“Leave some room for the Holy Spirit, won’t you?” I shove Britt over until half her ass hangs out of the booth. “Lord help me sitting next to you all night. Where’s RJ? He’d let a girl have some peace and quiet.”
Britt snorts. “I doubt it.”
I’ve never heard RJ, theSerendipity’s bosun, string more than one sentence together at a time, and I’ve known him for as long as I’ve been in yachting. Jo and I exchange a look that says,What’s that supposed to mean?But I look away when I remember she is now myformerbest friend.
“Shouldn’t you be somewhere mooning over Amir anyway?” I ask Britt. Their love affair had done nothing positive for the efficiency of the interior crew this season.
“I’m letting him miss me,” Britt says. Her gaze is unfocused, and I wonder how many shots she’s had already. “What is it with stews and chefs?” she muses. “Is it the knives? I mean, it’s got to be more than acoincidence. Me and Amir, Jo and Alex, you and—” I raise an eyebrow. She mimics my expression and realizes her mistake. “Uh, Chrissy Teigen.”
I twirl the two empty shot glasses before me on the table. “Is Chrissy technically a chef? There was a robust debate about it on Twitter a few weeks ago, and I don’t remember what the consensus was.” Alex opens his mouth to answer, but I cut him off. “Rhetorical question, Alex. I don’t want to hear anything from you. It’s bad enough you’ve stolen away my former best friend.”
Jo looks stricken. “Former?”
Britt sighs unsteadily against the table and nearly topples out of the booth. “They told you, huh?”
“You knew about this?” I say.
“Britt!” Jo hisses.
Britt flashes drunken jazz hands at me and shouts, “Surprise!”
“She’s taking over for me,” Jo explains.
Which means Xav, our captain, already knows too. “Next you’ll tell me RJ found out before me.”
“That may be my fault,” Britt slurs. She grabs Jo’s unfinished margarita, but I pry it from her hands and pass her my water instead.
“She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone,” Jo says.
“RJ made me tell him.” Britt leans forward to catch the water’s straw in her mouth and misses.
I ignore the revelation that RJ actually converses with someone and turn to Jo. “When?”
“Why would I know when she told him?”
“When are youleaving me?” I say.
Jo bites her lip but doesn’t answer.
“Two weeks,” Alex says, putting Jo out of her misery.
Two weeks?No, no. Clearly, she hasn’t thought this through. “Britt can’t take over for you,” I say. “She always does Med season.” Almostevery photo Britt posts is of her on either theSerendipityor theTalisman, the superyacht she works on in the Mediterranean Sea after we finish charter season in the Caribbean. The woman is only on land four months a year. I nudge her with my elbow. “Tell them,” I say.
Britt rests her head on the table and mumbles, “Screw Med season.”
As I look from Britt to Jo, the cartwheels in my chest become back handsprings. “You’re drunk,” I tell her. “You’re all drunk!” I look at Britt and sigh. “But she’s the drunkest. Seriously, she needs to hydrate.” I make her sit up so I can shove the straw in her mouth.
Jo worries her bottom lip, and I realize my reaction is hurting her. I take a slow breath and tell myself I can walk this back. I can still save the post-charter-season celebration and Jo and Alex’s big announcement. I can be Jo’s better friendandher best friend.
“I’m just teasing,” I say. I force a smile on my face I’m not sure Jo buys. “You’re my past, present, and future best friend. I’m happy for you, Jo. Really.”
It’s true. I’m happy for Jo, even if I’m nothappy.
Jo grabs my hand from across the table. “You don’t have to worry about you and me, you know. Just because I won’t be around at work doesn’t mean—”
“I’m not worried!” I squeeze her hand before letting it go to fidget with my empty shot glass. “I never worry. I don’t know how. We’re on land, and on land, I only know how to have fun.”
“And are you happy for me?” Alex says. “Getting my own place. Lifelong dream coming true and all.”
