Kristine Atterbury, Contributor

It is Julia's idea to go sailing on Thursday, the day before Christmas. I look at her like she is cracked in the head and she just stares back at me, her bright brown eyes all wide and innocent. "Come man," she says. "This is the best time to go, hardly anybody will be out there. We'll have the ocean all to ourselves."

I am wondering why we need privacy on the ocean when we could stay at home and enjoy the same solitude, but before I get a chance to object, she is on the phone calling Michael and Kerrian and asking them to tell the others. Before I know it, the whole trip is arranged. We will use Damian's father's boat and everyone is to bring food and liquor. Listening to her make the arrangements, I feel tired and annoyed. I don't want to go weaving around the Kingston Harbour in a pop-down old yacht. I want to lay down on the sofa with a good book and watch A Christmas Story five times, and pop into the kitchen every few minutes to steal a taste of the various yummy things my grandmother will be cooking.

But this is the difference between Julia and me. Two years apart, we get along great but have very little in common. I think if Julia actually had to stay home one single night of her life, she would cry. Truly. But because it is Christmas, I will humour her, and maybe making an appearance this one time will deflect some of the "Poor Tiffany!" comments and save me from having to answer any more of my mother's questions: "So why you don't go out anymore?" and "How I never see you bring home a boyfriend yet?" and "You sure yuh have enough self-esteem, darlin'?"

I will go, even if it means seeing Damian again.

Others waiting

When we get to the harbour, the others are already waiting, a group of brown bodies gleaming with sunscreen, leaning against Damian's car, all dressed in shorts or bikinis with low-riding skirts. I feel very uncomfortable in the bright-orange bikini that Julia imposed upon me. Where my sister is tall and lithe, I am short and small, but a little too curvy in certain places. I tug at the straps in exasperation and try to adjust them. When I turn to the car, I am startled to see Damian watching me.

Damian is one of those guys who, although great as a friend, should definitely be given a wide berth when considering romantic possibilities. Tall-ish, with a broad chest and shoulders that seem to require no maintenance at the gym, he has a smile that would make any girl melt. I have witnessed him conquer so many females with his mega-watt good looks it doesn't even bother me anymore. You see, not that it matters, but a while back, we were together for almost a year. But that's all over now.

He's still looking at me, so I plant my hands on my hips, giving him a dirty look. "What yuh looking at?" He smiles the smile of the wicked and my heart speeds up - only a little.

"You," he replies. I catch the others watching us slyly and I turn away to help Julia unload the food and supplies.

Take it easy

As we are about to step into the boat, I remember how nervous I get on the open sea, and I hesitate, standing anxiously on the edge of the pier. Damian sees me hovering and stretches a hand out to me. I grasp his hand and he pulls me forward so suddenly I stumble and come face to face with his bare chest, a tiny gold chain gleaming around his neck. "Jesus!" I say, discomfited, as I step around him, "tek it easy, nuh?" He smiles to himself and when I look at Julia, she is carefully examining a piece of tarp next to her seat and refuses to meet my eye.

For most of the day, I manage to stay to myself. Damian is busy manning the boat and the others are paired off, with the guys pitching in to help him every now and then. I watch him sometimes and it's only because there's nothing else to look at, believe me. He handles the little boat with confidence, in much the same way he handles women, comfortable in the knowledge that he has all the power and that any girl will bend to his will. I refuse to be one of them. Watching him, I am surprised to find myself near tears, and I turn my face towards the ocean, letting the salty spray of water splash my cheeks.

Cool, casual demeanour

By the time evening comes, I have had enough of the sun and the ocean and the rum and the idle chatter of my friends. I am tired of the furtive looks everyone has been giving me, of Damian's cool, casual demeanour the entire day.

The boat pulls lazily up to the pier and Kerrian and Julia begin unpacking the food we brought for dinner. As the sun goes down on the horizon, the evening grows chilly and I regret not wearing more than this ridiculous bikini and a linen skirt. A couple walks beneath the trees lining the edge of the parking lot and the man stops to press a kiss to the woman's cheek. I watch them with a lump in my throat and rub my hands over my arms, feeling cold and miserable.

Damian comes over to sit beside me, a cigarette in his hand. I keep my gaze firmly in front of me.

He clears his throat. "How you doing?"

"Good," I say blandly. He puts the cigarette in his mouth and then takes it out again, shifting in his seat. He takes my hand suddenly and I go very still, my stomach in knots. His thumb traces patterns across my skin, making me remember things I had worked very hard to forget. I want to pull away, but for some reason, I sit there, letting him touch me with a tenderness that is so unlike his arrogant personality.

Please Tiffany!

"Tiff," he says in a low voice. I am alarmed to see the others quietly leaving the boat, my sister stepping quickly on to the pier without looking back at me.

I turn on Damian. "Where they going? Did you plan this?" Without waiting for an answer, I get up to leave, not wanting to hear anything he has to say. He jumps up behind me, protesting, "Hold on, nuh!" He holds on to my arm and I wrench it away angrily, ignoring the pain that twists into my muscles. "Please, Tiffany!"

I stop and turn to face him, upset by my own intense reaction. He stands there with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders sagging, and I look past him at the horizon, not wanting to feel sorry for this man that broke my heart only a year ago.

"I just want to talk to you," he says.

"Talk, then!"

He looks at me for a long moment, and then he begins to talk, his low voice barely louder than the whisper of waves that lap gently at the shore.

Later, we are still on the boat, alone. The others do not come back. The couple that was walking through the trees has disappeared. All the fishermen have brought their boats in and left the pier. There is no one but us in the world when he pulls me into his arms and murmurs my name over and over again. The night is quiet as he wipes at my cheeks with his shirt, and repeats his apology, several times. The world stops moving when he reaches around me to untie the knot at the back of my orange swimsuit.

"I still love you," he says, and for now I can't reply. But when he pulls me tighter and lies next to me among the supplies and empty bottles and damp towels, my heart soars. And when he cradles me closer to him, I wind my arms around his neck, holding on. We both hold on.