Dear Camilla,

8: Atlantic

Dear Camilla,

I woke up around noon, the morning after.

Sunlight streamed through the big window that revealed an impressive view of the blue New York City skyline. Oliver had an olive green fluffy comforter, tasteful modern art, a tall colorful bookcase, and homely hardwood floors. I had changed out of my new dress into one of his business shirts last night.

I yawned, stretched, hopped off the bed, and padded out of the bedroom in my bare feet in search of the absent Oliver. I felt lazy and surprisingly comfortable, warm inside, even.

The furnishings were tasteful— a variety of houseplants, persian rugs, a bohemian wood chandelier. I mused at the tiled dining table, artistic photographs of the ocean's texture, and band posters. But, each room in his apartment was void of a single soul. I liked the space because it didn't feel like it could be haunted or like a bachelor pad. Was I supposed to leave?

Then I heard the door open slowly.

I ran back to the bedroom, frightened.

Silence.

"Maxine? Are you awake?" I heard him call from the kitchen. "I brought us bagels."

Oh thank God, I thought. All is well, I assured myself with a laugh.

I ventured into the kitchen and found him sitting on a stool with a newspaper, thin rimmed glasses resting on the tip of his nose, a white bag and two lattes next to him.

"Uh, good morning?!" I suggested softly, not exactly sure what to say. I've never been much of a wordsmith, as you know, Camilla.

He chuckled and peered at me over his spectacles.

"Yes, now it is a good morning. How are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling well rested and alive, but absolutely starving! Are these for me?" I motioned towards the bagels.

"Save one for me, but yes," he teased, "I figured you'd be famished after the events of last night."

"Yeah, that was a lot of fun," I said with my mouth full.

"It's a shame you ran off, I was so worried about you."

"Mmmhmm," I wasn't sure what he was talking about and didn't care because I was preoccupied with the bagel.

"But I hope you liked it anyway, everyone thought you were such a doll. Cleo feels terribly though, she thinks she's responsible for... you know..."

I stared at him at the thought of Cleo. Time to change the subject.

"Is this your place? I thought you were just visiting?"

"No, actually this is my mom's place. She's never really here much anymore, travels a lot," he mumbled, staring intently at the palms of his hands.

That sounded rich, I thought. My mom was homebound with too many bills, her life was heavy.

"She's what brought me out to the states anyhow," Oliver continued, "speaking of, she was— is quite the avid sailor, after she met my step dad anyway. I was thinking I'd take their boat on a little spin today around Coney Island. Care to join?"

. . .

The open air was refreshing. The distance from the city and all its hustle and bustle calmed my nerves. The Atlantic was calm that afternoon, and Oliver seemed to know what he was doing, tying and untying ropes, releasing the sales, and steering from the helm. I trusted him. I felt a bit ridiculous clad in Oliver's light blue business shirt and white boxers with little red hearts. I tied my hair up into two buns like Princess Leigha and laughed it off. I had bigger feelings to experience than self-conscious embarrassment.

The boat, named Rosemary, was a brilliant white and cut through the dark blue sea like a stare from somebody who knows you all too well. Oliver and I glided above the water effortlessly, the bow bouncing and plunging through the crests and dips in the swells. I stood barefoot like a child at the front, holding on to a rope and leaning over the side carelessly, caressing the surface gently. The salty splashes were welcome reprieves from the burning summer sun, eliciting shrieks of pleasure and bursts of laughter at each blessed one. I had a marvelous time. 

We drank sweet tea the color of the mahogany cabin. Oliver looked like he belonged on a vintage postcard, his cable net sweater looked dashing. I tried to focus on the distant lighthouse in an effort not to gawk at him. Its red and white stripes looked jolly, like a peppermint stick. Seagulls danced through the cloudless sky. Time passed unhurriedly, but not slowly enough. 

For the first time in what had felt like forever, I didn't want to be anywhere else besides exactly where I was. My lazy head fell back onto the cushion in the cockpit, and I bundled under a colorful quilt, watching the horizon with half-open eyes, warmly content.

Maxine.