Page 38 of Decking the Halls
Every time a wave breaks, it leaves behind a quilt of foam that dissolves at our feet. I can’t feel it through my boots, but I know it’s frigid. Unlike the hand in mine.
A golden retriever sprints past us, chasing a stick into the shallows. Its owner calls out an apology, but Wren just laughs. “He’s living his best life,” she says.
“You ever think dogs have it figured out?”
“How so?”
I swing our arms as we continue to walk, the dog happily tossing the stick up in the air and catching it again. “They don’t question what makes them happy. They just… go after it.”
She glances at me with a snicker. Her breath also creates a fog before her voice. I suppose it’s cold out here. I hardly notice. “Yeah. Guess I’m trying to be more like that.”
I try to laugh, but it doesn’t work. The ocean always does this to me. While other people can live in the moment and let go of what makes them anxious, I watch that endless expanse of sea and turn inward. I might be a speck of sand in the realm of the universe, but that just means I have a smaller zone of control. I might as well make the most of it.
“It’s strange,” I admit. “Yesterday, I was worried about how people would look at me. What they’d say. And now…”
“Now you don’t care?”
“Now I do, but not enough to stop.”
We walk farther, close enough that the edges of the waves soak into our boots. The cold finally bites my toes, but I don’t move. Wren is beside me. Not only does she keep me grounded in her warmth, but now that I know I can just be… hers? Things like temporarily wet and cold toes don’t bother me anymore.
“Did you always want to stay here?” I ask. “In Coos Bay?”
Wren thinks for a moment. “Not always. When I was a teenager, I wanted out. Maybe start in Portland before deciding between LA or maybe something crazy like… the South? Sure. But I think that was just me wanting to outrun my thoughts.”
“And now?”
She shrugs, looking out over the water. There’s one commercial fishing boat out today. The water must be decent enough that hardy stomachs and good balance can survive out there if the catch is good. But it’s Christmas. It makes me wonder what kind of fishermen work on Christmas. Are they desperate for money? Don’t have any family? Have different traditions, and today is just another day? “Now I’ve got all this know-how with my hands, a shop I built from scratch, and a woman who looks at me like I just, dunno, tamed the sea.” She blushes as she realizes she only said that because we’re looking at the ocean. “Feels like I already made it.”
I’m also bashful, but for a different reason. “You really think that?”
“I don’t say things I don’t mean, Edie.”
Hearing my name like that, with such soft-spoken passion, makes my heart ache in ways I’ve never felt before. Not with either of my boyfriends… hell, not even in my childhood fantasies, when I would watch Wren from afar and wonder what it would be like to hug her for more than a couple of seconds like friends do.
We reach the driftwood line, where the waves have tossed up bleached logs and cold, tangled seaweed. Wren hops up on one, balancing easily despite her boots. I follow her, less graceful, and she laughs when I wobble.
“Hey, no judgment.” I steady myself without faceplanting in the dusty sand. Up here, things aren’t as neatly compacted as they are down closer to the tideline.
Wren offers her hand. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
When I take it, she doesn’t let go.
A wave rushes in, then out again, and I find myself thinking how love feels like that… this constant give and take, push and pull. Wren looks down at me, her grayish blue eyes matching the colors of the sea and the sky.
“I’ve been thinking about expanding the shop,” she says suddenly. “Maybe open another bay. I’ve had people asking about classes, like how to restore old bikes and keep them running. You think anyone’d come?”
“In this town?” I say. “Half the people I know drive trucks that rattle like those model skeletons they have in science class. You’d have a waiting list.”
She laughs. “Maybe I’ll start advertising that all the rednecks and wannabe rednecks can come get lessons from some twenty-something lesbian who drives a better rig than them. Get a little local program going with Marshfield or something. Train some kids who don’t want to leave after high school. Kids are the future, I hear.”
“Give them something to stay for.” I know that sentiment well. “Not everyone wants to leave their hometown, but you have to have some kind of income to keep you around.”
“Exactly.”
The wind gusts harder, and I pull her sweater tighter around me over my hoodie. She jumps down from the log and wraps her arms around my waist from behind, her chin resting on my shoulder. “You cold?”
“Little bit.”
