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“It is. Yes.”
“Alright then. I’m in.”
Sawyer
A sleepover with my grandmother, the woman I’m falling for (and slept with last night), and her grandmother. This could be interesting.
Nan sits at the edge of my bed as I start packing my suitcase. I want to be as ready as possible for tomorrow morning’s disembarkation, so I’m packing everything but what I’ll need tonight and first thing tomorrow, which is basically just what I’m wearing now and a clean change of clothes, plus my toothbrush and toothpaste.
“Have you had a good trip, dear?” Nan asks.
“I’ve had a great trip. You?”
“It’s been lovely, all things considered.” She scoots sideways to make room for me to lay my garment bag next to her. “I’m so sorry about today.”
I open the closet to grab my suit, and Gwen’s dress from last night is still hanging there. My breath hitches, and Nan notices.
“Well.” I can hear her smirk in her voice. “At least the day started out okay.”
It did. And it went downhill quickly. And I don’t know what to do about yet another thing in my life. “It’s definitely been a bit of a roller coaster.”
“So, what’s next for you two?” She rises, begins tidying up the coffee table and the desktop, her hand hovering and recoiling when she gets to the pile of condoms that’s still sitting there from this morning. Those can go to the bottom of the suitcase—there’s definitely no need for those tonight.
“I don’t think there is a ‘next’ for us, Nan.” Sure, Gwen apologized for the incident earlier this afternoon, but she still hasn’t expressed a desire to pursue anything beyond this week. “We’re very different people who want very different things.”
She laughs and waves me off when I ask what’s so funny. “I think you want the same thing, dear. And you might do different things, but deep down, you have similar motivations. You’re both funny, and smart, and you’re both fighters, Sawyer. That’s why I’m not sure why you’re not fighting for a ‘next’ with Gwendolyn.”
“Fighting is what got me here, Nan.”
“And thank God you’re here.” Her tone changes, and she regards me sternly for the first time in a long time. “Sawyer Victor Dawson, enough with the whining. You did what you did, and it was the right thing to do. Everyone knows it. And that girl.” She shakes her head. “That girl was an idiot, and she didn’t make you happy. This past week I’ve seen things in you I haven’t seen since you were setting up your first classroom. Passion. Joy. A real, honest-to-goodness smile.”
“Nan—”
“No.” She steps toward me, grips my elbows in her wrinkled hands, and locks her eyes on mine. “You told me this morning you want this woman. So why are you giving up already? Are you going to bail on your marathon as soon as it feels hard?”
“That’s different. Gwen was very clear with what she wants, and it’s not me. I want to respect that.”
“Or maybe it is you, and you’re not listening to what she needs you to be for her right now.”
A distraction. A mistake. I can’t get the words out of my head. And even though she apologized, even though she said so much more than that, all I hear is the rejection sandwiched between those words. It’s what she needed me to be, and what I would have been, and I don’t know how to be what she needs without her seeing me as some epic error—a chapter that needs to be cut from her story.
Nan picks up Gwen’s book from my desk. It’s got a sticker denoting that it’s a part of the ship’s library, and the bookmark is lodged at about the halfway point. “Were you planning to finish this?” she asks.
I’m actually on my third read-through since I discovered it in the library days ago. But the question feels loaded. “No.” I take the book from her, turning it over in my hands. “I don’t really want the story to end.”
Gwendolyn
I sniffle, willing myself not to cry. Not again. What started as laughter threatens to spill over into weeping, because I’m going to miss Gram’s jokes. But tonight I don’t have to miss them. Tonight she’s here, her plate full of a sampling of the ridiculous number of desserts room service delivered half an hour ago, cracking up over her ridiculous puns. I finish a cookie that Sawyer had passed me, left over from last night, and catch him looking at me from across our little circle. He looks away quickly, but I keep staring until he turns back.
It should be awkward, the way we just examine each other like this. This unbroken eye contact and the soft shake of his head and his gentle half smile—it should all feel strange after this afternoon. But it’s not awkward. In fact, it’s almost lovely, the way we can be adults and deal with the weird thing that happened and communicate about it. Apologies accepted. We’re moving on. I just don’t know what that looks like for us.
“More Phase Ten?” Gram asks, and we answer with a chorus of groans.
“More wine?” Sawyer asks, and Nancy and I thrust our near-empty glasses toward him. He refills each, finishing off the bottle before he can top off his own, and raises his glass for a toast. “Here’s to our last night of vacation.”
Gram and Nancy exchange glances, then shift their eyes to me. Subtlety is not an area where they excel.
“What’s with the eyes? What are you doing?” Sawyer’s cheeks are pink, probably more from the heat in here and less from the wine, because Gram’s been cold a lot recently and has the heat turned on in our suite.
