returning to Steph's place, I'd gone straight to bed. My just-right amount of alcohol consumption must have knocked me out easily. But that was then and this was now. Normally, I never dwelled, worried, regretted, or thought too hard about anything I said or did. I preferred the ‘fly by the seat of my pants’ approach to life. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop myself from over-analyzing this.
Every single moment Leo and I had ever shared needed to be examined in a new light. Because I needed some kind of explanation as to how last night could have blindsided me, I dug through my memories. The last time I'd even seen Leo—before this weekend—had been months ago. Thanksgiving, maybe. The Maddox family—Leo, Mr. Maddox, and the usual assortment of Maddox cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents—had come to our house for football and turkey like they did every November. And just like many of our recent encounters, Leo and I hadn't even exchanged one word—mean, nice, or otherwise. Strangely enough, we had ended up sitting next to each other at the dinner table. Had that been a coincidence or had someone switched our name cards? Had Leo done it? Was that the day Leo's feelings for me had started?
No, not likely. I think two people had to at least look at each other for that sort of thing to happen. I racked my brain further in search of our last exchange of actual words and finally came up with a memory from last summer—ouch, not a good memory either.
Almost exactly a year ago, a sweltering heat wave had hit the East Coast. The muggy air had clung to my skin and frizzed my hair—despite my attempts at straightening it that day—into an unmanageable monstrosity, giving me yet another reason to long for Arizona and its dry heat. And when the air conditioning at our house had gone out, the only shred of relief could be found at the country club’s pool—so that's where I had ended up.
With a book and towel in hand, I exited the women's locker room, my flip-flops slapping on the pavement. I noticed Leo lounging by himself, sporting a white button-up shirt, navy suit, aviator sunglasses, and too much hair product for the pool. Naturally, I went to him. We'd known each other since birth, and even if I didn't like him much, I still felt some obligation to sit with him. We were both alone; it wasn't an unreasonable gesture on my part.
“Clara,” he said by way of a greeting.
“Leo. It's like eleventy-hundred degrees out here and you're fully dressed. Aren't you miserably hot?” Kicking off my flip-flops and spreading out my towel, I lay down uninvited beside him. I wore my strapless, one-piece Speedo, circa 1985. I couldn't fathom wearing even another ounce of clothing in this heat. So why was Leo overdressed? Was he so in love with his own clothes that he couldn't bear to take them off?
“I'm fine.”
“Whatever.”
I picked up my romance novel and was swiftly swept away by the words, paying little attention to the person sitting beside me. Whenever the temperature felt too hot or my book became too steamy, I took a quick dip in the pool before returning to my towel. An hour or two passed. In that time, Leo never changed into a bathing suit, never left his spot, and never said a single word.
Initially, being there with him wasn't so bad, but after a while his behavior started to bug me. Why was his shirt still on? Why was his hair perfectly styled for the pool? And why didn't he get in the water? But the biggest mystery of all was something I couldn't keep myself from asking. “Why are you here, Leo? The pool in your backyard is better than this one.”
His hands rested behind his head. Under the dark cover of his sunglasses, I noticed his eyes were closed, but I saw a flicker of movement at my words. “Hmm?”
“You have a pool in your backyard.”
“I'm aware.”
“So, why are you here?”
“If you're so annoyed by my presence, you don't have to sit next to me. Nobody's breaking
Every single moment Leo and I had ever shared needed to be examined in a new light. Because I needed some kind of explanation as to how last night could have blindsided me, I dug through my memories. The last time I'd even seen Leo—before this weekend—had been months ago. Thanksgiving, maybe. The Maddox family—Leo, Mr. Maddox, and the usual assortment of Maddox cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents—had come to our house for football and turkey like they did every November. And just like many of our recent encounters, Leo and I hadn't even exchanged one word—mean, nice, or otherwise. Strangely enough, we had ended up sitting next to each other at the dinner table. Had that been a coincidence or had someone switched our name cards? Had Leo done it? Was that the day Leo's feelings for me had started?
No, not likely. I think two people had to at least look at each other for that sort of thing to happen. I racked my brain further in search of our last exchange of actual words and finally came up with a memory from last summer—ouch, not a good memory either.
Almost exactly a year ago, a sweltering heat wave had hit the East Coast. The muggy air had clung to my skin and frizzed my hair—despite my attempts at straightening it that day—into an unmanageable monstrosity, giving me yet another reason to long for Arizona and its dry heat. And when the air conditioning at our house had gone out, the only shred of relief could be found at the country club’s pool—so that's where I had ended up.
With a book and towel in hand, I exited the women's locker room, my flip-flops slapping on the pavement. I noticed Leo lounging by himself, sporting a white button-up shirt, navy suit, aviator sunglasses, and too much hair product for the pool. Naturally, I went to him. We'd known each other since birth, and even if I didn't like him much, I still felt some obligation to sit with him. We were both alone; it wasn't an unreasonable gesture on my part.
“Clara,” he said by way of a greeting.
“Leo. It's like eleventy-hundred degrees out here and you're fully dressed. Aren't you miserably hot?” Kicking off my flip-flops and spreading out my towel, I lay down uninvited beside him. I wore my strapless, one-piece Speedo, circa 1985. I couldn't fathom wearing even another ounce of clothing in this heat. So why was Leo overdressed? Was he so in love with his own clothes that he couldn't bear to take them off?
“I'm fine.”
“Whatever.”
I picked up my romance novel and was swiftly swept away by the words, paying little attention to the person sitting beside me. Whenever the temperature felt too hot or my book became too steamy, I took a quick dip in the pool before returning to my towel. An hour or two passed. In that time, Leo never changed into a bathing suit, never left his spot, and never said a single word.
Initially, being there with him wasn't so bad, but after a while his behavior started to bug me. Why was his shirt still on? Why was his hair perfectly styled for the pool? And why didn't he get in the water? But the biggest mystery of all was something I couldn't keep myself from asking. “Why are you here, Leo? The pool in your backyard is better than this one.”
His hands rested behind his head. Under the dark cover of his sunglasses, I noticed his eyes were closed, but I saw a flicker of movement at my words. “Hmm?”
“You have a pool in your backyard.”
“I'm aware.”
“So, why are you here?”
“If you're so annoyed by my presence, you don't have to sit next to me. Nobody's breaking
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