Page 35 of Left of Forever

The weather app claims it’ll be an idyllic June day here onthe California coast: seventy-eight degrees and sunny. I flip-flop back and forth over whether or not I should text Ellis again to ask if I should wear a swimsuit under my clothes. I make the executive decision to go for it, but it is rapidly becoming clear to me that the continued awkwardness over the logistics of this shit could be the thing that wears on my patience the quickest.

I don’t bother trying to do anything with my hair, since the salted ocean breeze will only coil it all back up, anyway. I do slip into my two-piece and study my reflection in the full-length mirror, however. Let myself run my hands over curves. After going through periods when I’ve felt betrayed by what my body couldn’t or wouldn’t do, or feeling trapped in it for a while, I make a point to be proud of how I’m shaped. The generous slopes of my hips, and thighs that are equal parts strong and soft. Full chest and flared waist. I can recall the flash of anger I used to feel at this reflection for a time. Felt like these same hips and breasts were mocking me, somehow—an abundance that was going to waste. This body made me a mother at seventeen before I was ready, and I worked hard to catch up. But then when Iwasready and even desperate to do it again, it wouldn’t cooperate. I couldn’t understand how I could be living in this body,presentinside of it, and still not be fully in control. I could ask it to be on its feet all day, and it would. Could tell it to squat down a thousand times and to lift and carry a thousand trays of things, and it would. I could feed it and indulge it and strengthen it, and yet it wouldn’t do the thing I wanted it to do the most, when I wanted it to.

Time has made it easier to love my body in earnest, though, and I relish that. I’ve never been dainty a day in my life, and I feel lucky that I can hardly remember those tender years when I probably wanted to be. It’s a privilege to feel good in my own skin and to be grateful for what my body is capable of, as well aswhat it’s already carried me through. It serves me and no one else. I proudly own the space I take up, and maybe that’s because of the perspective I’ve gained.

Earned.

The love I have for myself physically and the scars I bear have all been earned.

Maybe that’s how I have to start thinking of this trip with Ellis, too. We earned the scars and those tender spots in our stories. They’re not things we have to hide or feel embarrassed or awkward about. We deserve to talk about them, no matter how we do that or how we get there. Now we’ve got the perspective of time on our side, and I bet we can figure it out together.

We’ve got a week to search for what we lost in ourselves, and for the first time since this whole thing came about, I feel excited to see what we might find.

CHAPTER 17

WREN

Ellis is already in the lobby when I head down there at 7:45, seated in a big armchair with his back to me. I recognize him by the leg he’s got splayed out to the side, the masculine kneecap and calf dusted in dark hair.

“Silas,” I hear him say in a clipped tone. “It doesn’t matter. It has nothing to do with you.”

I pull up short, alarm crashing through me. He might not want to believe that this trip has anything to do with our town or the people we love, but it’s an inescapable fact that it would have an effect on them, too.

But he, of course, senses my presence, the annoyingly observant man. He pokes his head around the edge of the chair, phone hovering away from his ear. I watch him end the call with a tap of his thumb, then eye him eyeing me from my toes all the way up to my hairline.

“Hey,” he says warmly, pushing up from his seat.

I look my fill of him in return and immediately understand the slow perusal he did of me a moment ago. Seeing him in thin shorts and sandals instead of his standard boots and jeans… I roll my lips together to trap a smirk. Even at the height of summer, Spunes tends to have a chilly dampness at the edges of its days, with maybe a hot couple of hours when it’d be comfortable to rock some sandals and swimsuits in the afternoons. That particular stretch of the Pacific is way too freezing to casually splash around in, especially when the wind will just sweep the sun’s warmth right off your skin.

Look at us here, a couple of townies posing as tourists in another state. It sends a bright feeling soaring through me, like maybe we can relax and play the sunny versions of ourselves here, too.

“Cowabunga, dude,” I say with a laugh.

He flicks his sunglasses down from his head with a fingertip and a small chuckle. “Brat,” he says sweetly, and I heat up another degree. “Which Barbie would you be, then?” he teases.

I slide my own shades on and scrunch my nose. “HungryBarbie.”

His hands slide into his pockets and he inclines his head. “Same.”

“You’re the hairiest Barbie I’ve ever met.”

“All the better to snuggle up with.”

My smile falters. The big, handsome bastard has the pedal down on play, and I should probably keep this on a slower, safer route, but I think I’d rather play back.

“People don’t typically snuggle their Barbies,” I say.

He holds the door open for me to leave. “Hmm. That’s a shame.”

We stroll out of the hotel side by side into the shimmeringgolden morning, sandals slapping against the pavement. The day is already pleasantly warm, the sun bright and powerful in a cornflower sky.

He leads us across the street to a busy restaurant called Café Co-op. It’s covered in open windows, lined with flower boxes spilling over with succulents, the whole place percolating with cheer.

By half past eight, though, the mile-long beach across the street begins filling in with people. I spot a crowd lining up outside of the theme park in the distance, sea lions’ dark heads weaving in and out of the waves, and gulls circling the pier.

“Let’s take it to go?” Ellis asks when we’re near the register and he sees me staring across the way.

We amble up to a bench on the pavement that lines the sand a few minutes later, just as we spot another couple getting off of it. The man beams at Ellis and me, nodding at the coffees and to-go bags in our hands.