The woman in khaki shorts and a headset has already snapped a few pictures of Noah and Luna when Luna gestures to me. “I want pictures with these two if you don’t mind. This is my sister, my faithful maid of honor, and her gorgeous workaholic husband.”
My stomach tenses. Beckett, beside me, hasn’t moved.
No, scratch that—he’s moved just enough to shove on his sunglasses and turn his cap around, pulling it low over his eyes.
“Absolutely!” And then, eyeing us, “Get in here, you two!”
Beckett’s hand lands on my back, and he slides in behind me like he’s trying to disappear.
“A little closer, please!” the photographer chirps.
We press together—Luna practically glowing, Noah cool as ever, and Beckett half-tucked behind me…Does he not want to be seen with me, or what?
I catch the faint scent of his aftershave—sharp, familiar, frustrating.
“Say paradise!”
“Paradise,” we parrot, a little off-key.
The camera clicks a few more times, and just like that, it’s over.
Beckett peels away, glancing around and then settling back into his lounge chair.
I shoot him a sideways glare, one brow raised.
What was that? But I don’t ask.
Not my business.
“I’m gonna check on the boys,” I say, standing a little too quickly. Before anyone can stop me, I take a fortifying swallow of my margarita and set off across the deck.
“I’ll come with you.” It’s Beckett, of course—because despite our problems this year, when he’s actually around, he’s an amazing dad.
Damn it.
“New swimsuit?” he asks, falling into step beside me as we make our way to the kids’ pool.
“I needed something for the cruise,” I answer, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of exposed skin. Which is ridiculous. The man has seen me naked more times than I can count.
Having twins does things to your body that you can’t ever fully undo. The boys will turn eight this summer, and I never quite made it back to my pre-pregnancy weight. For a while,that bothered me—those little silver lines on my belly, the softer curve of my hips, the faint stretch at my thighs.
But somewhere along the way—probably between packing lunches, bathing my slippery little eels, and occasionally applying superhero band aids—I stopped seeing them as flaws. They’re my proof of life. My battle ribbons.
So, when I was looking at suits for the cruise, I’d been like...I love those little lines that remind me of my babies. And... I’d looked hot while trying them on.
It’s not like I bought it to turn heads. What heads were there to turn?
But on this wedding cruise—celebrating my sister’s new beginning even as I’m going through me and Beckett’s ending—I just needed something to make me feel good about myself again.
Something to make me feel like the old me.
“Well, you lookhot,” Beckett says quietly.
I glance at him, askance, but make no comment.
Mom’s standing thigh deep in the water, supervising like a champion lifeguard, while my two fish are splashing their way through some wobbly somersaults.
Babs sits nearby, wearing a sunhat instead of her signature felt fedora, and the drink in her hand is definitely not lemonade.
