“Let’s go,” I tell her. “But let’s stop at the fridge for grapes first.”
* * *
When was the last time I felt like this? Carefree, giggles like bubbles rising to the water’s surface, ready to pop out at the slightest provocation, like when Ollie trips over a piece of driftwood or when a kite nosedives into the sand or when Lina manages to throw a grape into my mouth while we’re both jogging forward. The cool breeze of a beach at sunset, the salty tang of the ocean. Young, without the debilitating restless energy and pressure that comes with adulthood and parenthood.
A cool and confident woman walking next to me, her long curly hair occasionally blown by the wind into the skin of my arm. The both of us in ratty clothing but that’s by choice, because it’s soft and comfortable and we are in Relax Mode and not because we’re twenty-two and hustling and can’t afford new clothes.
“How are we doing at crafting New and Improved Real Life Lina?” I ask the beach siren beside me.
“I only worked for an hour today. I took an edible, and I left my phone back at the house. On purpose. I’d say I’m doing amazing.”
“You have to stop working this week,” I tell her.
“I can’t help it. I have to.”
“The school won’t collapse if you don’t order books.”
“It will, actually, because then no one will order them, and then all the teachers and the kids, including yours, mind you, would be fucked in September.”
I wince. “Sorry. You’re right. That was an annoying thing for me to say. I just don’t want you to overextend yourself, especially if you’re not getting paid for it.”
“Look who’s talking. Besides, what does it matter to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“That sounded like something a boyfriend would say. Are you saying you care about me?”
“I can still care about you without being your boyfriend. I’ve known you for less than a week. Plenty of time to learn to care for someone.”
She cackles. “You’re sassy when you’re high.”
“I learn from the best.”
“You’ve only known me for less than a week.”
“Plenty of time,” I reply, and am I flirting right now?! After drawing another metaphorical line in Forty-Seven Minutes in Heaven?
If I’m being totally honest with myself, which turns out is incredibly easy to do while you’re high, Ireallylikethis woman. Not only do I like that she’s really good with Frankie, but I like that she’s dependable and works her ass off. I like that shegives a shit. I like that she can swing from kind and calm and cool to ferocious and spicy and a little bratty. Not to mention the whole Eighth Wonder of the World thing. She’s breathtakingly gorgeous, in her crop top and her shorts and bare feet and wild hair and cat eyes.
“You look like a beach siren,” I tell her, and I am definitely flirting.
“My ancestors would be pleased with that assessment.”
“Dominican, you said?”
“Mmm.”
“We’re both island people.”
“Watered down a bit. I’m third generation. I can’t even speak Spanish.”
I shrug. “I’m first generation, and I can’t speak Tagalog. My parents wanted me fully assimilated. I can understand it fluently, though. Ollie speaks better Tagalog than I do, and he’s not even one hundred percent Filipino.”
“What are you talking about back there?” Ollie spins around, Georgia hanging on his back like a monkey. “I heard my name.”
“How your mom taught you to speak Tagalog, and my parents didn’t.”
Oliver looks between me and Lina and smiles, turning around again. “Hindi siya katulad ni Viv o nanay ni Francine. Gawin mo na.”
