"Yeah," he said to the darkening horizon. "I'm glad we met."
"Me too," I said.
Something sweet and sour twisted in my chest. I couldn't find words for it; it felt like a first date I'd been on once, when we'd had an effortlessly great time and then we stood at her doorstep undoing it all while we said our goodnights, tangled up in indecision and faltering, nervous to go forward and reluctant to leave.
Was that what this was?
I was dancing on the edge of something new, though maybe not completely new, if I had to be honest with myself, and I wasn't sure what I would do if I fell, if falling was an option, if falling was something I was actually meant to do all along.
Afraid to find out, I scrambled to my feet as casually as I could to make my great escape. Nate looked up at me expectantly; I suspected I was getting very predictable.
"Think I'm going to have an early night," I said, not quite meeting his eyes.
"Okay."
What else could I expect? Did I want him to try to stop me? "Okay," I said, picking up my forsaken shoes. "Try not to fall asleep out here."
"Yeah, thanks," Nate chuckled softly. "I'll keep that in mind."
We bid each other goodnight, and I trudged back to my room with a mess of thoughts in my head too tight to unravel.
Acting is one of those talents I must've been asleep for while they were handing them out, relegated since my early youth to entirely expendable, sometimes made-up roles like Pine Tree and Villager #12 when school plays rolled around and the teacher was morally obligated to cast everyone in the room.
This breathtaking lack of talent had been discovered at our first-grade Nativity play, when, overtaken with anxiety as the spotlight swung onto my fake-bearded face, I lost the single line I'd been given, and improvised by bodily harrying Mary and Joseph off to the stage wings while shouting no at them. In all fairness, "no" was
one
of the words I'd been supposed to say.
I can only imagine what kind of lucrative, successful lifestyle I'd be leading now if I hadn't given the mother of God so much shit for asking if they could stay at my inn.
The following year, my bid at redemption as one of the Magi met with utter failure upon committing a similar faux pas, with even fewer words to say this time round, making it quite clear that I could never again be trusted on stage. My ensuing school years would thus involve being fourth alternate to the understudies of minor characters and pulling curtains for the children less inclined to contract retrograde amnesia on contact with theatrical glue.
That said, if ever you need someone to play the part of Forlorn Idiot, I'm your man.
This explains why I sat on the patio at breakfast, drinking my tea in slow motion for the better part of two hours.
It was pointless trying to convince myself that I wasn't doing it solely because I was hoping Nate would show up again and we'd go and have ourselves another adventure, at the end of which I'd probably scurry off again in typically maladroit fashion. But I didn't have to this time, because he didn't come.
There was a measure of relief at that, but it was largely drowned out by disappointment.
What had I expected, anyway? Just because we'd met at breakfast twice in a row didn't make it a routine.
And it wasn't like he owed me anything; neither of us had made any overtures at definite plans, nor was it reasonable of me to expect him to keep letting me trail alongside him while he navigated all the back streets and open road. We were simply fellow travelers who'd met by chance, and there was no rule that said we had to stick together, even if I kind of wished there was.
Nate was fun, and a real joy to be around. There are friends you have sometimes of whose company you never tire, no matter how much time you spend with them, and I had a feeling that Nate was that kind of friend, if we were actually friends.
Tipping the dregs of my tea past my lips, I decided that I was done waiting and to get on with my life. I was in Thailand, for god's sake; I could moon over someone all I wanted back home, not when I was halfway across the world with things to do that I'd never get to do otherwise.
One of those things was to get a Thai massage, for a single person, which I'd finally sorted out with the in-house spa, and tacked on all kinds of extra things involving hot stones and seaweed, on the reasoning that it was something I'd never normally do.
It passed a couple of hours at least, and I emerged from the spa freshly pink and pliable, and covered head to toe in essential oils. I smelled lovely.
I strolled back to my room to shower it all off, pretending not to be keeping a peripheral eye out for Nate-shaped passersby as I walked through the resort.
With nothing else on the docket, and feeling sleepy after the whole massage experience, I headed out to the beach to while away the rest of the day, making sure to douse myself in sunscreen beforehand.
Half a novel went by, as I sprawled under the shade of a helpful palm tree, and soon I was reading only by the light of a fading sun. I set the book aside, drawing my knees up to my chest. The sunset was different this time, burning the sky a deep orange. It was still beautiful, and I took my requisite picture of it, a souvenir of a lazy, unremarkable day.
