“Grey Goose!” Macon calls, a ridiculous name he’s called me ever since Luca and I were ten and got violently ill off a bottle of Grey Goose that Emmy had neglected for too long in the freezer. Everyone’s got their precious little nicknames for Grace.
He comes up from below deck, where Emmaline sports a cozy cabin, complete with nautical-themed bedding and a mini-kitchen. “Leave some for the fishies, huh?” he says, flopping down next to me.
“Oh, the fishies’ll get plenty when she pukes it all overboard later,” Luca says. Like he’s even seen me drunk more than once or twice. Like I’ve even been drunk more than once or twice. I may like jumping off balconies here and there and rearranging beach gnomes, but, dammit, I do it all with a clear head.
Luca doesn’t look at me, focusing very intently on a bottle of SPF 55. He moves down the boat toward the stern, where he hands the sunscreen to Kimber. They smile at each other as she squirts a white glob into her hands and spreads it over his bare shoulders.
“He’s touchy lately,” Macon whispers. He’s a stockier, darker-headed version of Luca. Same curly mop, same easy grin, same fierce loyalty. “You’d think he’d be a little more relaxed since he’s finally getting some.”
Janelle joins us, a water bottle the size of my thigh in her hands. Her blue-and-white polka-dotted one-piece looks adorable over her round stomach. She smacks him on the shoulder.
“Ow, what?”
“Don’t talk about Kimber like that.”
“Hey, I love Kimber,” he says, reaching out and pulling Janelle close to his side. “I adore Kimber. Worship her, in fact.”
“High praise,” I say, taking a swig of beer.
“She makes him happy. We’ve all been a little tense since Eva joined us. Everyone’s adjusting.”
I frown but say nothing. Tense is mild for whatever vibe Eva and Emmy were putting off earlier.
“Plus, Kimber tells it like it is,” Macon says, shrugging. “I admire that.”
Janelle stares at her fingernails, and Macon opens a bag of pretzels, crunching loudly. I get the overwhelming feeling that telling it like it is means talking about how messed up I am when it comes to Maggie. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but there’s definitely a tone to the air after Macon’s comment, and it makes me squirm. I swallow a huge mouthful of beer.
Then another.
I’m on my third giant gulp when I spot Eva, walking gracefully down the pier in a pair of tiny denim shorts. The string of a kelly-green bikini is knotted behind her neck and peeks out from underneath her light-gray tank top like a little secret.
“Like I said, go easy on that beer, Grey Goose,” Macon says, digging a ginger ale out of the cooler near my feet and handing it to Janelle. “Higher alcohol content than that Bud Light nonsense.” He chucks me under the chin and calls to Luca to help him untie the boat from the dock, but I keep staring at Eva.
And she keeps staring at me, her smile free of all that awkwardness in the Michaelsons’ hallway earlier. I want to know what’s going on, why she and Emmy are fighting and what Emmy won’t let her do, but right now, with the warming sun on my back and Eva walking closer and closer, I just want to have fun and laugh and, to be honest, get a little tipsy on some non-pissy beer.
The finally hot July sun soaks into my skin, imbuing me with a sort of giddy-hysterical feeling I’m sort of enjoying.
Or maybe that’s Macon’s beer.
Either way, once Macon and Luca untie Emmaline from the pier and we’re moving over the sun-sparkled Atlantic, the atmosphere on the boat is a little less tense and a little more Fourth of July. After we drop anchor about a mile offshore, Luca and I even manage to eke out a few jokes. As usual, I rag him about putting mayonnaise on his hot dog, and he finally gives me crap about my fear of Flipper.
“Dolphins are super friendly,” Kimber points out. She is real as shit sipping her beer through a bendy straw.
Macon laughs. “Just wait until she goes for a swim and a teeny-tiny fish brushes her ankle.” He mimes silent screaming and pulls on his hair. Janelle smacks him on the shoulder. It’s like their love language.
“Well, you’ll never know,” I say through a bite of hot dog. “Because there’s no way I’m getting in that water. It’s still cold as hell.”
“It’s always cold as hell,” Luca says.
“You’re only making my point.”
He smirks at me. Then he swallows the mouthful of barbecue chips he’s chewing and steps up on the edge of the boat.
“Luca,” Janelle says, but that’s all she gets out before he launches himself off the boat and into the ocean, releasing a high-pitched yell when he hits the water.
In minutes, he’s climbing up the ladder and dripping the salty sea all over the boat’s floor. “See, Gray? Nothing to it.” Then he grabs a towel and sits back down next to Kimber, who grins like a lovesick puppy and glides her hand through his wet hair while he stuffs some more chips into his mouth. I don’t point out that his skin is tinged purple.
We all laugh at him. We all eat and drink and tell dumb stories like any other Fourth. It feels a bit like Scotch tape holding together a broken vase, but I can’t understand why. I can’t figure out why things with Luca and me are so . . . un–Luca and me. But right now I don’t care. I can’t care. It’s summer and this beer tastes good and my thoughts are light and airy and Eva’s green bikini is ridiculously gorgeous against her dark skin and gold-flecked eyes.
