In Waves | ✔️

63 | romantic redemption

New York is beautiful, but it makes me claustrophobic. The scale of the buildings, the solid concrete encasing concrete streets, hordes of people, a relentless cacophony of traffic. I never thought I could miss a town I've never truly loved, but hustling into the hotel, I do miss it.

I miss the openness of Oceanview, and the fresh smell of salty air that follows you around, the long stretches of grass and sand that frame the weathered roads. Bees floating between wildflowers that pop up in patches. Cracked wood furniture and boardwalks, rotted from ocean moisture. The beach. The absence of it is glaringly obvious.

The absence of annoying sand getting into my clothes and hair. The absence of seagulls tailing me for ice-cream cones. The absence of a line of bronzed surfers floating on their boards, making space for the pale one with sunburned shoulders. For the one who doesn't look like a typical surfer, despite carrying skill they can't match.

I feel the absence of the restaurant, my family. My brother, who I was so, so cold to.

I walk into a hotel suite that is quite literally glowing with luxury, and I push it all from my mind as Matt shows me around. As we gaze out the panoramic wall of glass overlooking a sea of glittering city lights, and Matt holds me close and whispers in my ear about living in a dream with me. How he's so happy I'm here with him. He says it again when we slip into soft sheets, pulling me against his warm body in the dark.

He kisses my temple and tells me to get some sleep because we have a big day tomorrow, and I know he's not really talking about sightseeing or the gala.

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When I wake up, before my eyes open, I think I'm in my own bed. That thought flies away in about five seconds. This fluffy pillow is too fluffy to be mine. This mattress is comfortable until I remember where I am, and then it's suddenly not comfortable anymore.

"Morning, beautiful."

I feel the edge of the bed dip, a strong coffee aroma drifting over. The room comes into focus. It's bright, the thick cream curtains drawn wide. Matt is wearing running clothes. His tanned skin has a subtle sheen, his white shirt sticking in certain areas.

He places a breakfast tray in front of me. "Hope you're hungry."

I'm not. The last time I fully appreciated a meal was the night my mom made risotto. Before Nate walked into my room with a bowl of pretzels and a penchant for making me forget everything but his stupid honey-soaked laugh and Heath Ledger grin.

I take a deep sip of coffee and look over the tray. A puffy croissant, strawberries, grapes, toast and butter. This spread is severely lacking in something cinnamon.

"Looks great." I pull my lips into a smile, and I never realized how difficult it is to do that first thing in the morning when smiling is a chore. "We haven't even been here for a day and you're already spoiling me too much."

Matt smiles a natural, dimple-producing smile. "If you're telling me to dial back on the spoiling, I'm telling you right now that's not going to happen."

He picks up a strawberry and poises it to my mouth, and I instinctively take it myself and give a bite, sensing a second too late that he wanted to feed it to me. He's being romantic and I'm being oblivious. He's trying so hard to repair the fracture I made, to keep us from thinking about anything but this trip. And I'm failing miserably.

"I'm gonna grab a shower while you enjoy this," he says, voice light, dimples gone.

I slowly chew on the strawberry as I watch him head for the bathroom, peeling off his sweaty shirt as he goes. I gulp down more coffee, I rip a piece off the croissant. Stewing in self-loathing. I need to be present with him. This is my romantic redemption and I'm blowing it.