“Not bad,” I say honestly. “Walking on the beach, breathing fresh air.” I pause, watch some birds wheeling around. “Looking at birds.”
We chat about this and that. She asks if I’ve been to a meeting and I can reply honestly that I have. I didn’t see the girl Sunny today, but that doesn’t mean anything by itself. Still, I looked for her.
Deborah asks about the job, which I like and feels like the right place to be. I told her about Rory last night, and we talked through the things I could do next time if I was uncomfortable with people drinking around me. Leaving is always an option. Bringing my own drinks. Giving myself more time before I enter those kinds of social situations. “Or,” she said, “what would happen if you just tell the truth about how you feel?”
Which is what she’s going to say to this next thing. “I asked Meadow to go home,” I say.
“Well. That’s a big step. How did it go?”
“Not that great.” A soft wind blows a scent of brine over my face. “She didn’t quite get that I wanted her to move out completely. She thought I just meant for the day.”
“And?”
“I didn’t have the heart to get more pointed. She’s grieving and she’s worried about me and I know she just wants to help.”
“Mmm. How does that feel?”
I pause, feeling it in my chest, tense and hard. “Not good. I really want her to go home. I need some space to figure things out, and as long as she’s around, I’m never testing myself.”
“Is that what you want to do? Test yourself?”
“No.” I pause. “Maybe? Or maybe I just want to be alone. I haven’t been alone for months, really.”
“It is your house.”
“Well, kind of.” Hair tangles around my face, and I pause to pull it out of my mouth. “She lived there a lot longer than I did. I moved out at eighteen. She lived there another nine or ten years.” I think about the way she moved the paintings around, returning them to the way they’d been. “Maybe I should just give it to her. I can’t possibly pay the upkeep on a house that big.”
“Maybe,” Deborah says. “But not right now. Don’t make any decisions for at least a few months. All you have to do right now is stay sober.”
The phrase sweeps away about 85 percent of my anxiety, giving me space to take a breath. One thing: stay sober. I don’t have to solve any other problems right now. “Thank you.”
“Call me tomorrow.”
I hang up and text her a big care emoji, then tuck my phone in my pocket and clamber over the rocky division between two beaches, the place I got stuck the other day. Rory and I spent hours and hours on this beach, walking, talking about our big dreams, boys we had crushes on, assignments in class, and places we wanted to travel. In the end, she chose to stay close to home, while I wandered the vineyards of the world.
As I reach the top of the rocks, I see the sandy stretch on the other side. A man is doing slow movements in the lowering sun. Light the color of persimmons washes over his face and arms, and I pause to watch, recognizing Ayaz only as his movements turn him my direction again. He’s deeply focused, hands in stylized positions, arms slow and deliberate. It’s powerful and beautiful. I rest where I am until he finishes, then step down on the sand. He gives me a nod, not exactly smiling or not smiling. “Hello again.”
“Hello. What was that you were doing?”
“Tai chi.”
“Isn’t that for old people?”
“Not at all. It’s one arm of kung fu.”
My stomach is roiling again, and I swallow, nodding. “Do you—” I have to turn and run toward the water, where I barf up the contents of my belly. And again. And again, until I’m leaning on my knees, breathing in slowly.
Ayaz offers me a bottle of water. “I haven’t opened it.”
The nausea is settling, and I drink some water, spit, and drink again. “I’m so sorry. That was embarrassing.”
“Not at all.”
We move away from the water, washing our feet farther along. “Are you all right now?”
I nod. “Thanks. I did some damage to my stomach with my drinking, I think. It’s just taking time to heal.”
“Would you like a cup of ginger tea?”
I look up at his kind, dark eyes. “Yes, actually. That sounds amazing.”
This time, there is an actual smile, very small, around the edges of his mouth. “Good. Come.”