Page 65 of Pick-Up
After a beat of silence, Barbara says, “It’sss…” She trails off, a balloon deflating. It takes me a minute to realize her thought will not be completed.
“Um,” I say into the deafening silence. “Well, we did complete his portion of the photo shoot and video interview today and hopefully got what we need.”
“Wonderful,” Barbara breathes. “Well, I better run! Enjoy, love!”
And then she is gone. I stare at my phone, but it’s not at fault. This is how people get away with horrible behavior. This is how it continues unchecked. Everyone is afraid to rock the boat.
The restaurant is surrounded on three sides by ocean. At night, it was too dark to see much and, during the day, I’ve been too busy to notice. Now, I stare at the horizon and lose myself in turquoise water as it glimmers and swells, hoping for an epiphany. Some people find this meditative. It just makes me crave a blue raspberry Blow Pop.
An iguana creeps out from behind a nearby banquette. Are theyreally endangered? It feels like there are four million of them! This one scurries up onto the seat. It is spectacular in all its prehistoric glory against the tangerine cushion. A miniature Godzilla. Jackie would be horrified, but I kind of like this guy. I think Nettie and Bart would too.
I snap a quick picture. Then, we connect for a moment, eyeing each other in interspecies communion. I lose our staring contest. After all, there is work to be done. Work this iguana won’t ever see or understand, unless he’s into oxygen facials.
I have an irrational urge to play Turks and Caicos geography with this guy. Maybe he knows my stingray. But then Derek calls me back inside.
At the end of the day, you can stick a fork in me. I am toast. Which you don’t even eat with a fork. Whatever. Suffice it to say, I am very tired.
We are still a bit behind, but we are losing light. So, at 5:30 p.m., I confer with Charlie and then call it.
A bunch of the others are heading to the bar for a much-needed margarita. Even Peter agrees to join. I do love a post-shoot download and the restaurant’s guacamole—which I know comes with pomegranate seeds—is calling to me. But it will have to wait. I’ve got a hot FaceTime date with my kids, and I miss their sloppy faces.
When I leave to head back to the villa, there is no one to boo me, though Jackie makes a sad face at my departure, then waves in slo-mo. Derek shoots me a warm smile, all the more appreciated for its rarity. Stephanie has been absent since she left for her interview with Martin. If she doesn’t materialize soon, I might organize a search party.
It’s still warm out, of course, but the light is settling once we’ve broken all the equipment down and said our goodbyes. I push my sunglasses off my face and perch them on my head so I can see the true colors. It’s an exceptional thing to walk “home” from work barefooton slatted wooden walkways dusted with sand. The still-damp shore has been hung out to dry as the tide recedes. Only a bit more than a day in, I am growing used to a world without the roar of engines and car stereos; without strangers and overheard snippets of conversation; where the only abrasion is the grains of sand exfoliating the bottom of your feet.
Through the window of our villa, I can see the light glowing yellow. There is a moment when the outside grows darker than in, and I am there to witness it. It’s not fall here. Not in the way I know it, anyway. There are no browning leaves or crisp breezes with edges that cut. There are certainly no knit hats and gloves. But something about this time of day feels autumnal. It’s nostalgic though I’ve never lived it before. And from somewhere, probably the outdoor barbecue pit by the restaurant, the smell of fireplace wafts and seduces. Oh, right. Michael mentioned something about “island-inspired” s’mores.
When I step inside, I discover Ethan sitting in one of the deep armchairs, his laptop on his lap. He is wearing reading glasses I’ve never seen before. And he is frowning at his screen. I didn’t expect to find him still here, but, when he looks up and meets my eyes, it feels familiar. Natural. Good. He shoots me a small smile.
“Nice glasses,” I say.
He frowns again, takes this as an insult. Which I guess I intended. But the truth is, I like them.
And, against my better judgment, maybe him?
He takes off the glasses and inspects them like an alien intruder. Like they just showed up on his face of their own volition. “Yeah. I finally gave in.”
“That’s wise. Rather than being blind.”
“I guess so,” he grunts. “You guys wrapped?”
“We did,” I say, taking my sunglasses off my head and my bag off my shoulder and resting both on the kitchen island. “We’re a little behind, but I think we’ll catch up tomorrow.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“How do you think it went?”
I am not accustomed to downloads like this. I live with two small children and one oversize cat. There are no adults around to ask me about my day. And, before that, I got used to Cliff’s disinterest in anything beyond himself. He was not the sort of man who asked after my day. Of course, Ethan is being thoughtful and also looking after the project. These are normal things to do. But I am momentarily stymied by the crushing realization that I have spent too many years on my own or playing second fiddle. I have let too many years pass with my head down. I’ve gone too many evenings without anyone asking me about me.
It is so obvious. And everyone who loves me has tried to tell me. My parents. Celeste. Even Nettie, who recently asked me for the first time why I “never get crushes.” But it is in this moment, as I lower myself into the corner of this immaculate linen sectional beside Ethan’s chair, that the knowledge actually roots. In this moment, I believe it.
Which is why I forget to speak. And glance up to find Ethan studying me intently. “Are you okay?”
“Yes! Sorry,” I say. “I think it went well.”
“Okay, good. You’re sure you’re okay?”
