I lay my towel out, pull my over-sized woven shirt over my head, strip my jean shorts off, toss my sunglasses into my bag. I walk straight into the ocean. A white lacey jellyfish pulses by. I float on the warm top layer of water and occasionally dive down into the cool depths.

After, I lay on my stomach and read a book. A half hour later, Russell messages that he’s back in town from his daytrip. I offer to make dinner.

I grocery shop with tangled beach hair and sand stuck to my legs. I stand in the produce aisle panicking. I haven’t cooked for anyone but Daniel. I don’t know what Russell likes, I don’t trust myself, I can’t do this. The first moment of harrowing feeling in a long time.

I make a plan and fill my basket and cycle home.

I run around the house tidying up what little there is to tidy. I borrow a kitchen chair from a neighbour - I only have one. Wine glasses? Fuck. I haven’t bothered to get wine glasses yet.

I realize what I’m doing, and I take a deep breath and make myself a margarita. The tequila is calming, and I sit and breathe for a while with closed eyes. He won’t care that you don’t have wine glasses. Just chill. If he can’t find humour in your situation, then he’s not for you. Just keep being yourself. Own your situation.

He arrives, and we hug for a while. I’d put on music, and he takes my hand, and then we are dancing together. This is nice.

I decide that I need to find out more of his past relationships. I ask questions, and we talk it out for a long time. I watch him move in and out of comfort. He tells me that he is concerned about how recently I am out of a long term relationship. I tell him that I am being as honest as possible with my intentions, that I don’t intend to waste his time.

When he leaves, I pile the dirty dishes in the sink and another wave of hollowness washes over me. I worry that I pushed too hard, that I asked too much. That I said too much.