Something about it, about my solitariness, incited a bout of restlessness in me, and I abandoned the beach in search of something to assuage the tension.
I walked the nearby streets, passing through the area where hawkers were setting up for the night market. It wasn't totally dark yet, the street lamps still waiting for their chance to shine. I followed their trail, ending up on a row of busy restaurants and bars.
Competing rhythms of techno and house music blasted from several establishments, and their neon lights highlighted in Technicolor the stumblings of the recently drunk as they weaved from one bar to the next.
I turned around, not wanting to be a part of that crowd, resigned to a quiet night in my hotel room with a passable movie on TV if I was lucky.
"Chicago!"
Warmth flooded my chest so quickly it nearly burned. I whipped my head around, but Nate was nowhere to be seen.
I searched my surroundings, emitting a small, chagrined "oh" to myself, as I realized I was in the near vicinity of a sports bar that catered almost exclusively to foreign tourists. It had several large-screen TVs mounted on its walls, one of which, closest to the street, was showing a tape delay of an American baseball game. A couple of Sox, tiny on the screen in their pinstriped whites, rounded the bases to a massive home run. It was too early in the season, just about a month in, to tell where all the chips would fall, but anything that put runs on the board was worth a cheer.
And now that I thought about it, whoever had cheered hadn't sounded like Nate at all.
Embarrassed, even though it was likely nobody even saw me attempt to give myself whiplash, I shuffled away from the bar and back the way I came.
I passed through the night market again, now in full swing, and stopped to buy a coconut waffle with which to distract myself from feeling things.
It didn't work; a few stalls down the row Nate was buying something inevitably tasty, and the thrill in my chest sparked up again in full bloom. I couldn't decide whether to spend the next few seconds trying to tamp it down or simply laugh at myself, at this night, ridiculous both.
Momentarily rooted to the ground, I watched as Nate came away from the stall, pleased with whatever he'd just purchased, poking at the contents of his Styrofoam container with a plastic fork. I chewed my waffle and waited, rocking on my heels while people weaved around me.
A slow smile spread over Nate's face when he spotted me, and we met somewhere in the middle of the distance between us.
"Hey, man," he said, and we did that dumb fistbump thing guys do when we can't articulate sentiments like
How lovely to see you again
. He peered at my waffle. "What've you got there?"
I traded a bite of my waffle for one of his green mango salad, and for a moment all was right with the world. I did mention I was ridiculous?
We roamed the street together again, buying more sweets, as he regaled me with all the cool things he'd seen that day out snorkeling; it sounded exactly like one of those tourist brochures from the hotel's front desk come to life, crystalline waters and exotic fish, swaying anemones and delicate coral. I kind of wished I had gone too. But mostly I wished I had gone with him.
"You want to grab a beer?" he asked suddenly.
"Sure," I said, always happy at the prospect of beer.
We turned toward the end of the street where I'd had my episode, and I resolutely ignored the sports bar that had unwittingly stolen my identity for a second. Passing up some of the louder bars, we ducked into one that seemed better suited to the temperament of the handful of tourists not particularly keen on blacking out in the street later on.
A few ladyboys were milling around at the entrance, chatting and laughing among themselves. On sighting us, a couple of them fluttered their fingers in our direction. I nodded politely, and Nate must have smiled at them or something, because it set them off giggling.
Once we were ensconced inside and seated at the bar, Nate said, "Oh my god, did you see the one in red?" He glanced furtively toward the entrance. "I used to date a guy who looked exactly like her."
I swiveled on my barstool a quarter-turn and leaned away from the bar, trying to get a better look.
Nate clouted me on the shoulder. "Don't stare," he laughed.
"What, you think it's him?" I said, squinting toward the ladyboy sparkling in crimson sequins while Nate ordered our beers. "Quite the looker."
"Yeah, well, I've always had excellent taste in men," he said.
He smiled serenely at me as he said it. I wasn't sure what to do with it, inordinately relieved when our beers appeared, scattering the rabble of butterflies that had taken up residence in my stomach. The ones that staunchly clung to my insides I'd drown with alcohol.
