11. Sam

Itiptoe into our cozy apartment, the darkness familiar and comforting. The furniture is a mix of hand-me-downs and curb finds, a testament to our resourcefulness rather than taste. Through the open window, the sound of the waves blends with the creaking floorboards under my steps. It's late. My date with Greg was... nice, but something was off. He seemed preoccupied, distant even. I had hoped for more, especially after the easy conversation we shared over lunch.

Creeping into the back bedroom, I switch on the light where Tilly's already in bed. Slipping into an old t-shirt, I join her, trying not to disturb the peace but silently hoping she's still awake.

I'm barely settled when Tilly's voice cuts through the dark. "Have fun?" she asks.

"Not really," I admit, feeling a pang of disappointment. Tilly turns to me, concern on her face.

"What happened?"

"He was... quiet." I'm hesitant to divulge more. Greg and I, it wasn't supposed to happen. But now, the silence between us tonight felt like an even worse alternative.

Tilly sighs, "All flings end, honey."

I fiddle with the hem of my shirt, lost in thought. The idea of not being with Greg fills me with an unexpected emptiness. "You think it's over?" I ask.

"Maybe. Oh well, onwards and upwards," Tilly tries to brush it off, but I'm not ready to let go just yet. I sit, frozen in place as I try to decide if this short relationship is worth crying over.

Suddenly, Tilly sits up, her brows furrowed as she takes in my upset face. "So, you actually like him. Okay. We can fix this. We'll just have to show him you're too good to resist."

I'm taken aback by her suggestion but intrigued. "And how do we do that?"

"Make Tommy take you out dancing. Let Greg see you with him."

The thought of flirting with Tommy is unappealing, to say the least. "That would be like grinding on my brother."

Tilly rolls her head back. "It's really not. Tommy's hot and… sweet. Just laugh with him, touch his arm. Trust me, it will drive Greg wild," Tilly says.

"You think he'll come after me if he sees that?" The idea excites me more than I want to admit.

Tilly pauses, analyzing my reaction. "To what? Sweep you off your feet? Sam, are you serious about this guy?"

I avoid her gaze, playing with the blanket. Tilly's laughter breaks the tension. "Wow, you really like him. Are you sure, though?" I stay quiet, not ready to admit anything out loud. "Sammy. I love you. I don't know why you're so… you, but there's a reason right? Something bad? You sure you trust this guy?"

Her words hit close to home. My history with my ex-Kevin is a tangled mess from which I've fought hard to escape. Opening up to someone new, especially Greg, feels like a gamble. But something about him has already snuggled deep into my heart.

"I don't know why, but I do, Tilly."

She slaps the mattress. "But he's a total douche!" She rolls her head then rubs at her neck with a sigh. "You do know what a douche is, right? Invades your vagina to clean it out, but ends up just throwing off your natural pH? Hot bar guy has ‘douche' written all over him. I thought you just wanted another night of humping on his couch."

Though I've heard her make what she considers a poignant comparisons about one night stands and douches before, I still chuckle. "He's really not, Til. He's sweet." I look down at the bed and twirl my finger on the thin sheet. "And you should have seen him on Big Blue, totally made love to the wave on that stupid board."

Tilly puts both her palms out. "Woah, don't insult Big Blue like that. Poseidon won't be pleased." I laugh again, her superstitions even funnier to me than the douche comments.

"Okay, okay. Sorry. I'll sacrifice a breakfast burrito to the waves tomorrow. But, seriously, Greg is…nice." Every so often, usually when waves have been crap for a few days in a row, Tilly makes us paddle out just to toss our favorite food into the ocean. Ridiculous as it is, I've come to enjoy the act, though I know we're really just feeding the seagulls.

She's rubbing both temples now, clearly not happy with our talk. "Then take Tommy out. Go to that club you met him at. I'll tag along and at the very least, maybe you meet a new beefcake."

I bite my lip, my thoughts swirling. "Really?"

