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I love reading, but right now I’m not loving what’s between the lines.
“Do you mind ordering for me? Chicken tenders and fries, with a Manhattan? It feels appropriate, considering.” I gesture toward the city streets around us.
For someone who covered for me when I missed curfew as a teen, Gram seems a bit intolerant of my current need to go meet up with a boyfriend. I smile as innocently as I can when Gram makes a face. Then she nods, and I promise I’ll be up soon. There’s just one thing I need to do first.
Day 1
Embarkation
Gwendolyn
“Gwendolyn Pierce, look what you’ve done.”
The suite is huge, expansive and comfortable, and the view is just… wow. For now we’re soaking up the New York City skyline, but once we set sail it’ll be the calming waves of the deep blue sea. We can definitely make this work for us for the next ten days.
“I know I told you not to spend your money on this trip, but this is one time I’m grateful for your rebellious streak.”
Gram nudges my side, her bony elbow sharp in my ribs. She presses her fingertips and forehead against the perfectly streak-free glass, leaving smudges behind as she gazes out to the water that laps at the ship a dozen decks below.
It was her idea to book the cruise, to really get away, to help me disconnect and unblock myself, but the interior cabin with two twin beds that she had planned to book would not have been ideal. We’d considered separate rooms, but when I saw the suite, I knew I had to book it. We’ll get great sunrise and sunset views from the chaises on our private balcony and lots of extra space when we’re just relaxing in the room. I’ve also volunteered to sleep on the living room’s sofa bed for some extra separation, because Gram’s snoring would intimidate a lumberjack.
“Consider it a thank-you gift for all you’ve ever done for me.”
“You mean a deposit on a thank-you gift for all I’ve ever done for you?” And that right there—that smart-ass, sharp-as-a-tack humor—is Gram, all wrapped up in a punchy one-liner that she says with a wink and a smirk that we’ve always been able to share. Gram’s always had a soft spot for me, I guess. As her only granddaughter, and her only grandchild to be raised nearby, she would spoil me with books and cookies throughout my childhood. When it became clear that my parents were not the spoiling type, she’d spoil me even more: a spa day when I turned eighteen, a beach weekend when I turned twenty-one, and a door that was always open when I needed someone to talk to or a fresh-baked cookie. And sure, I’d gotten my fair share of stern warnings about boys and underage drinking when I was in high school and my own parents couldn’t be bothered to see me as a teenage girl in need of guidance, but overall, things have always been great with Gram.
“Are you going to explore the ship a bit?”
She’s already easing herself into an armchair near the door, already sliding out of her tie-dye slip-ons, reaching for her swollen ankle. “No, dear, I think I’ll stay here a bit. Maybe sneak in a nap before dinner.”
“Sure.” I unpack a bit while she sits there, relaxing after a busy morning on our feet, waiting in lines, navigating to our suite. When she’s not looking, I sneak my laptop into my beach tote and slide the straps over my shoulder. I wrap my free arm around Gram and kiss her temple, promising to be back in time to escort her to dinner.
I saw a lot of children—like, a number I’m uncomfortable with, considering it’s the middle of the school year—when we were boarding, so I head straight to the adults-only section on the top deck, appropriately yet ironically named The Retreat, all the way at the front of the ship.
It’s chilly outside, but the November air is calm for New York and will only improve as we sail south in just a few hours. Tomorrow will be primo balcony time, but right now I’m heading inside to claim a chair in The Retreat’s indoor pool area, desperate to get a head start on the heat and humidity promised to us by the Caribbean islands we’re heading to.
Naturally, every chaise along the windows is taken, claimed by blue and white striped pool towels and temporarily discarded flip-flops. Most chairs, actually, seem to be reserved for one of the many adults in the various pools and hot tubs housed here. I take a lap, and on the far side I finally find a solitary, available chair.
It feels so nice to sit, and I take a moment to rest my eyes before pulling out my laptop and opening the document I’ve stared blankly at for days. Everyone’s expecting another hit, another runaway success. But right now I just want to hit someone and run away.
Specifically, I want to hit the person next to me who is dripping chlorinated water all over my tote, my dress, and my laptop.
“Do you mind?” I ask, swiping the droplets off my keyboard.
More drops fall.
“Excuse me!” I twist and look up, coming face to—well, not face, that’s for sure—with a pair of flamingo-covered swim trunks. I catch my shriek on its way out, so it exits my mouth as some choked gargh sound, high-pitched and rumbly all at once.
The waist twists, and this man has the gall to look at me with big brown eyes and an infuriating smile. “Oh, sorry,” he says, lowering himself to his chair, saving me from having to look at the lines and curves his wet trunks stuck to just a moment ago.
My cheeks burn, but surely it’s rage from the fresh patches of water landing again on my chair as he shakes a towel through his hair, and not lingering embarrassment from my first glance at him.
“Dude, honestly.” I snap the laptop closed and make a show of smoothing the now-damp shoulder of my dress.
“Dude, sorry,” he mocks, his grin glitching. “You know you’re at a pool, right? And there’s typically lots of water?”
“Yes, and if I wanted to be wet I’d be in the water. This seat wasn’t marked as being in the splash zone.”
He grunts and rolls his eyes, then kicks his feet up onto his chaise and throws his hands behind his head, elbows out, taking up space in the way that men do but women shouldn’t even consider unless we want a handful of less-than-complimentary labels assigned to us. And he does it all with a maddening smirk on his face.
