Where Sea Meets Sky (8 page)

I barely have time to pour myself a cup of coffee from the machine in the hostel’s communal kitchen before we’re out on the streets of Auckland. It seems like a different world in the daytime. It’s sparkling clean, the strong sun bouncing off the glass buildings, and in minutes I am regretting wearing jeans. The change from Vancouver’s fall to Auckland’s spring is fucking me up, and I’m soon taking note of the stores we pass by, wondering where I could pick up some board shorts and summer gear. Once again, I am ill-prepared. Story of my life.

When we reach the end of Queen Street and come up against cruise ships and ferries leaving for exotic-sounding islands, we hop on a bus and head out along the water. Tibald tells me about the volcanic island of Rangitoto that is peeking out on the bay like a green cone, and how the three of them had run straight to the top of it. You know, just for fun. I do my fair share of running and hiking back at home to keep in shape, but these guys seem to have a death-by-exercise wish.

The scenery whizzing past the bus is beautiful. The sky here seems brighter, clearer, giving everything a sharp intensity. I want to paint the glare of the sun on the water, silver skimming green. I want to sketch the mound of islands in the distance—all, according to Lonely Planet, remnants of old volcanoes. I want to duplicate, create, expand upon.

Yet even if I had brought my sketchbook on the bus with me, I wouldn’t be able to work. I’m in a stranglehold, caught by the beauty of my new surroundings and the fear of what I’m about to do. What if Gemma isn’t there? What if there’s no way of finding her? I’ll pretend I won’t feel disappointed, I’ll go on and travel and see the country the way I said I would, but it will still hurt. Maybe for only for a second, but it will be a sharp, swift kick.

And then there is the even greater fear: What if Gemma
is
there?

Then what?

I still have no plan. Going to this Mission Bay place to see her, that was the German’s plan. It wasn’t my own. I still have no next step. What do I say to her? What will she say to me?

Why am I doing this?

“Guys,” I say slowly, my fingers drumming along the edge of the window. “How about if she’s there, you don’t mention anything about me being a stalker. I know it’s funny ha ha to you and all, but girls freak out about this kind of shit. It’s cute in a book or a movie but the moment it happens in real life, women are bringing out the pepper spray.”

“No worries, mate,” Tibald says in a horrible Kiwi-ish accent. And yet, I am worried. Never trust the Germans.

Eventually we get off the bus by a long stretch of golden white beach. It and the surrounding park are packed with families and douchebags in Ed Hardy and hot chicks in skimpy bikinis. The air smells like salt and sizzling hot dogs and suntan lotion.

I gaze at the azure water with its gently lapping waves and feel the pull to it. Maybe I should jump in and swim and swim until I reach the green shores of Rangitoto on the other side of the bay. It seems safer.

But Tibald is tugging on the end of my shirt like a little kid. “This way,” he says, nodding his head to the busy shops across the street. Michael has his iPhone out and is navigating us past leafy trees with spiky red flowers until we’re on the other side of the road and heading down a side street.

My heart starts to hammer the moment I see the sign for Murphy’s Gym. I’m starting to hate myself, I’m acting like such a pussy-whipped tool. It was a one-night stand. It was just for that one night. That’s what they are there for. I’ve had at least eight one-night stands before and every single one of them remained exactly that. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am, and oh, you’re welcome, too.

Why was this one different? What did she do to me? What the hell was it about her that made her stand out from all the rest?

When did I lose my motherfucking mind?

It’s a strange time to be having this argument with myself. I should have figured it all out before I hopped on a plane, not while entering the gym where the woman in question works. But I’m doing it, sucked into a spiral of fear and self-loathing.

What if I had built her up to be more than she was? What if she doesn’t look or act the same as I remembered? What if this turns out to be nothing more than a colossal waste of our time?

But when the receptionist peels her eyes away from her phone for just long enough to tell Tibald that Gemma doesn’t work here but we’re welcome to check out the gym anyway, I know the whole thing has been for nothing.

“I’m curious,” Tibald says, unfazed, “let’s go see how the Kiwis work out.”

