Ross

Thermocline. Noun. [thur-muh-klahyn]. A layer of water in which there is a rapid change in temperature with depth.

My ears buzz with the silence that surrounds us in the midst of the souvenir shop.

What's holding you back? Why don't you leave? Riley's voice echoes through my head like a worn-out record that's a little off key. These are the same questions I've asked myself for years, but Riley doesn't understand. She can't understand; she has no sense of family or belonging to keep her trapped in one place.

I step away from her, and I can almost see the wall rising between us. Despite the surplus of emotion between us, we've only known each other for a few weeks. This is too much, too fast.

My voice rusty, I murmur, "I don't want to talk about it."

Riley recoils from me, her eyes flaring with anger. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought we talked in this relationship."

The word relationship grinds against my ears, intoxicating and terrifying at the same time. I'm not ready for this.

"But apparently not," she rages on. "All you've done since we met is complain and pine after all these places you've never been to. I just want to know why not--why haven't you done anything?"
Ivy. Sammy. Mason. Didn't I tell her that I have to take care of the kids? Doesn't she know my responsibilities are here? But she's never had those kind of responsibilities. She's a single child with rich parents. Everything in her life was given to her while I've had to work for what little we have.

"You don't know what you're talking about," I growl, a metallic taste in my mouth.

"Of course I know what I'm talking about." Riley throws her arms wide and rolls her eyes. "I've wasted my entire life. I know what it's like to never go after what you want and to spend all your time wishing you were somewhere else."

"Yeah, and what are you doing about it?" I say, heat rushing through me as the crowd in the souvenir shop gives us a wide berth. "Nothing. You're not trying to change or trying to...to find what you want, a home, or a family, or whatever. You're just as bad as me. No--you're worse. You have nothing holding you down, but you still don't do anything."

"That's the problem." Riley freezes and her arms fall limp to her side. "I have nothing holding me down, but I also don't have anything to give me any direction. I don't know what I want. I never have. If I did--" she stops and swallows. "If I knew what I wanted, I swear I would go after it."

A quiet moment rests between us and I wish I could take back my words. What's wrong with me? I never lash out at people like this, people like Riley who don't deserve it. Why does her prodding question irk me so much? As I gaze at her downcast eyes, I feel a stab of sympathy in my gut. She cares about me. Sure, she's showing it through annoying questions and a yelling match in the middle of the surf shop, but still. She cares, and all I can do is push her away.

"But you know what you want, and I don't get why you won't go after it. I--if I knew what I wanted, I swear I'd chase it until I got it. But you--you could leave here, and see what you want to see, but you don't. And I just want to know why."

For a moment, our eyes lock and she arches one eyebrow in a challenge. The words press against my lips, and for a moment, I almost tell her everything--about the internship, about my dad and the kids, about this feeling of being trapped, but I don't. And she turns and walks away. The door jingles as she slams it, and I can't force myself to move, to go after her, to stop her and tell her the truth.

The problem is, I've carried my own shackles with me for years, and I've never even let anyone see them. Riley can see there's something holding me back, but instead of feeling relief that she knows me so well, I'm ashamed by my own immobility. I do know what I want. I could do something about it. But I haven't.

What's holding you back?

Whatever it is, it's the same thing that's keeping me from running after Riley and apologizing for being such a stubborn idiot. I watch her through the shop window, walking down the stairs and away from me. Javier and Ivy try to stop her, but she brushes them off and keeps walking, and I feel part of me walking away with me.

"Bro, what's wrong with you?"

I turn around to see a heavyset Hispanic guy in a colorful Hawaiian shirt watching me through a pair of Ray-Bans.

"Excuse me?"

"You just gonna let her walk away from you like that? Have you never seen a rom com?"

Honestly, Mom used to make me watch The Proposal with her at least three times a year, so I'm familiar with what the guy's trying to say. If this were a movie, I'd run after and confess my undying love, but this isn't a movie and I'm not that brave.

"This isn't any of your business," I say with a sigh.

The man raises his eyebrows. "What's got your panties in a wad, bro?"

I close my eyes and force my simmering rage to calm--I'm not angry at him, and to be honest, I'm not even angry at Riley. I'm angry at myself, but it's a lot easier to project that on other people than to deal with the blame.

"She's hot and she likes you, man. What more can you ask for?"

He has a point. I look out the window and I can see her figure just disappearing. I should go after her.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but you're right."
I slip past the man and push through the door, ignoring the dinging bell behind me. Ivy, Javier, Mason, and Sammy stand next to the ice cream stand, but Riley's nowhere in sight. I have to apologize. Maybe I should tell her the truth--that I'm terrified of leaving, but that this summer might just be my last on the island. I want to tell her that my life is a mess and I've always let myself do nothing, but something is changing. Riley's pushing me to change, and it terrifies me.

Javier says something, but I ignore him, my heart pounding in my chest. What if she doesn't forgive me for my barbed comeback and hurtful defensiveness? What if she feels like we're going too deep too fast?

I start to jog down the sidewalk, dodging tourists and pushing past gawkers, but I can't see her anywhere. She's gone. You idiot. I curse at myself under my breath. This is my fault. I got scared, I got defensive, and I pushed away the one person who cared enough to try to understand.

"Ross, she's gone, man." I turn around to find Javier with Ivy at his side. "She looked really ticked off, and told me she was leaving. She said not to go after her."

I squeeze my hands into fists at my side. Should I go back to the pizza shop and force her to listen to my apology? A tiny rational voice in my head says that maybe this is for the best. It has only been a few weeks, and even though it feels like much longer, how stupid would I be to tell the girl I barely know the sad truth about my life?

This summer fling isn't meant to last; Riley and I both know that. It's supposed to be shallow and temporary like a tide pool at dusk, but with every confession and shared moment, we've been moving towards the deep end. The change scares me, but until today, my anticipation overpowered the fear.

Today, I let the fear win out and I screwed up. I lashed out, and I lost her.

"Rossy, have some ice cream!" I look down and see Ivy tugging on my hand, her eyes wide. "That'll make you feel better."

I ruffle her strawberry blonde hair and try to summon a smile. "I don't know that it will."