The rumble from a nearby boat gets louder. Someone yells, “Nico!”
I look up to see a girl hanging over the side of the approaching boat, waving her arm back and forth in greeting. It’s not Beach Girl, but another young, attractive woman, her hair styled in a bob that brushes her shoulders, deep brown with a streak of pink. A flurry of animated Italian gets exchanged between them.
“Perfecto. Our breakfast has arrived,” Nico says.
“Oh!” Mari perks up, tucking her book safely away.
“Time to meet my cousins—and all their friends.” Nico jumps into action and works to tie his boat to the second boat, where another ten people wait. Once the boats are linked, he helps us cross over. I’m surprised to find his hand warm and soft. It feels different from Wes’s hand, but I can’t explain why. Stronger, maybe?
We are run through the assembly line of introductions. Nico’s companion from the beach isn’t here, which I know because I mentally eliminate each girl whose hand I shake. I’ve always been horrible at names and forget most everyone’s right away, but his extended family and friends are welcoming and kind. Most are armed with drinks and are more than ready to get this boat party started. One of Nico’s friends wraps him in a hug. “When do you go back to Roma?”
“Not sure if I will be,” Nico says. His friend shrugs, unfazed, but I perk up, my ears buzzing. This is a new development. What about his fellowship? I try to catch Nico’s eye, but he avoids my gaze, and I can’t decide if it’s intentional.
I walk around, exploring the large boat—a yacht compared to Nico’s jalopy. It’s a spotless, shiny white and I can see my reflection in its glossy enamel. They have a small kitchen table set up with a tablecloth. There’s a huge spread of restaurant-quality food—platters of sfogliatella dusted with powdered sugar, Danishes drizzled with lemon compote—which is perfect, since my stomach has been growling since yesterday afternoon. I lift the corner of a cloth napkin to reveal a rainbow of fresh fruit: wedges of blood orange, whole apricots with their leafy stems still on, and slivers of juicy cantaloupe. Another plate is artfully designed with alternating slices of cheese and meat.
Nico makes himself a croissant sandwich, layering a slice of cheese, then meat. He scarfs one down in three bites and sets to making another. He and his cousin Aurora, the girl who had waved to us, remind me of my own family, and for a moment I’m nostalgic for our Persian breakfasts, smearing feta cheese inside pita and drizzling my aunt’s syrupy cherry jam in the pocket.
I pour a glass of orange juice from the large glass pitcher before making myself a small plate. I start with a sfogliatella and Danish to soak up the remnants of last night’s alcohol and pile on a huge helping of the fresh fruit. I tuck myself away at the breakfast table. Seconds later, one of the guys I met in the assembly line scoots in next to me.
“Oh, hello,” he says with a devious smile that I can tell has gotten him into trouble.
“You’re related to Nico too?” I ask. He’s got a sleeve of tattoos down his left arm and the same smooth, tanned skin.
“Lorenzo.” He sticks his hand out. “Nico’s more attractive cousin.”
“Is that so?” I laugh, glancing at Nico and taking note of his annoyance as he rolls his eyes. “Soraya.” I meet his hand, and he holds on to mine.
“I hear you’re from America—Savannah? On the Atlantic coast, in the south?”
“Yes.” I’m surprised. “You’re familiar with the area?”
“Oh, yes. Very. LikeOuter Banks? The TV show.” Lorenzo nods.
Mari covers her mouth as she laughs.
“It’s not exactly likeOuter Banks. Similar, but there are no treasure hunts or pirates. Hard to explain without seeing it yourself,” I say.
“So you’re inviting me to come visit? Very kind.” Lorenzo leans his elbows on the table, forest-green eyes sparkling. “I have a lot going on, but I could make it work.”
“I don’t think that’s exactly what I said, is it?” I cock my head to the side.
He winks. “You say lemon, I say limone.” He gets up and walks away.
Nico is flustered next to me, breathing all hard.
“What is going on with you? Are you having an asthma attack?”
“Tired routine.” Nico scoffs, nodding toward Lorenzo. “Lorenzo the Lothario, they call him in town.”
“I think he’s charming.” I smirk, mostly joking, because poking at Nico never gets old.
For all my resistance this morning, I am fully here for what has turned into an absolutely raging boat party. The music gets cranked up and a half dozen pool floats are thrown in the water. Anya and Mari jump in soon after, carefree and splashing. I won’t admit it aloud, but I’m super happy to be a part of it all.
“Come in the water, Sora!” Mari yells from her flamingo float.
“Maybe in a bit!” I yell back. “My mom says you aren’t supposed to swim for two hours after eating!”
I’m not avoiding the water. I just want to soak everything in. I’ve found myself enjoying little pockets of alone time. So much will be changing, so soon. Maybe this is me trying to figure out how it will feel to be off on my own with them come fall.
