“I’ll make the dance floor happen,” I say, more confident.
Pen squeals. “That’s why you’re my girl!”
Izumi shoots us a dirty look.
Clara catches it.“I’m jumping in,” she announces. “Who’s joining me?”
I shrink. Maybe if I curl into a ball, no one will see me.
Pen stands and saunters back to her Positano resort towel. “I’m going to get some sun.”
“I’ll go,” Eitan says.Of course.I barely contain my eyeroll.
“Craig, now you have to come.” Clara yanks on her boyfriend’s arm while he groans.
Eitan’s gaze flits to me. “Come on, Bathroom Girl.” He stands. “You have to join too.”
I give him a dirty look. I knew dropping Bathroom Girl was too good to be true.
“I don’t swim.”
“You’ve gone thirty years without swimming?”
“Twenty-nine,” I correct—my soul just shivered at the reminder that I have to exit my twenties next year. “I have swam. Swum? I’ve done it plenty. Now, I’m good.”
“That’s a bummer because it’s required.”
“I’m sorry, who died and made you beach king?”
He kneels down to whisper in my ear, his breath washing over my neck and threatening to trigger another hot flash.We are not prepared for this!my brain screeches. “As your coach, I’m marking this as mandatory.”
I grunt in his direction.
“Come on.” His face blocks the sun, a blinding halo lighting up his silhouette. He holds out a hand to help me up.
Eitan is only offering to help me stand. I know it’s not a big deal, but I can’t help noticing that it’s the first time any of the people here have actually offered me a hand. Seen that, hey, maybe even though treatment is done, there’s still a long way to go to return to normal.
I rip my eyes away from him. I’m reading into this.
He doesn’t say anything else, just tips his head toward the water, reaches his hand even closer toward me. I avoid his eyes as I take it. His hand closes around mine, warm and steady, and pulls me up.
I blush and drop it as soon as I’m standing up straight.
“I still don’t have a suit,” I say.
“Just go in your underwear,” Pen says, offhand. “We’re all adults here, no one cares.”
For some reason, I look at Eitan for guidance.
He shrugs. “Who cares, right?”
“Right,” I say tightly, forcing a smile. I unbutton my jeans, and wait for the world to implode.
Clara is already in the lake with Craig. Eitan has turned around to change. Andres is laughing at something on his phone. Pen is tanning in a swimsuit, skin oiled. No one seems to care—about what I’m doing, about skin cancer, about anything beyond enjoying a glorious summer day. Maybe I should give it a try, too.
I unzip. Luckily, I’m wearing a pair of black cotton panties that could be bikini bottoms if you don’t look too closely, and I put on sunscreen every morning, religiously. I push my jeans down, the lake breeze hitting my legs, and step out of them.
Eitan pushes off his own jeans and folds them on the edge of the picnic blanket. He stands, in a pair of black boxer briefs and a t-shirt, hands on his hips.