I mumble something but follow the guys into the gym room. I was right about the disappointment. I feel it deep down but I can already tell it’s not going to last. I never let it linger for long.

While I stand on the side of the room, absently looking at the few people on the ellipticals or free weights, I take in a deep breath and make a note of starting over. I’m in New Zealand, I’ve made some friends already, I have seven weeks to explore the country, and though my budget may be limited, it’s not enough to stop me. I came here for one reason but I’m staying for another.

This is going to be the best goddamn time of my life.

I feel a smile lift the corners of my mouth and silently thank Gemma, wherever she is, for bringing me here. Now, the adventure begins.

When the Germans come back to me, having inspected the place and wearing mild approval on their annoying bright faces, I say, “Shall we go to the beach then?”

“Bouncing back already?” Tibald asks. “Let’s go then. At least you tried.”

I shrug, marveling at how at peace I already feel about everything. I guess we could come back another time and try again, we could pester the receptionist for her information, but I’m taking it as a sign. “I tried.”

We open the door and step out into the corridor, heading toward reception, heading toward the heady sunshine.

And that’s when I see her.

That’s when I see Gemma.

And the peace inside me shatters.

Chapter Five

GEMMA

I wake up with pain in my heart and the tremor in my hand. I lie in bed for a few moments, my eyes closed and my fingers spreading apart and coming together. I do this until the shakes in my muscles subside.

The ache is still there, though. I breathe in deep and stare at the ceiling. Despite everything I’ve done, this feeling haunts my chest, digging deep, and I have no idea what it is. It’s just longing and sadness that coats my pores. It’s a subtle suffocation, but it’s there.

My alarm sounds but I take my time before turning it off. I sigh, letting out the air slowly. I know in a few seconds there will be scratching at my door. Chairman Meow, my roommate Nyla’s cat, always acts like a snooze button. It’s usually a good thing but today I can’t be assed getting out of bed.

I pull the duvet up over my head, blocking out all the morning light, and I stay that way until it gets too hot under the covers. Chairman Meow starts scratching at the door.

Eventually I get up and pad over to it, my muscles sore from yesterday’s bike ride. I let the cat in and he immediately snakes between my bare legs. I’ve always been more of a dog person but Mr. Meow is an exception. On the days that Nyla isn’t home—which is often—he’s the only thing I can talk to. Lord knows I can’t talk to my guy friends, or even Nick. My mother has never really been an option.

I think about Amber, my cousin. She’s only been in Auckland for a few days but she’s staying at a small hotel in Parnell. I had invited her again and again to come stay with me for free while she was in the city, and though at the time I was relieved she said no—I cherish my personal space—now I’m wishing she was here. She’s a nice girl, just turned twenty-four, so two years older than me, and we’re about to spend a month together cruising the country. Getting to know her better would be a good thing.

I put the kettle on and fish out the last packet of instant coffee, dumping it into a coffee cup that has a picture on it of a zombified Sleeping Beauty. Even if I do end up bonding with Amber, I doubt I’ll be able to explain to her what I’ve been feeling. How do you explain the sadness and anxiety gnawing away at you every day when there is no cause for it? I know most people, my mother especially, would say that it’s leftover from the accident, from when my father died.

But that’s not it. I’ve done my grieving, I’ve gone to the counselors, I’ve worked through those feelings. This is something else. This is that feeling like you should be doing something else with your life and every day that you’re not is another waste of your existence. The only time the feeling had stopped was when I was traveling, but now that I’ve been home for a month, it’s all back in full swing, worse than ever.

It doesn’t help that I still don’t really have a job. No job, no purpose.

“All right, pity party over,” I tell myself as the water boils and I pour it into the mug. I sit down at the wood-hewn island in the middle of the kitchen, stir my coffee rapidly and stare out the window to the pōhutukawa tree outside. The red flowers are just starting to pop, signifying that Christmas is on its way. Amber and I will be spending the holiday at my mom and aunt’s, at the vineyard I grew up on. Christmas has always been hard without dad but I feel that this year it might be nice to have Amber around. Maybe my grandfather will have us over for a New Year’s
hāngi
again up north.