We made it through two large bottles each, spending most of our time people-watching, making up stories about their lives, once quietly cheering to ourselves when the ladyboy in red scored a shy, curious customer.
When almost everyone in the bar was given their backstories, and in some cases, macabre futures involving hair loss and dental crises, we decided to call it a night. I was pleasantly warm by this time, the fizz of the beer making it all the way to my fingertips.
The air outside was humid, intangible until it formed a film of moisture on my skin, and it was a welcome change when cool raindrops began to patter all around us.
Gradually, more of them came to join their fallen brethren, and we picked up our pace, though not quickly enough. Without warning, somebody upstairs flipped a switch, and the rainfall turned into a torrent, drenching everyone in its way within seconds.
"What the hell?" Nate laughed, looking up at the sky.
"Mandatory wet T-shirt contest," I called out, though nobody paid me any attention, thank goodness.
Laughing like children but too old to jump in puddles, we ran to the shelter of a row of closed shophouses near our hotel to wait out the rain. Other people scurried by, slapping splashes of water into the air as they passed, opting to run to wherever they were going rather than taking refuge as we did. Maybe they knew something we didn't, maybe the downpour would last for hours.
We waited quietly for a few minutes, squeezing what water we could from our clothing, watching sheets of rain soak the earth. The streets gleamed, a pretty canvas of reflected street lamps and traffic lights.
I leaned against a narrow wall and Nate came with me, the side of his arm flattened against mine. I didn't mind; it was warm.
And I didn't mind either when our hands bumped against each other and our fingers tangled, nor did I mind when Nate turned and slowly, cautiously pressed his lips to mine.
My intestinal tenants emerged in full force, flapping a tiny hurricane of exhilaration into existence. It spiraled in my chest and danced down the length of my spine, and its momentum swelled me toward Nate, sealing our mouths together.
It was different, and different in a way that made me feel as though everything before this point had been a little askew, a little off-center, but now I was righted, here in this rain, here with Nate.
It occurred to me then, a sudden spike of sourness in this resplendent haze, that I should mind the fact that I didn't mind any of this at all.
I couldn't blame it on alcohol; I've been drinking long enough to know when the point of drunken unreality takes over, and this wasn't it. This was purely me, and I had no idea what I was doing or whether I could cope with what my unknowing might lead to.
After all-
"My fiancée left me," I blurted, "on our wedding day. Four days ago."
Nate straightened, his head tilted toward me as though he needed to hear it again. "Oh," he said, blinking. His hand, splayed on my chest, moved up to rake through his hair, taking its warmth away with it. "Well, shit."
"Sorry," I mumbled. I scrubbed a palm over my face, weary of myself. "I guess I should've said something earlier."
"No, no, it's-- it's fine. I mean, it's not something you'd really discuss with a guy you've only known for three days, right?" Nate said. His words were accompanied by a shaky laugh, but it clearly didn't belong in the conversation.
The rain had slowed considerably now, as though each raindrop was taking its time on its way down so it could stare at the trainwreck of my life as it passed by.
"Sorry," I said again, not entirely sure what I was apologizing for this time, or to whom.
"What do you want to do now?" he asked.
I sighed. "I don't know, man. I-- I don't know."
Nate gazed out into the street, where the remnants of the downpour were dripping off trees and streetlights desultorily. "Come on, let's walk."
He said nothing for the rest of our sojourn back to the resort, just stuffed his hands in his pockets while we walked side by side, letting me process whatever thoughts I needed to process.
We reached a fork in the pathway leading to the hotel rooms, and Nate took his hands out of his pockets, clutching his room key in his right.
"I'm, uh, going this way," he said, jerking a thumb in the opposite direction of my room.
"Okay," I said. "Goodnight."
"Night," he said.
He hesitated, pebbles jostling against one another underneath his feet, and then took a step forward, wrapping his arms around me in a reassuring hug, which made me feel worse than if he had simply slapped me in the face for whatever it was that I had done.
Had I been leading him on all this time? Certainly not intentionally; he was someone I just liked being around, hanging out with. He was someone I just... liked.
Nate clapped me on the shoulder, a sideways smile on his face. "See you around, Chicago," he said, and spun on his heel and walked away.
I watched him get swallowed into the distance before heading toward my own room, wet and squishy and a complete mess from the inside out.