"Sure, why the fuck not?" Tilly's response is so typical of her—bold and without reservation. "You're always so careful and reserved. It's actually cute to see you like this," she adds, tucking herself comfortably under the blanket again.

Yet, I still can't lay down, wrestling with my own chaotic mind. Tilly's cautionary words reverberate in my head, reminding me of the precarious balance I maintain. Letting Greg closer feels like a breach in my carefully constructed defenses. He's sweet, so genuine in his kindness, and our conversations, until tonight, had been effortlessly engaging. But dinner had shifted something between us. His sudden distance after I mentioned growing up in Monterey... Could he somehow know about my past?

The idea is almost laughable. Monterey is a large place, and the events that defined my darkest hour have long faded from public memory. Or so I believe. The likelihood that Greg, of all people, could connect me to those events seems far-fetched.

Tilly's yawn breaks through my spiraling thoughts. "Go to sleep, Sam. I'll talk to Tommy in the morning. You'll be back to walks of shame in no time."

Her words are meant to comfort and lighten the mood, but even as I lie beside my friend, they leave me lying awake, staring into the darkness. The possibility of opening up to Greg, of revealing the scars my past has left, terrifies me. Yet, the thought of losing whatever is brewing between us feels like a loss I'm not ready to face.

***

I stand by the coffee pot, the aroma of the brew filling the air, trying not to listen to Tommy and Tilly's heated argument from the bedroom. It's clear Tommy isn't on board with Tilly's plan, and tension crackles in the air like static. The flight back from Florida was a red eye, and I'm not even sure if Tommy has slept yet; it's probably not the best time to be asking for favors. But Tilly was insistent that we go out as soon as possible.

As they emerge, Tilly looks exhausted, more so than yesterday, frustration radiating off her in waves. "This is why I don't date. I can't stand arguments!" she yells, her voice sharp with irritation.

Tommy whirls around, his frustration mirrored in his tone. "Maybe if you got your head out of your ass, you'd understand what I'm saying. I'm not gonna parade her around like that. It's dangerous and manipulative."

But Tilly is undeterred and follows after him. "Oh my bad, Mr. Morality. I forgot you're some sort of boyscout." She picks up a flip-flop from the mess on our floor and hurls it at him. He dodges, leaving with a slam of the door that vibrates through the small apartment.

Tilly joins me at the coffee pot with a victorious smirk. "Don't worry. He can't say no to me. He'll fold quicker than laundry at a nudist commune."

I sip my coffee and give her my patented eyebrow raise. "Maybe we should parade him around with someone and see who comes out jealous."

"Shut up, floozy," Tilly says, but a sparkle is in her eyes. She might say she hates fighting, but that twinkle doesn't lie. Sparring with Tommy is one of her favorite pastimes. I'm not as in love with it. The unresolved sexual tension between them is a constant undercurrent in our lives and honestly, they should either get a room or get therapists. Maybe both.

Trying not to dwell on it, I check my phone for any sign from Greg; disappointment washes over me. "Still nothing. Zip, zilch, nada. Not even a ‘thanks for not being a serial killer.' God, ghosting should be a criminal offense."

Tilly snorts into her mug. "Punishable by up to twenty minutes of in person closure conversation." That coaxes a smile out of me and Tilly offers a comforting pat on my arm. "Worry not my dear. Even if Tommy backs out, just stepping into the club in your best look will turn heads. Trust me, a little public attention might just do the trick. If he's not there, maybe someone else will want a nibble." Her words spark a flurry of thoughts and emotions. The idea of igniting jealousy feels so unlike me, yet the desire to see Greg again, to feel that connection once more, is overwhelming.

I grab a power bar, needing something to ground me in the whirlwind of plans and feelings. Besides, before we can go rub Greg's face in what he's missing, we have six surf lessons and a bar to stock. "Ready?" I ask. Tilly agrees, her coffee cup refilled, and we leave the apartment behind.