Page 52 of That Birthday in Barbados
“Oh,” she says, and it is clearshe’s not really happy to see me. “Hello, again.”
“Hi,” I say, more than a little puzzled to find her here in the sauna with me instead of back at Anders’ house. And in his bed.
“This is awkward,” she says, taking a seat on the far side of the bench.
“Sorry,” I say, standing to leave.
“No, no,” she says, waving me back onto the seat. “We are both adults.”
Me more so than you, I want to say, but don’t.
“I’m not exactly used to rejection,” she offers in a low voice.
I give her a full look, noting the clear hurt on her face. I have no idea what to say. “Rejection?” I manage.
“Not my normal experience with men.”
We’re silent for several long seconds, and then she adds, “You are in his head.”
To say the words shock me would be an understatement. “I don’t think you’re right about that.”
She laughs softly. “Oh, I’m right. Believe me.”
She drops her towel, fully naked under a sheen of sweat. I’m still wearing my robe, and even though I’m at the point of my skin igniting, I’m not about to take it off and suffer the comparison.
“Is this a casual thing for you?”
“Ah, it’s not a thing. We haven’t-”
“You certainly have something to look forward to then. Anders is-”She breaks off and finally adds, “Difficult to live up to.”
I’m pretty sure I know what she means by this. “Are you in love with him?”
“I could be,” she answers honestly. “If he would give me the go ahead.”
“Go ahead?”
“Some indication he could love me back.”
“Oh.”
I hear the longing in her voice, and oddly enough, I feel sorry for her. In the past twenty-four hours, I’ve done my share of mooning over Anders, and I’msure she has real history to mourn. I only had the fantasy of it.
“I shouldn’t be a reason for you two not to-”I break off there, not sure how to finish.
“Yeah, well, when one’s not into it, kind of not the same.”
“I find it hard to believe any man would kick you out of bed.”
She shrugs. “Anders is different. There’s got to be a connection there. I thought we had one, but apparently you’ve made him see it differently.”
A young woman dressed in a spa uniform appears at the door, opens it to say, “Ms. Camilleri?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“The masseuse is ready for you.”
“Oh. Thank you.” I stand, sweat dripping down my face and neck to be absorbed by the robe. “I’m sorry for the disappointment, Celeste.”
