Washed Up

Crest

Ross

Crest. Noun. [krest]. The point on a wave with the maximum value or upward displacement within a cycle.

The promise I made to myself that I would tell Riley how I feel has to come to nothing. She's not here and I'm not about to tell her I love her over voicemail. I love her. The words have ricocheted in my head for the last week since she left. I don't know why I didn't just tell her. I knew--I think I've known for a while now. I shouldn't have let her just leave. I'm a freaking idiot.

Now I only have three weeks before I go to Washington D.C. and from there, to the rest of the world. The internship starts in Honduras, but that's all they've told me so far. I should be more excited than I am, but every time I think about going, I think about Riley. She's the reason I'm finally leaving. She's the reason I have the guts to go after what I want. Except what I want has changed. I want Riley now, too. I love her.

I sigh and lean back against the lifeguard chair, forcing my eyes to refocus on the handful of people still enjoying the very ends of their summer vacations. A chubby toddler in a duck floatie sputters when a wave crashes over him, but other than that, all is quiet on the Long Beach front.

"What's a girl have to do to get rescued by a lifeguard around here?"

I almost fall out of the chair. Riley stands at the foot of the chair in a pair of gym shorts in a tank top, her long hair snapping in the wind as she grins up at me. She's here.

I jump out of the chair into the sand as soon as I see her, falling on one knee and then staggering up again. I don't stop to tell her how happy I am to see her or to tell her I love her. I just pull her into my arms, tight against my chest, and I rest my head in the crook of her neck, breathing in. My hands catch in the material of her tank top and then her hair.

She's here. She came back. She's here.

Her arms hold me as tightly as mine hold her, and I feel her laugh against my shoulder, the sound melodious and sweet. It's been a week, and I've missed her. Gosh, how I've missed her.

"Ry," I whisper into her ear, her hair soft against my face. "You came back."

She reaches for my face and leans her head back to smile at me. "Of course I came back. I couldn't leave you with that lame goodbye, could I? That's hardly--"

But I cut her off. I can't look at her, I can't see her without kissing her. How am I supposed to pretend that the last week didn't almost kill me? That our stunted, brief goodbye in the parking lot wrecked my soul?

Her lips are soft and pliant beneath mine, parting as this kiss says everything I need it to say. I half expect her to pull away or make an excuse like she has before, but not this time. There's a neediness, an eagerness, a desperation in this kiss that heals and breaks my heart at once. My fingers thread in her hair, a hand clutches at the small of her back, and I wonder if two bodies can fuse together so they never have to be apart.

"Ry," I murmur again against her lips.

Her fingernails dig into my shoulders and our lips part, her head resting on my shoulder. "I missed you," she murmurs into my t-shirt.

"I missed you too. How long...how long can you stay?"
"I only have a few hours. I'm going back to Cornell, but I needed a real goodbye. You know," Riley leans her head back and grins up at me, her eyelashes dark against her freckled cheeks. "I didn't want you to forget me or anything."

"Never." I run a finger along her cheekbone, memorizing every contour with my eyes and fingers and lips.

"Well, now that's done," Riley says, pulling away from me. "Good bye."