Maritza casually points toward a man in jean shorts and a black t-shirt, a Santa Monica Pier hat on his head and a thick blond beard covering the lower half of his face.
“Yeah. I see him,” I say.
“His name is Collin Burke and he’s from Denver, Colorado,” she says, licking her lips as she studies him. “He’s the baby of the family, which is why he’s comfortable posing for pictures and being the center of attention. He’s a computer programmer by trade, and for fun he gets together with his friends and does some live action role playing stuff. And despite the fact that he’s clearly in his mid-thirties, he has a Star Wars comforter on his bed at home and a dog named Yoda. Also, he has a girlfriend. Her name is Samantha Robbins and she’s the one taking his picture. She doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to pop the question this year at his family’s lake house on the Fourth of July, just as the fireworks begin.”
“Nerdy and romantic,” I say. “Killer combo.”
Maritza sighs. “And that’s exactly why she’s going to say yes. She’s crazy for him. Wants to have alllll his babies.”
I chuckle. “You’re so random.”
And I kind of like it …
“Okay, your turn. Pick someone and give me their life story,” she says, sitting back against the bench, her arm against mine and her hand patting the top of my knee. Normally I like my space, but for some reason being this close with another person isn’t giving me that grating, nails-on-a-chalkboard sensation that makes my teeth grind and my breath quicken.
Scanning the pier and examining my options, my gaze lands on a woman in the distance, wearing nothing but a peach bikini and sitting all alone on a green towel on the beach.
“Her,” I say, nodding in her direction. “The girl in the bikini, sitting by herself.”
“The one in the straw hat?”
“Yep,” I say, pulling in a deep breath. “Her name is Cadence.”
“Pretty name.”
“And she recently broke up with her boyfriend because he was screwing her best friend,” I say.
“Damn. You’re taking this in a Maury Povich direction, but okay. Keep going,” she says.
“She grew up in New Hampshire but she always felt like more of a west coaster, hence the bleach blonde hair and skin cancer tan.”
“Judge much?”
“Okay fine. It’s a spray tan and she’s extremely diligent about wearing sunscreen. That better?” I ask.
“Much.”
“Anyway, she dumped her boyfriend and came out here because she wanted to be alone with her thoughts but surrounded by people. She’s complicated like that, but that’s most women. They’re always wanting two completely different things at the same time and they have no clue why half the time.”
Maritza laughs. “Hashtag truth.”
“She’s also secretly hoping that some random, attractive guy will hit on her, give her his number, and make her forget about the guy who screwed her over,” I add. “But at the end of the day, she’s going to go home empty handed, call up some girlfriends, and head to their favorite bar for some drinks so they can talk about how fucking stupid men are. And it’s true. We’re stupid as hell when it comes to women … and half of it is because we’re designed that way and the other half of it is because you guys are so complicated we can’t even begin to figure you out.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Corporal. Don’t lump us all together,” she says, head cocked and eyes squinting. “I pride myself in not being complicated ninety-nine percent of the time. I’m a bona fide what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of woman—except at work, of course. I have to be sweet and accommodating there or else I won’t be able to pay my rent.”
“Your grandma charges you rent?”
She nods. “Of course. What, you thought I was some freeloader?”
“I don’t know what I thought.” I lift a hand. “Anyway, so that’s peach bikini girl’s story.”
“You didn’t even go into her past. Like does she have siblings? What kind of car does she drive?”
“You’re taking this way too seriously,” I say. “Does it matter what car she drives? Her heart was just obliterated. Everything else is secondary at this point.”
“Fair enough.” Maritza exhales, and I’m relieved that my ‘turn’ is over. “Hey, are you hungry?”
I check my phone. It’s nearly noon.
“Do you want to get sushi or something?” she asks. “Do you like sushi? What do you like?”
“Sushi’s fine.”
She stands. “Everything’s always ‘fine’ with you.”
I rise, shrugging. “So?”
“Is anything ever not fine?”
I frown. Lots of things aren’t fine, but those things aren’t in the here and now. “When you’ve seen what I’ve seen, let’s just say it gives you a little perspective as to what’s fine and what’s not.”
She links her arm into mine and we head up the pier.
“That’s deep, Corporal. I like when you go deep.” Her hand cups her mouth. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she says. “I just mean, you’re so quiet all the time. I think it’s cool when you say something meaningful. You’re a man who only really talks when he has something to say, and I like that about you.”
“Anyway.” We head past vendors slinging corn dogs and popcorn and weave through yoga-pants wearing moms and squeeze past two bicyclists and not once does she let go of me. “Are you always this hands-on with people you hardly know?”
“Oh, sweetheart, I think we’re a little past that, aren’t we?” she asks, lashes fluttering as her lips bunch in one corner. “Anyway, does it bother you? You can tell me if it does.”
“Not yet,” I say. “But I’ll keep you posted.”
Maritza points to a place called SUGARFISH and leads us that way. The hostess tells us the wait is at least forty-five to fifty minutes, so we head to the bar to kill time.
“There’s only one stool,” she says. “You want it?”
“I’m insulted that you’d even ask me that.” I take a step back, pointing at the seat. “It’s yours.”
I’ll be damned if I’m some selfish tool who makes a woman stand while he gets to sit.
A minute later, we order drinks. The place is loud and packed as hell for a weekday afternoon, but I decide to enjoy this because this is heaven compared to where I’m going to be a week from now.
“I’m starving,” she says with a sigh, her full lower lip pouting. “I forgot to eat breakfast. At least I remembered to feed the dog before I left.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I slide it out to find my sister Calista’s name on the screen. She only ever calls about Mom, so I lift a finger. “I’m sorry. I have to take this.”
“Of course.” She smiles, turning to face the bar.
“Calista,” I answer. “What’s up?”
“Hey, I was supposed to bring Mom dinner tonight, but Evangeline’s got a fever and Grayson has basketball and Rod’s working a double.” Her voice is a mixture of exhaustion and surrender.