“Did you know that you’re statistically more likely to go to jail if you’re an adult marrying a minor?” I replied.
“It’s the familiarity bias,” she said, as if I hadn’t spoken. “Somethingthatsmall makes you feel more comfortable.”
“Maybe I’ll give Ellie Anderson a call,” I replied, laughing as she flipped me off.
Back in those days, when she was a kid and IthoughtI was an adult, it all came so easily. I’d just laugh at the shit Easton said and pat her on the head like an unruly pet, but even then she was vibrant, full of life.
She isn’t vibrant anymore. The wide smile and laughter that came easily are a distant memory: now her jaw is always locked, as if she’s bracing for test results. She no longer offers me any strange facts.
Leaving Oak Bluff behind was supposed to make her life better, but is this better? She got away from her shitty dad and her even shittier brothers, but she’s no longer happy. It seems like an unfair exchange.
I walk out to where she’s sitting. She’s under an umbrella and covered in towels. It’s as if she’s scared of life now.
“Look, about tonight,” I begin, sitting on the edge of the chair and facing her. “I know you’ve got no desire to go, but Betty had to pull a bunch of strings. She’s super invested in winning your boyfriend back for you.”
For reasons I can’t fathom. I mean, is there a shred of proof this guy even deserves Easton?
She raises her sunglasses. “Well aware. She just posted something in Thomas’s comments trying to make him jealous.”
I press my face to my hands. I love Betty, but I should have known it would go too far. She’s never had any boundaries. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. “It’s fine. I mean, seriously...what right does he have to text me about this? He went to fuck around on a yacht, but apparently I’m supposed to be waiting in Boston for weeks on end, roasting him a chicken.”
“That chicken would be super dry if you’d been roasting it for weeks,” I say, and she snorts. “So how did you respond?”
She lifts her phone and reads. “We broke up, as I recall.” Her shoulders drop as she sets her phone down. “Too bitchy? Would something else be more effective?”
“I wish I was sucking your dickwould probably have gotten him here faster,” I reply, “though I hope it’s occurred to you that maybe marrying a guy you have to lure into marriage could turn out badly?”
“I suppose it occurred to you at some point that as a thirty-five-year-old man who seemingly has never had a long-term relationship, you aren’t exactly well positioned to give advice?”
I frown. “Then it puzzles me that you’re asking me for it. Whatever. You’re making him jealous, clearly. That’s what you wanted. So this is a good sign?”
She shrugs. “Maybe, but...did I just shut down the whole conversation prematurely? How am I supposed to make him jealous from here?”
There is nothing I want to do less than give Easton thoughts on how to win this dick back, but I’m doing my level best not to show it. “What would make him jealous?”
She stretches, delicate feet arching as the towel falls to the ground. “I have no idea how the male mind works. What would makeyoujealous?”
Imagining you fucking someone else, or even caring about him. Those would make a guy sick to his stomach.
Or so I assume.
15
EASTON
“It’s called a photo dump,” Betty explains.
We are on the ferry, on our way to Sunset Key, and I’ve spent most of this ride thinking about how I fucked up the text to Thomas. It’s not that I really think some text about blow jobs was the way to go—Thomas would never respond to something that crass—but I should have been a little more chill.
“Hmm?” I ask Betty.
“A photo dump. That’s what we’re gonna do for you tomorrow or whenever we leave Key West. When are we leaving, Mary?”
“I’m going to hire a limo to drive me separately if I have to keep hearing this conversation,” Mrs. Cabot says tartly, “but the day after tomorrow. The shoes are delayed.”
I shoot Elijah a glance, one that says, “I can’t believe you roped me into this trip.”
