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“I thought train employees weren’t supposed to do that sort of thing,” I protest with a little smile, feeling happy for Suze.
“They’re not,” Michael says, widening his eyes. “It seems Patrick quit his job just after Suzanna shared her feelings too, I think.”
He shakes his head a little and I start to wonder about Suze and her own semi-stranger of a boyfriend.
Alone in my mom’s house.
The house I’m supposed to be at right now. Living with my best friend and not having strange men drive me across the city to even stranger and unknown beach houses.
I stifle a groan, almost counting the minutes before Suzanna blabs everything to my mom.
I know she will.
But I also want to enjoy myself, so I try to push it aside for now.
Maybe she won’t blab. I mean, if she’s got Patrick or whatever his name is… How likely is she to blow the whistle on me as well as herself?
She’ll blab.
“I wonder how your mom’s getting on,” Michael wonders aloud as if my own thoughts have somehow blended with his.
And before long we’re talking about my mom and dad getting back together, and how I feel about that.
Dammit.
But Michael’s really fishing for more information about how I feel about families in general.
Bringing the conversation back around to us in no time.
Reminding me casually that he never really had a family growing up.
Taking a turnoff that I know takes us to the coast, I start to notice the traffic thin out and pass by areas I’ve heard of but never been to.
The smell of the sea isn’t far away, I can tell and by the time we’re on a coastal road, I feel self-conscious already. Noticing all the beach bodies in and out of cars.
Even though it's nowhere near summer weather, it doesn’t stop people who have the figure and tan to show off from doing just that.
“You a beach guy?” I eventually ask. I have to know what I’m really in for here.
I almost say it aloud, but Michael makes a face and says the beach is ‘okay’.
Phew.
“Walks on the beach are nice,” he says knowingly, shooting me a glance that tells me he’s not the kind of guy to parade up and down the sand begging to be seen as he updates his social media with photos of himself.
“I’ve never even been,” I confess quietly, but Michael doesn’t seem to mind that either.
“Never been to the beach or just not to this one?” he asks as we take another turn off.
We’re really in alien territory for me now. I can see the sea, huge palm trees, and rows of gated communities that are designed for people with plenty of money.
“Never been to the beach,” I reply, feeling stupid out of habit, but Michael’s quick to put a positive spin on everything.
“Well, we will see what you think. The house we’re staying in has its own little gate and path down to a quiet section of the beach,” he informs me, making my eyes widen with amazement before we even get there.
I don’t think any of the so-called ‘houses’ out this way have ‘little’ gates or little anything.
It’s amazing to see so many well-to-do people living in huge mansion type houses, but it’s a little more than intimidating for a girl like me from the wrong suburbs.
“So, are you renting this place too?” I ask. “Like the car, I mean,” I add, trying to make small talk but sounding way out of my depth already when it comes to things like this.
“Just a loaner from a fr-...from a client,” he corrects himself.
Making me wonder if Michael has friends, or if his mysterious life is only filled with clients.
“My doctor,” he explains, noticing my expression. “Who I sold the place to years ago,” he adds. “Ya know? I don’t even think he’s been here more than a half dozen times since he bought the place. It sits empty most of the year.”
I nod and act interested, but really I’m considering my own college degree and wondering if I’ll ever be in a position to have a beach house like these that I can ignore for most of the year.
What’s this doctor specialize in? Printing money?
“Almost there,” Michael announces, easing the car around wide, crisp looking tree-lined streets. Huge walls and gleaming black gates are broken up with wider parks and plenty of open spaces.
The freeway seems like a distant memory. The suburbs?
They don’t exist out here.
As much as I’ve never been to or seen the beach, I bet most folks who live out this way have never been to my neighborhood either.
And if I had the choice, I’d gladly prefer to stay here myself.
Feeling like a snob already, I can’t hide my amazement when we slow as we reach a massive pair of wrought iron gates.