I start to perk up a little, though I’m not sure if it’s the coffee or the idea of having something to do, about showing Amber the ins and outs of Kiwi culture. There is still the whole job problem. Nick can’t fit me in as a full-time trainer until February, so I’ve just been taking shifts when one of the trainers is sick or if they’re all booked up.

Of course, Nick has no problem fitting me into his bed. Then again, I have no problem fitting him into mine. Yesterday was amazing—taking our bikes on the ferry to Waiheke and racing around the island, stopping at the occasional beach for a swim and at as many vineyards as we could fit in. We arrived back in the city good and drunk, weaving on the ride back home, to my flat in Mount Eden, and followed up our day with a night of turbulent sex.

As usual, though, Nick didn’t stay the whole night. He was up and out at two a.m., once again claiming that his early morning workout routine would be too much of a hindrance to me. When I arrived back from being overseas and saw him at the airport waiting for me, I really thought things were going to change. I thought he was going to change. That was the whole reason I left, to get away and figure out what I wanted. To find myself, yes, but find a way to get over him.

I thought it had worked. And for one day it did. When I met that Josh guy in Vancouver, it was like everything finally made sense. I realized there were people out there that you could click with, that could ignite you with their kiss, that could wake you up like a splash of cold water. Then the next day he was gone, I was gone, and Nick came back into my life.

When Nick broke up with me six months ago, I knew it had been for the best. He was always splitting his time between Auckland and Sydney, so he was rarely around, and when he was he could hardly focus on me. He liked me in bed a lot, he liked to show me off to his athlete friends, and we had fun being active together. We never opened up to each other or got closer than just our skin on skin. For some reason I liked that. It was safe, and even though he never once in our year of dating told me he loved me, that was okay, too.

But even as noncommittal as we had been with each other, he’d done a number on me. I’d invested way more in the relationship than I should have and when he ended it because the long distance was getting too hard, it dug deep. I’d been protecting my heart but it hadn’t been enough. Even without the I love yous, I fell for him and all the shit and false promises that he came with.

I know that seeing him again is wrong, that it’s bad for me. There’s a feeling of distinct disapproval that rolls off of Nyla every time I mention his name. She’s lucky she’s a nurse and barely has to see him.

But I am seeing him and things are exactly the same as they were before. We connect in the bedroom but not outside of it. We get down and dirty but never open and real. This time I’m going to have to be okay with it. At least he’s going to get me a job. At least he looks good on paper. At least I know I won’t get close this time. I won’t get hurt. Things will continue to just be . . .
fine
.

I finish the coffee and put the empty mug in the sink. Chairman Meow hops up on the counter and slides himself along my arm, wanting attention or perhaps wanting to comfort me. That ache behind my ribs is still there, that longing for something that probably doesn’t exist.

I take a shower and get dressed in my gym clothes—black capri tights, sports bra, white singlet—thinking that I’ll go to Nick’s and see if I’m needed. I know I’m not. They’d call me if that were the case. But I’m feeling especially anxious today and staying around the house wouldn’t do me much good. There’s some gardening to be done in the back of the house, my favorite lazy day activity, and a few books I wanted to dive into, but I feel like I have to get out and interact with people, put myself out there. I’m an introvert through and through but sometimes it seems detrimental. Besides, maybe by showing my face at the gym I’ll manage to attract the interest of some of the men. I know they never really
need
my training but a job is a job and I’m not above working what I have.

Since it’s Sunday the drive to Mission Bay takes a bit longer than normal. The traffic downtown is all right but once you hit Tamaki Drive, everything starts backing up with people bound for fun in the sun. Though it’s technically still spring, the weather is hot and perfect, paving the way for what seems like a good December. I hope it holds up for our road trip.

It’s too bad Nick said he might go back to Sydney early for Christmas, otherwise he’d be joining me and Amber. I kind of want him there as a buffer, in case Amber and I don’t get along, and having him along for the experience would be nice. He often says he wishes he had the time to really explore New Zealand, and I want to be the person to show it to him. I want to make an impression, having something of mine be his first.