Because that’s what Leah does.
And apparently, even non-English–speaking Italians know the words to Katy Perry songs.
While they sang and danced, I sat at a table and sucked down my drinks, plastering a fake smile on my face, trying not to ruin Leah’s “honeymoon” or elicit one of those looks from her.
I caught her inspecting me a few times, making sure I wasn’t falling into a mood or withdrawing myself. She thought she was being sly, asking me if I wanted another drink when it was still full and hers was drained, encouraging me to drink up or telling me a joke and making sure I laughed at it, because, if I didn’t, then something must be wrong. Each time her eyes drifted over to mine, I’d bob my head to the music pretending I was into whatever song the DJ was playing when I’d rather have been back in the room.
This morning, my brain does not like the Teenage Dream lived last night and feels like I have fireworks going off in my head.
Thank you, Leah, and thank you, Katy Perry.
And thank you, limoncello.
“Rise and shine.” My chipper roommate bounces on the bed. Since I don’t drink as much as she does on a daily basis, my body doesn’t process liquor as fast. I think I’m still a little drunk.
“Go away.” My voice is deep and hoarse.
“’Morning, Emma.” A male voice echoes from Leah’s speakerphone.
I glance up at the clock beside the bed. “’Morning Adam. Holy God, what time is it over there?”
Adam’s chuckle pours out of the phone. “Four in the morning. Just getting off the nightshift. You sound like you had fun last night.”
I grumble at his reference to my morning man-voice.
“You keeping my girl from getting into trouble?” he asks, knowing his fiancé oh-so-well.
“Her talents for entertainment have risen to international capabilities.”
Adam laughs again. “That’s my girl.”
Leah talks back into the phone. “Okay, baby, let me go. I have to get this lazy ass out of bed or else she’ll sleep the day away.”
Leah lets out a loud air kiss and Adam does the same before they hang up. With her knees still on the bed, she rocks back and forth making the bed move beneath me. “Let’s drink espresso and eat croissants. You’ll feel like new in no time.”
I look up from the sheets I pulled over my head. She is dressed in a denim miniskirt and a white peasant shirt. Her hair is blown out with the front pulled up in a mini poof, and secured to her head with a red barrette. Her pale eyes are light and bright; a far cry from what she should be looking like this morning after drinking her weight in lemon oil and sugar.
“Ten more minutes,” I plead.
“Nope.” She lifts the sheets off my body. “We have an island to explore.”
“We’re gonna be here for seven more days.” My voice is starting to get back its natural characteristics. More feminine, less mannish.
“And I don’t want to waste a second. Now, get out of bed and spend my honeymoon with me!”
I peer up from her with vulture eyes. She really knows how to guilt trip me.
I bang my fists on the bed and get up, not before getting my bearings and making sure the room isn’t spinning. When I’m sure the ground is even, I straighten my back and walk to the bathroom.
There’s a shower, a stall and a sink for two in here. Since the bathtub is near the bed, there is plenty room for a large shower made for—you got it—two. I head straight in and let the hot water hit my head and my back until I feel normal again.
Out of the shower, I wrap my body in a towel and dry my hair over the double vanity made of rock. Like, literal rock that is jutting out of the mountain. It’s crazy cool.
Looking at my reflection I see a girl who looks like Leah but so very different. Our features are fairly similar. Almond-shaped eyes, nice noses, and a heart-shaped face. But that’s where the similarities end. Where her eyes are blue, mine are a light brown. She has Dad’s eyes; I have Mom’s. Leah also has this adorable cupid mouth that bows at the top. Yeah, mine doesn’t do that at all.
And while Leah’s hair is almost white, my hair is an ashy color. It’s the kind of hair that’s too dark to be called blonde but absolutely not brown. It’s just ashy.
Some people say I should get highlights, but my schedule was always too busy to spend hours at a salon. When you’ve been playing the violin since you were ten, there isn’t much your life offers in the form of time. If I wasn’t at school, doing homework, or grooming my career, I was practicing.
