The kind of girl who might just have been falling back.
Even if Felix and I fell apart just as spectacularly as we came together, we gave each other something of value. Maybe I needed him to remind myself who I could be—no, who Iam—when I let myself live in the moment. When I stop giving myself shit for not being enough.
I make a decision: I’m going to let it all go. I’m going to try to spend thisnext day or so with Felix as friends. Because while he is not a perfect person, and he made a big, hurtful mistake, I’m still very happy I met him.
He gave me that thing I was looking for when I left New York: optimism.
I came on this trip to wake up, to feel alive.
And I do.
I finally do.
And so much of that is because I met him.
Felix
When I emerge from the shower, Hope is lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling and smiling. She looks so content that I feel my own black mood even more acutely.
“Hey!” she says, like she’s happy to see me.
“Hey. How was the pool?”
“It was glorious. Although I did nearly capsize into a bunch of mean children on the rapids ride.”
I try to smile. “I’m glad you had fun.”
“Did you sleep?”
“I did.”
“Miraculous. I’m gonna jump in the shower, and then I was thinking of going downstairs and grabbing a bite. Want to come?”
I’m not hungry, but I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and I can tell Hope is making an effort to be nice to me. I go with it.
“Yeah, great.”
She takes an epically long shower, which is unfortunate because it leaves me alone with my thoughts. I flip on the TV and half watch previews of pay-per-view movies to keep my brain from whirring out of control.
“You’re considering watchingPaul Blart, Mall Cop?” Hope asks when she comes out of the bathroom.
“Looks oddly charming.”
“Are you ready to go?” she asks.
“Yep,” I say.
“Do you mind eating inside? I’ve had too much sun.”
“Sure.”
We go downstairs and wander around getting rejected from restaurant after restaurant because we don’t have a booking.
“I didn’t realize you needed reservations,” Hope says. “Maybe we can eat at a bar.”
We find one called Sea Glass. I immediately hate it. It has aggressively patterned maroon carpeting and a wall of slot machines that blare out tinny, annoying music.
“This okay?” Hope asks.
