“You’re my best friend.” He smiled, and my heart squeezed at the absolute, uncomplicated way he loved me.
“We’re a great team. No doubt about it. No parrotfish can stand against us.”
A line of sequins slipped out of place, and I nearly knocked the whole damn thing to the floor in my eagerness to fix it. Finn just laughed, the sound like little bells.
“I meant to do that.” I carefully lined up the blue scale.
“Sure you did, Mom.”
We sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, a soft calm settling between us. I thought of the day Finn was born, how tiny and fragile and impossibly perfect he was. I promised myself I would never let him feel abandoned, that he’d never doubt how much I loved him. I’d made thatmistake with his father, and I couldn’t bear the thought of it happening to Finn.
The resort, the costume, all of it seemed like proof. Proof I could do this.
I worked on the last few scales, trying to keep my growing frustrations in check. Even if it was lopsided and covered in glue, the parrotfish costume wasours. And if I handed the mess over to one of our housekeepers and expert seamstresses for reinforcement, that was just suitable managerial delegation, right?
Finn scooted closer to inspect it, his breath hot on my neck. “Can I put on the head?”
“Sure thing.” I helped him into the silly cap I picked up at the costume store, his smile filling the room.
He scrambled back, doing a dramatic spin. “Ta-daaaaa!”
I held up the tunic, the garish rainbow and sticky scales somehow looking more right than anything I’d ever made.
“I’m going to be the best parrotfish EVER!” Finn shouted and crashed into me with a hug.
I laughed, letting the sound chase away the rest of my anxiety. This was what mattered. This was the one thing that wouldn’t fall apart, that I wouldn’t fail at.
The costume wasn’t perfect, but this moment was close enough.
The next morning,the sounds of hammering and drilling filled the air around the resort’s two-story Room Block One. All our guests were installed in the still unrenovated, seafoam green Room Block Two across the pool deck, safely out of the demo zone, though not necessarily the noise. The simple room block had proved one of the firstbattles Chase and I had negotiated. He wanted to do a grand total reno and remodel, where I favored a staged, one-floor-at-a-time approach. My idea would be less expensive and his would be safer.
In other words, our interaction on this issue encompassed our dynamic completely.
In the end, I won that particular battle, and we were proceeding with demolishing the second floor while the first waited below. And I just kept my proverbial fingers crossed that no major issues would show up on the ground floor. Otherwise, our timeline might get hosed.
I picked my way through the dust and debris of a guest room that currently looked nearly as skeletal as one of our beach bungalows, a familiar tightness settling in my chest. The pressure was back with a vengeance, and I hugged my clipboard like a lifeline.
As I approached, Chase’s voice cut through the noise like a thread of sanity. I ignored the skip of my heart and the annoyance that followed it, quickening my pace toward him and the foreman.
“Harper, over here!” The foreman in charge of the room block remodel, Joe, waved me over to where he and Chase were already standing in the bathroom. Impatience radiated from the architect. The tangled mess of pipes around them looked about as promising as the growing acid in my stomach. Joe had sent me a text asking me to come over ASAP, but it looked like I was the last one to arrive at the party.
“Okay, here I am. What’s up?”
Joe pointed with his chin at the bare studs behind the shower, the corners of his mouth pulled down in a scowl that came with news he knew I wouldn’t want to hear. “I’m not gonna sugarcoat it. The copper’s worse than we thought. All the corrosion’s a real mess.”
A mess. That was putting it kindly. The wall behind him was opened up to reveal a labyrinth that even I could recognize as corroded pipes. Everything I didn’t want to deal with was literally staring me in the face.
“Can you fix it?” I asked, already knowing the answer would involve more money, more time, more of everything we couldn’t afford.
“Depends on how you want us to go at it.” Joe shot a glance at Chase, and I had to work to keep my face neutral. Was he in on this with Joe already? “Option A—we replace the worst sections and patch the rest. Quickest way to keep the project going. Minimal disruption. Block Two won’t feel a thing.”
The noise and disruption complaints from Block Two had already piled up in my inbox. The last thing we needed was another issue with guests. “And Option B?”
“Full pipe replacement for the entire section,” Chase said in his deep voice. “Costs more, takes longer, but we won’t have to worry about this happening again.”
I could feel his eyes on me, but I kept my focus on Joe, the weight of indecision pressing down on me. “What kind of delay are we talking about?”
“At least a week, maybe two,” the foreman answered.
