“I know,” Maeve replies. “And I think Mum will adjust, eventually. But it will take time. Just don't cut whatever thin thread of a relationship you have with her before she does.”
We stand side by side for a long time, watching the water roll up to our feet and away again, my hands in the pockets of my swimming shorts and her arms folded over her chest, her phone nowhere to be seen. When I finally feel able to talk again, I reach over and push her arm, making her stumble to the side.
“What the fuck was that for, gobshite?” she says as she straightens up.
“When did you became so fucken emotionally intelligent? I am feeling very intimidated by it so I just needed you to know I’m still your big brother and can kick your butt.” I glance back to see Mum and Dad sitting side by side on a lounger together. Dad's arm is still around her, but she's not crying anymore. Out of Mum's eyesight Dad gives me a thumbs-up, which I appreciate. I nod back at them and am even more relieved when I see Mum return the gesture before I look back at my sister.
“Wanna go ride a jet ski together?” I ask.
“Fuck yeah, but I'm driving so hope you're ready to look like a complete tit again,” Maeve says before she turns and races to the water sports hut.
The Fourth Sunset
“It's almost impossible to watch a sunset and not dream.”
- Bernard Williams
Chapter Thirty-Two
Jenna
Robert's parents were stuffy and predictable, but they were pleasant enough and had decent taste in restaurants so I could easily survive meeting them for dinner once every few months. So while I’m experienced at having dinner with the parents of someone I'm fucking, I'm not exactly well-versed in doing it with the parents of a man who is thirteen years younger, and I am definitely not even close to being prepared for having dinner with a mother like his.
This is why, after a quick walk to the resort’s shop, I pass my afternoon sunbathing and doing very little other than scrolling on my phone, wondering what I should wear, how I should do my hair, and whether red lipstick is appropriate or not. These thoughts are interrupted far too often with mad dashes to the bathroom as my stomach reminds me just how nervous I really am.
In the end, I choose the fitted mid-length black dress I was saving for my last night and a possible dinner with Jake. I pin my hair up in a French twist and opt for a nude shade of lip gloss instead of anything bolder. I get to the restaurant thirty minutes early and am busy talking to Eric the barman, when I see my brother fly out of the kitchen carrying four plates like the silver service pro he's been since his first job as a waiter at the four-star hotel down the road from our childhood home.
My eyes follow him as he places plates on a table, a slightly manic grin wrapped around his face. It's only when his hands are empty and his back is turned to the customers that a frown returns.
“Jakey, what's up?” I ask as he approaches me.
“Our chef has got the flu. Like how is that even possible in this heat? Anyway, he's off and I've made two of the serving staff jump in to help in the kitchen, meaning my pert backside is running around like Manuel in Fawlty Towers.”
“Well, you make it look good.”
“Just wait until the end of the evening. We have a late booking for a group of twenty here for a family reunion, and as luck would have it, one of the teenage daughters was stung by one of the wasps in the nest we finally removed today, so I could really do without this tonight as I want to impress and make it up to them, but we shall see just how spectacularly it all goes wrong.”
“Oh, Jakey, I would offer to help too but I'm about to have dinner with Marty and his family.”
My brother's jaw drops. “What the actual fuck? Did I just miss out on six months of dating? Was there a time warp and I wasn't notified, which would be criminal because you know how I feel about that musical number!”
I chuckle despite the churning in my stomach. “No time warp, just a holiday fling that took a wrong turn.”
“Or a right turn?” He gives me one of his best pouts before realising where we are. “And what are you doing behind my bar, Peggy Mitchell?”
“It's Marty's birthday present,” I say.
“Oh, that's right. He's like eighteen today, right?”
“Ha-di-ha.”
“But seriously, what are you doing?”
“I’m making him a mocktail. I wanted to get him something for his birthday but as charming as it is, what would I get him from the resort shop? A two-day-oldSunday Times? An inflatable slice of watermelon? A book of sudoku puzzles? No offence but it's a bit short on exciting gift ideas. But I know he likes his mocktails so here I am.”
My brother opens his mouth but pauses a moment before he speaks. “So, what's in it?”
“I’m not quite there yet, but I know it’s going to be fruity but not too sweet, a little fizz, a little heat and of course, very colourful.”
