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“Sí.I do.”
As they crawled into the web of highways and overpasses that was Los Angeles, the daydreaming started. The city had that effect on people. They talked about their dream lives and how they’d spend their days if money weren’t an object; if failure wasn’t an option. Twenty questions—which turned out to only be a handful—had opened the dialogue to deeper topics. And maybe even sparked that elusive vulnerability that Charmagne had described in the meeting.
Acceptance
Against the odds, they made it just before sunset. Savannah’s truck safely tucked in a parking garage, Gia and Roxi walked westward in search of salty air and the sun slipping below the horizon. In no time, Santa Monica pier came into view, with its bright lights and Ferris wheel, its silver-colored wood plank structure extending into the ocean. Bells rang with excitement as pier-goers attempted to beat unbeatable games stacked in favor of operators. Couples held hands and ate ice cream cones and laughed. A few lucky individuals carried larger-than-life stuffed bears, proof that they’d beaten the system. There was levity in the air, Gia noticed. People were smiling. Cares seemed to be a million miles away. How could you be sad or mad or worried at the beach?
“So, this is Santa Monica.” Gia stopped to take in the view. She’d been to the Atlantic Ocean when she lived in Newark, and the Gulf of Mexico in Texas, but there was something about the Pacific Ocean. Its mood was different. Two hydrogen molecules and one oxygen came together to make the same liquid, but it wasn’t the same. It was mystical. Mysterious.
“The one and only. Let’s grab a spot in the sand. You won’t believe the sunset.”
There was an outdoor spin class in progress, two dozen cyclists on stationary bikes in a perfect line facing the ocean. The instructor yelled to her charges to “push harder” and “find the burn,” while their flywheels created circular flashes of light with each revolution. “Only in L.A.,” Gia said as they passed the breathy, sweaty, happier-than-hell exercisers.
“Here.” Roxi motioned and sat by a crumbling sandcastle with a little plastic bucket discarded next to it, the seahorse sticker design peeling at the corners. Someone had spent their day creating a sand structure, only to have Mother Nature take it back, little by little.
They were beyond the cycling crowd and bells of the pier. Past the food vendors and scooter riders that dotted the walking path. All they could hear were waves reaching shore, each a little lazier than the one before. These weren’t appealing surfing waves. They were reminiscent of a nature sounds CD—whirrrr-shhhh. Whirrr-shhhh. Each crash and dissipation instructed those within earshot to relax. At the horizon, where water meets sky, a tangerine orange hue provided a sneak preview of coming attractions.
“It’s beautiful.” Gia sat in soft, cool sand and pulled her knees into her body, the chill of fall sneaking up without warning.
“Just wait. It gets better. Are you cold?”
“A little.”
“Here,” Roxi said again, retrieving a sweatshirt from the backpack she’d brought. She had a thing for offering Gia clothes, it seemed. She’d self-declared herself unpredictable and was proving to be anything but.
A golden retriever appeared in their sphere, holding a tennis ball in its mouth, tail wagging wildly. The ball found its way to Gia’s side with a thud. The dog didn’t know she had a soft spot for big, sweet canines. “Hey buddy. Go get it!”
As fast as the dog appeared, it was gone. Gia had fulfilled the silent request, chucking the ball as far as she could, and the pup’s owner smiled and waved as he walked by holding a leash.
“Everyone’s so happy.” Gia slipped Roxi’s sweatshirt over her shoulders. It was, unsurprisingly, a Poison concert hoodie. “Thanks for this.”
“De nada.I figured you’d need one. It gets cold at night. Even in L.A.” Roxi stared at the ocean and pulled her own knees into her body. The waves kept at it, providing a soundtrack unlike any of the music they’d listened to on the drive. Whirrrr-shhhh. Whirrr-shhhh. White foam snuck a little higher on shore. The tide told its own story, pushing strands of seaweed, pebbles, crushed shells, and other underwater secrets over sand. Foam left an outline of where water had been, only to be erased by the next wave and a new line.
“Rox?”
“Yeah?”
“This is really nice. Thanks for getting me out.”
“I got you,” Roxi whispered. It seemed sacrilege to speak during the height of the magic.
Together they sat, mostly silent, save for an “ooh” or “wow” as the sky began its daily reminder of nature’s power and presence. Gia dug bare feet into damp sand and tangerine orange gave way to burnt sienna, which gave way to a vibrant red so passionate it couldn’t be described by color alone. Puffy clouds accentuated the midnight blue above, providing contrast to the evolving display against the horizon.
When it seemed there were no more surprises—no more transitions words can’t describe, Roxi put her arm around Gia’s shoulders. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Gia leaned in.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Okay?” What could Roxi have to say that they hadn’t covered during the intimate questioning round of their drive?
“It’s not about you—okay? It’s about me.”
“You don’t have to warm me up. Just say it.” Gia dug her feet deeper into sand and felt the damp granules mold to the shape of her feet. The sand made space for her.
“I’m moving back in with Savannah. Next week.” The faint light from concession stands and games at the pier was enough to show Roxi had a tear in her eye.
“What?” Certainly, Gia didn’t hear what she thought she heard. Surely Roxi wouldn’t move back in with someone who abused her.
