The Paradise Problem (24)

Houston, we have a problem(atic man).

“Chained, too,” I say, and wink. “But only when he asks for it.”

Abruptly, loudly, West rolls past this. “And my mother, Janet.”

Janet steps close, her hair in a perfect white-blond chignon, her collarbones so defined they’re like hangers holding up her delicate yellow sundress. I have to assume she has an extremely deft plastic surgeon, because she somehow looks like a twenty-five-year-old sixty-year-old.

“Anna, darling!” The woman I need to remember is my actual mother-in-law air-kisses both of my cheeks. “My goodness, in person your hair is so pink!”

As far as first-ever greetings go, it’s weird, but I don’t have time to ruminate on it because she leans into West’s other side, speaking in a low voice as if I can’t hear her from only a foot away: “Did I tell you a group of employees got together and wrote a letter to headquarters asking us to revise our corporate policy on piercings, hair color, and visible tattoos? It failed, of course. Too trashy for the stores. Unappetizing, you know?”

I feel my jaw slowly drop, imagine my mouth opening wider and wider until I become a pink-haired travel-grimed version of The Scream. This woman is savage.

Straightening, she adds, “But on you, Anna?” Her eyes do a sweep of my head. “Lovely.”

I smile. “Thank you, I think.” I’d briefly debated going back to a more respectable dark brown before I left, but ultimately decided against it. I barely feel like myself in this costume; the last thing I need is to have that feeling confirmed each time I look in the mirror.

She rolls on: “Have you two seen your bungalow yet?”

“We were just heading there to freshen up,” West says.

“We put you in number three. Right in the middle between Alex and Blaire’s two and ours. They’re adorable.” Her eyes wander to the top of my head again. “Though the sheets are white… I’ll ask Gede to switch them out for something dark in case the pink bleeds.”

West presses closer to my side and my throat goes tight when his hand slides down my forearm and wraps around mine. “I’m sure the resort can manage, Mom.”

“Had to book a trip to paradise to lure you out of that dusty office,” Ray says with a derisive lean to the words.

West’s reply is smooth and calm: “We wouldn’t miss Charlie’s wedding for anything in the world.”

“Missed my sixtieth birthday party, though, didn’t you?” Ray says.

If there was a camera nearby I’d be looking straight into it. I am flabbergasted.

Janet’s nervous laugh cuts the tension like a shard of glass through flesh. “Oh, it’s so nice to all be back together!” She reaches for West’s free hand. “Just wonderful!”

The two men are doing some sort of eye-contact wrestling match, and I realize we need to break this up before it escalates into something physical. I lean into West’s arm, pressing my cheek to his shoulder. “It’s great to see you both. I think I’m going to take my husband to the bungalow for a bit, if you know what I mean.”

“She means for showers,” he says quickly.

“Yes. Showers together,” I say, grinning. “After all these years, I still can’t get enough of him.”

“Okay. Well. That’s nice.” Janet pats his hand in hers. “Don’t forget about the cocktail party at six.” She leans in, kissing her son’s cheek again. “Can’t wait to get some time with you all to myself.”

She gives me a meaningful glance, and Ray doesn’t bother looking at either of us again as the two continue down the beach.



* * *



ONCE I’M SURE THEY’RE out of earshot, I exhale forty metric tons of held breath. “Jesus. That was intense.”

West drops my hand, and I don’t miss the way he wipes his palm on his pants. “That was nothing.”

“Awesome.” I jog to keep up with his power-walk pace.

A tall white bird watches us from a nearby tree. It has a slender, reddish beak, with a bright yellow top and its head tilts curiously as we pass, as if it’s wondering, What the hell is the hurry? Frankly, I agree.

“What’s up with your mother and pillowcases?”

“She’ll look for anything to hold over you.”

“Well, that was a dumb one,” I say, “given that every woman on this island likely colors their hair.”

“Yep.”

“Any other potential pitfalls to anticipate with her?”

He glances at me over his shoulder. “You’ll hate my answer,” he says.

“Let’s hear it anyway.”

“When it comes to me, defer to her. She thinks I will always love her the most. She’ll drink like a fish, but you should never have more than two drinks per evening. Smile a lot. Don’t ever finish what’s on your plate, even if I do.”

“Exactly how far back in history would you like me to go? Will I still be able to vote?”

He lets out a weary sigh. “Green. I warned you you’d hate my answer.”

“Fine. Fifties housewife it is.”

“Anna,” he says finally, very gently. “The truth is, you could just smile on my arm and be okay. I promise I’m not trying to leave you unprepared. The sad reality is that my parents are unlikely to pay you much attention regardless.”