Twistin' By The Pool

I try not to let it distract me but I have one train of thought and evidently only one track for it to ride on. Maybe I will derail it when Kate and I go for our walk.

Every Saturday for every Girls Weekend to date, Kate and I have walked the beach, dodging the Beach Badgers to go to the next town over and do some shopping. Souvenirs for the kids and the men in our lives. A beer coozy to match the bathing suit du jour. A Snapple to wash down the ibuprofen. And maybe a little fun shopping. I have gotten some adorable things at end of summer sales. I have also gotten some things that look preposterous once I am no longer at the beach. Or tan. Or I remember that I'm not 25 anymore.

Kate asks more questions while we walk along the beach. I am happy to talk about John but share with her that I was a little concerned about his morning after 'tude in the hotel restaurant. "Please don't be a garden variety asshole," is the thought resonating through my little shrunken head.

Kate is the voice of reason. Go figure.

"Liza, it was just a kiss. A couple of kisses. It's not like you just went on a romantic European vacation and he's stopped calling."

"But I think I like him," I say.

"He's nice and he's cute. And he kissed you. No big deal. It's Saturday. A whole new night lies ahead. God only knows what will happen the rest of the day. Be cool. And if you never see him again I guarantee you he won't be the last cute, nice guy you kiss. Find someone else to kiss."

I wish I had her attitude. I am not accustomed to kissing just anybody. I should have been this discriminating when J. came along. My God the trouble I'd have saved myself.

"OK, " I said. "Scout for me. I promise I'll be just as delightful tonight."

"Liza, you have a great rack, the best legs in the world, a beautiful smile and you're loads of fun. What's not delightful? Especially to a guy?"

Oh, good. It must have been some other personal quality that sent him running screaming in the other direction.

Kate starts randomly pointing out cute guys we encounter on the beach and in the shops. "It could be him. Or him. This guy over here smells good. He has weird hair but he smells awesome. Maybe you could work on the hair." She is such a helpful, supportive friend.

We schlep back. Time for bathing suit ensemble number two. I am excited about this one. The whole thing rocks. I think for a moment that John will find it adorable. And then I push that thought out of my head and decide that someone else who isn't John needs to find it adorable, too. Better take a second look at the hair and the lip gloss situation.

Once our butts are on lounge chairs, I feel like taking a little nap, but I don't. It's lunch time and I have a feeling that the guys will be coming our way in their pursuit of lunch. Or beer. Men are predictable like that.

I do not want to fall asleep and miss it. I also don't want to fall asleep and then not miss it, Sleep Face and Morning Breath and all. Pretty.

I am facing the beach but am not the first to see them. Jill does. "There are the guys," she says. "Coming through the beach bar area. Liza, you going over?"

"No, she's going to play it cool. John needs to come to her," Kate says. "Keep your dark glasses on, Liza. He'll have no idea if you've seen him or not." I am too stupid to know to do this on my own.

I do keep them on. And I make sure I am sitting oh-so-pretty on my lounge. No double chin pose. Bathing suit covering what it is supposed to cover. Seated in a position where I can breathe but do not draw any unwanted attention to anything remotely flabby. Boobs hoicked up, not laying about randomly. Not exactly Marilyn Monroe, but not Roseann Barr either.

And suddenly the men are upon us. Mark, Chris, The Beave and John, walking between lounge chairs and approaching from all directions. There are lots of jovial hellos. A few jokes about the night before. A few questions about why Penny is on her laptop. They are on their way to get lunch but Joy invites them to sit a minute.

Oddly, Chris takes a seat on the end of my lounge chair by my feet, half turned to talk to me.

Odd thing to do. I would think that was John's spot. I am anxious to see where he sits. It will tell me a lot.

Mark remains standing. The Beave sits next to Joy. John sits on the end of Joy's chair. No one is about to encroach on Jill. She is a Goddess.

My heart sinks just a little. John should have sat on my chair. But Chris sat there first. Was that so John couldn't (in light of the conversation we'd had the night before) or so he didn't have to? A Guy Code favor. And if it were so he couldn't, why isn't John telling him to move his ass and sit somewhere else?

I tell myself not to overthink the situation. But apparently that's all I know how to do. It would be such a luxury to not notice every little nuance and every little subtlety all the time.

Chris has asked me a question. He wants to know who's the better band, The Beatles or the Rolling Stones."

"Stones," I say. Chris high fives me. As I look up to be high fived I see John get up.

And before I know it, he has pulled over a neighboring lounge chair, aligned it next to mine, and has sat down on it sideways, squarely facing me.

Quietly he says, in that voice, "I had fun last night. I'm glad it's only Saturday," and winks.

I take off my sunglasses. I want him to see me wink back when I tell him I had fun, too.