to after what happened the other day.
Gabe: How many times did she threaten to commandeer the vessel?
Thinking back to Hope teasing me about my docking skills, I grin.
Adrian: Only once, and I’m pretty sure she was joking.
Gabe: Look at you two, putting aside your differences in the name of science.
He’s being annoying on purpose, so I don’t bother with a reply. But a moment later, nerves get the better of me.
Adrian: Did you watch it?
