We Are Tidal

Chapter Eighteen - Tidal Moods

Chapter Eighteen 

Tidal Moods

Over a year and a half ago, I stepped onto the beachfront of the town I had always lived in and loved so dearly. I was trying to balance a picnic basket and a set of speakers under my arms as Art clicked his car keys once, locking it and took the basket from me.

"Ready for some mediocre sun fun?" He had beamed, his smile already brighter than the weak August sunlight. We had planned this date for weeks, waiting for a dull summer's day when the beach would be deserted.

"Always am. I was born wearing SPF, you know" I laughed, flicking my blonde braids over my shoulders and charging towards the rushing waves. That night, we had slept on the beach and watched the stars, or at least what we could see of them with the town lights nearby. It wasn't warm or comfortable but we were together and neither of us had ever felt as peaceful as we did that night.

Our palms had stayed intertwined for hours until Art had pulled his fingers away and leaned over me, bring his fingers to my chin. I looked into his blue eyes, catching a glimpse of nerves before he had kissed me. Not long after that, his hands had moved further down and I had let them. 

Now, in my third year of university, I step onto the beach again after receiving a somewhat ominous text from Art. It's only been two days since the party at Elio's house and I haven't spoken to Damien yet, but Art said he wanted to clear the air after his outburst. Damien has been texting me and voicemails, but each time I imagine explaining how it had felt to have him grope me in front of everyone, I feel sick and turn off my phone. 

The November wind is harsh and cutting against my face and I feel glad that I wore my woolen beanie to keep my hair out of my face. Instinctively, I kick off my Nike shoes and socks, stuffing them into my shoes and walk towards the water, holding the dogs' lead in one hand. 

I've been coming to this particular strand my entire life. Every Sunday, my parents and I had walked the beach and narrated our goals for the upcoming week. We never took it seriously, constantly joking with each other. 

"I wish to run a marathon this week," My father would say, never having run so much as a mile in his life. My mother would nudge his shoulder jokingly and tell him to count her in. 

"I would like to win the Great British Bake Off," My mother said once, thinking fondly on a glorious trifle she had since in an episode the night before. My father's laugh came out as a bark and I smiled, telling her she would win.

I would run ahead of them, pretending not to notice them kissing and holding hands. Now, my heart physically aches for those memories. 

Arya and Sansa are over-excited once we hit the water. I grit my teeth against the frigid water, hoping that it might ground me. The tide is coming in and Arya yelps happily as her little paws touch the icy swash, enjoying the adventure in every moment. Sansa whimpers a little and scoots back between my legs, her long hair blown back from her eyes. I bend down and rub her furry sides, trying to heat her up as Arya splashes water everywhere. 

"They truly are adorable," A male voice behind me sounds and I look up and have to shield my eyes from the winter sunlight bleeding out between the clouds. Art is bundled in a thick khaki parka, a black beanie tugged over his black hair. 

I release the clip on the lead, trusting the dogs to stay close as I stand up. As promised, neither of them move far away. Sansa sniffs Art's vans warily before testing out the water once again to scurry out of his reach when he tries to pet her. 

"She's suspicious of men," I say by way of explanation, shrugging and slipping my hands inside my pockets to keep warm. 

Without talking, we slip into an easy walk towards the rocky side of the beach. The wind is against us and propels us forward. With his long legs, I have to struggle to keep up until he notices and slows his gait. The dogs walk in time with us, shaking off the water only to gather more.