Page 71 of The Other Side of Paradise
“Sucks,” I said. “I mean, that they can’t just let something go. Cutting off their noses to spite their faces, at this point. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You could give me something to look forward to,” she said with a glint and a smile my way. “They’re going to want to lock me down for the afternoon, but then we should grab dinner.”
Oh, god. That sounded like she was asking me out to dinner. “Oh,” I said after a beat. “Like, with Ryan and Brooklyn?”
She waved me off, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t want to interrupt their wild sex life. I’m sure you know all the good places for a meal around here. There’s a lot of Jamaican restaurants around here, right? What do you say?”
She was asking me to dinner. In, like… a friendly way? Because if she wanted to go on a date with me, she really could have just said so. My brain fizzled.
I didn’t think last night was something we’d have done if she just wanted to be friends. But… I had no fucking idea. Was she just… I don’t know. Exploring?
“I, um,” I started, my voice anxious. I didn’t even know what I was saying. “I’ve got some stuff I need to do tonight, so I don’t know if…”
I was going to rip my own face off. Was I saying no right now? To Stella Valerie Bell asking me out for dinner? What kind of fucked-up psychoactives were in the coffee?
I mean, I knew full well what I was doing—I was protecting myself from her, or fucking well trying to. If I went out to dinner with her, I’d be so uselessly in love with her that I’d spend forever pining. Just like a… a… pull the band-aid situation. And she was straight besides—had said it multiple times. If she wanted to try something different, she needed to say so clearly.
I was scared of rejection and hiding from it, but I wasn’t admitting that. Not to myself, not to anyone.
Stella gave me a look like she knew I was making it up, but she didn’t press it. “Guess I could explore the place myself,” she said, her voice a little awkward, as she looked back out over the water. “I forget people have lives and, like, stuff to do.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to.” I was making things worse. I needed to shut up.
“No, it’s cool. I don’t mind.” She gave me a fake laugh as she sipped her coffee again, not finishing it but setting it down and standing up anyway. “I could do with a shower… you know, before I face the music with my parents. For real, though, send me a recommendation of a good spot to grab some jerk chicken or something. I know you’ve got it all in your secret concierge book.”
“There is a spot I know is popular with adventurous eaters…”
She laughed, not quite looking at me. “I guess that is what I am,” she said. “Really been paying attention.”
I couldn’t think of a single aspect of her entire existence I didn’t want to pay agonizingly close attention to. “You said you like calamari. That’s enough for me to decide you’re an adventurous eater.”
“It’sgood.”
“I’m glad you like it, Stella, I’m just saying, rubber bands are cheaper if that’s what you want to eat.”
She laughed, shaking her head, and she paused in the doorway, giving me a loaded look—sweet and sentimental and sad all at the same time, and it made me feel like my heart would explode. “I guess I’ll get you a big pack of rubber bands, then. To say thanks for the recommendation. I’ll make sure to look for the most delicious brand. I’m sure Wolfgang Puck has a line.”
“Oh, the Jamie Oliver line is my favorite.”
“I’ll keep an eye out. Bon appetit.” She turned away with a small sigh that I think she didn’t mean for me to hear, and she headed back into the room, the shower turning on shortly after.
I can’t believe we were having a loaded, sentimental conversation about eating rubber bands. There was something wrong with me.
Whatever. What-fucking-ever. I was working tomorrow and the day after, and then the day after that was Sunday, when she was heading back to the mainland and leaving all this behind. I was just setting myself up for heartbreak getting too close to her, too attached. I needed to step back anyway. I’d done it in the stupidest possible way, but I’d done it.
I didn’t finish my coffee, either—it wasn’t even very good coffee, just the typical sour swill from an in-room Mr. Coffee machine—and I took it upon myself to rinse out both cups in the kitchenette, leaving them on the rack to dry as I changed back into yesterday’s clothes, trying not to think about what was happening when I took them off. Being sad was one thing, but being sad and aroused would be a stupid combination.
Once I was dressed and I’d cleaned myself up as best I could without the bathroom, I paused at the bathroom door, listening to the water running inside, before I managed to say, “Hey, um… I’m just running out to grab some breakfast. Do you want me to get anything and bring it back for you?”
Her voice was muffled from inside, through the running water and the wooden door. “You’re a sweetheart. I’m good, though. I’ll head straight over to talk to my family…”
“Good luck, okay?”
“Yeah. You too.”
Well, at least I wasn’t the only one to autopilot toyou toowhen it didn’t apply. It was, at least in a sea of insecurities, one little bit of reassurance.
I headed outside, my head a swirl of anxious and uneasy thoughts, and I’d been so distracted with the churn in my mind that I let my guard down, and I was walking past the pool towards the cafeteria when I heard a voice from the bar—not BB’s voice, but her coworker Ramón, who always wanted a conversation with any warm body in his vicinity. And didn’t know how to pick up on cues like me shuffling away with my head down that might have signaledI don’t want to talk right now.I was pretty sure he didn’t know those words could be put in that order.
