Instead, she made her way to the other side of the table, past her in-laws, past Jamie, moving as quickly as she probably should have a minute ago. Behind her, she thought she heard Rosie say, “She’s adoctor,” which was a helpful reminder.
She slowed her steps as she approached the railing, seeing Samantha’s back heave, one hand clutching her long hair—gorgeous hair, Layla had noticed upon introducing herself—at the nape of her neck. Layla felt a bracing pang of sympathy. It was awful to be sick, anytime, but this—on a boat, in front of all these people,god. She tried not to think too much about the passengers on the deck below: There were windows down there, at least, but what an unpleasant shock to see this go by.
“Samantha?” she said gently, quietly, as though she could restore some of this woman’s privacy by pitching her voice a certain way.
Samantha turned her head and looked in Layla’s direction.
Then she groaned, closing her eyes.
“I’m just checking on you,” Layla said, still quiet. “I’m a doc—”
“I know,” Samantha said.
Layla cringed.
Samantha groaned again, but this time, it sounded more rueful. “I’m so sorry,” she said, and before Layla could respond, she rushed out, “I know how this must look. But it wasn’t because of what Robert said, I promise. I’m—god, this is so embarrassing. The tuna—the smell of it got to me, and I’ve never been good on boats, like, I get seasick on pool floaties, and—”
Any relief Layla might’ve felt at this—it wasn’t because of what Robert said—couldn’t really find a foothold under the circumstances, the circumstances being that she was standing next to her ex-husband’s barfing girlfriend and probably everyoneelseat this dinner thought it wasexactlybecause of what Robert said.
But she spoke reassuringly anyway. “A bad combination, for sure.”
Samantha hung her head again, spitting a little, then giving the most despondent nod Layla had ever seen in her life. Layla could tell she was getting anxious now—the shock of getting sick setting in, the waiting confrontation of everything happening behind her. In her periphery, Layla could see the head server speaking in hushed tones to Robert and Manon, probably some decision-making about whether to bring out the remaining small plates.
This poor girl, Layla thought, even though she could register it was patronizing, unfair. Samantha, Layla had learned over the course of the evening so far, was three years older than Emily, but right now, she looked to Layla about as small and scared as Willa.The saddest déjà vu.
She took a step forward and set a tentative hand on Samantha’s back. “Maybe let’s try some deep breaths?”
They did it together, a few inhales and exhales, until Samantha started to uncurl herself from the railing. If Layla had to guess, itwas some combination of motion sickness and sensory disgust, though of course, it’d take some time to know for sure if this truly was a one-and-done situation.
Samantha stood up a little straighter, still facing the railing, her breathing evened out.
“Is everyone watching?” she ventured, which was one of those questions no one actually wanted the real answer to.
“No,” Layla lied. A quick glance revealed that everyone, in fact, was watching, and no one more intently than Griffin, who Layla was trying desperately not to think too much about at this particular moment, since she knew he probably had déjà vu, too.
Of thethe floor is probably disgustingvariety.
“Just Jamie,” she added, lying to herself now. “He’s worried.”
“He has a sensitive stomach,” Samantha said, in explanation, and the comment hung awkwardly in the air, waiting for anI knowthat Layla was absolutely not going to voice aloud.
Samatha winced and said, “This is humiliating.”
“I’m sure this is not the first time in the history of these boat cruises that this has happened,” Layla said, even though she was reasonably sure that the particular humiliation Samantha was talking about went far beyond the boat cruise.
The woman rubbed a hand over her dewy forehead and finally turned to face Layla. “God, you’re as nice as everyone says you are. I am so—”
She broke off, her eyes dropping and slowly widening in horrified realization.
“What?” Layla said, but the question was ultimately unnecessary. Before the syllable was even all the way out of her mouth, she’d followed Samantha’s gaze down: first to the wet spot on the skirt of her own dress, and then over to the low wall of the boat,where some of Samantha’s sick hadn’t quite made its way over the edge. When Layla had stepped forward to pat Samantha’s back, her skirt must’ve blown right into it.
The boat’s bell rang, absurdly punctuating the moment. They’d be heading to their next stop soon.
Layla couldn’t help it.
She huffed out a disbelieving laugh.
“It’s okay,” she managed. “I’ve had much worse stuff on me.”
