mind that it’ll blow my budget. I take a deep breath and enter Waterworks, a bathing suit universe with floor-to-ceiling racks as if bathing suits were the only things in the world anyone needed.
The girl behind the counter is busy with another customer. Good. I don’t want help. The right suit will speak to me.
I find my size and push past the one-piece suits, the tankinis and bikinis in the all-black section. Too severe. No push-up bras either because you look desperate or like you just got implants. Hawaiian prints, but I’m not the flowery type.
Zebra? No, I’m not the jungle girl. Deep coral? There’s a possibility with a solid blue top and a checked bottom, but I keep going. Whites, tans, crazy geometrics.
And then I see it.
A soft, celery-green bikini, perfect against tanned skin. Definitely glad my dad’s not here because he’d cross his arms over his chest and veto it in a heartbeat. Low bottom, low top. Both pieces are outlined with tiny bands of ruffles. I take it off the rack and hold it against me in front of the full-length mirror.
I lock the dressing room door and drop my clothes on the floor. I slip it on, studying myself in the three-way mirror.
Perfect.
I take that as another good omen. Revealing, not slutty. I used to wish I wasn’t five-foot nine. I was always taller than the boys in school. Not anymore.
I open the door and check myself out in the bigger mirror outside. The girl behind the counter passes me on her way to hang up an armful of suits in the dressing room next to mine and smiles. “Ohhh,” she says. “You look hot.”
I smile and shrug. What do you say to that?
As I’m waiting to pay, I see a necklace on the counter—a chunk of pale-green sea glass on a fine, gold chain. It’s the same color as the suit. I slip it over my head and it falls just above the ruffled band of the top. The glass is pointed, like a shimmering arrowhead directing the eye to my cleavage.
I leave the store wearing the new suit and necklace with cut-offs over the bottom. I take my time, strolling to the beach, savoring the anticipation. It’s hard to imagine that reality could feel better than this. I almost laugh out loud, practically tasting my happiness. My heart flutters in my chest, the nervous kindergartener on the first day of school. Almost instinctively, I start to dial Marissa’s cell number, and then stop. I’m insane. She’s a million miles away with no cell service. What was I thinking?
I saunter along the sand, brushing past a family with a cooler so large it could hold not only their entire dinner, but also a TV. I keep walking, passing teenage girls who look like they’ve OD’d on the sun because they’re already third-degree fried. Finally I spread out the blanket and then, super casual; I turn my head in the direction of his chair, my north star.
Only now in a split second everything is different.
The world has fallen off its axis.
To the side of the lifeguard chair there’s a blanket—with a girl on top of it.
The girl with the blond hair that reaches her butt—the maybe-aerobics instructor, the maybe-actress who jumped on the back of his Harley and locked her arms around his waist, holding him tight, just like I did. Jealousy spreads through me like poison and within seconds, I feel sick. I fight that, standing taller, resolute. I don’t feel anything—my face works hard to show the world. I stare at her, trying to understand the enemy.
Snow-white bikini. I doubt it’s a sign of her purity. Not too many girls can get away with a suit like that. If her nearness isn’t enough, she’s wearing his black cap that says lifeguard . He’s kneeling next to her, smiling. She whispers something. Her jokes are obviously hilarious because now he’s laughing. I’ve never seen him look so happy or relaxed.
I don’t know this person. It isn’t him. I discover he has teeth. I learn that he can smile. I think he’s in love.
And I feel deathly ill.
Body blow.
Did I
The girl behind the counter is busy with another customer. Good. I don’t want help. The right suit will speak to me.
I find my size and push past the one-piece suits, the tankinis and bikinis in the all-black section. Too severe. No push-up bras either because you look desperate or like you just got implants. Hawaiian prints, but I’m not the flowery type.
Zebra? No, I’m not the jungle girl. Deep coral? There’s a possibility with a solid blue top and a checked bottom, but I keep going. Whites, tans, crazy geometrics.
And then I see it.
A soft, celery-green bikini, perfect against tanned skin. Definitely glad my dad’s not here because he’d cross his arms over his chest and veto it in a heartbeat. Low bottom, low top. Both pieces are outlined with tiny bands of ruffles. I take it off the rack and hold it against me in front of the full-length mirror.
I lock the dressing room door and drop my clothes on the floor. I slip it on, studying myself in the three-way mirror.
Perfect.
I take that as another good omen. Revealing, not slutty. I used to wish I wasn’t five-foot nine. I was always taller than the boys in school. Not anymore.
I open the door and check myself out in the bigger mirror outside. The girl behind the counter passes me on her way to hang up an armful of suits in the dressing room next to mine and smiles. “Ohhh,” she says. “You look hot.”
I smile and shrug. What do you say to that?
As I’m waiting to pay, I see a necklace on the counter—a chunk of pale-green sea glass on a fine, gold chain. It’s the same color as the suit. I slip it over my head and it falls just above the ruffled band of the top. The glass is pointed, like a shimmering arrowhead directing the eye to my cleavage.
I leave the store wearing the new suit and necklace with cut-offs over the bottom. I take my time, strolling to the beach, savoring the anticipation. It’s hard to imagine that reality could feel better than this. I almost laugh out loud, practically tasting my happiness. My heart flutters in my chest, the nervous kindergartener on the first day of school. Almost instinctively, I start to dial Marissa’s cell number, and then stop. I’m insane. She’s a million miles away with no cell service. What was I thinking?
I saunter along the sand, brushing past a family with a cooler so large it could hold not only their entire dinner, but also a TV. I keep walking, passing teenage girls who look like they’ve OD’d on the sun because they’re already third-degree fried. Finally I spread out the blanket and then, super casual; I turn my head in the direction of his chair, my north star.
Only now in a split second everything is different.
The world has fallen off its axis.
To the side of the lifeguard chair there’s a blanket—with a girl on top of it.
The girl with the blond hair that reaches her butt—the maybe-aerobics instructor, the maybe-actress who jumped on the back of his Harley and locked her arms around his waist, holding him tight, just like I did. Jealousy spreads through me like poison and within seconds, I feel sick. I fight that, standing taller, resolute. I don’t feel anything—my face works hard to show the world. I stare at her, trying to understand the enemy.
Snow-white bikini. I doubt it’s a sign of her purity. Not too many girls can get away with a suit like that. If her nearness isn’t enough, she’s wearing his black cap that says lifeguard . He’s kneeling next to her, smiling. She whispers something. Her jokes are obviously hilarious because now he’s laughing. I’ve never seen him look so happy or relaxed.
I don’t know this person. It isn’t him. I discover he has teeth. I learn that he can smile. I think he’s in love.
And I feel deathly ill.
Body blow.
Did I
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