“What would you like to do tonight?” Six asks, tucking a strand of hair back from my face. I want to jerk away from him. I want to ask the airline attendant for a different seat. It’s only for Beth’s sake that I don’t, but I’m not sure how to keep up this charade through the final night of the trip.
“I think your parents made a reservation for dinner,” I reply. “And they want to do that sunset thing at the hotel.”
He groans. “Jesus, again?” As if the sunset is like Mount Rushmore, something you only need to see once. “We can do our own thing.”
“That would be kind of shitty to your parents,” I reply. “They probably want everyone together on the last night.”
He snorts. “Right. They want everyone together so my father can sit there and talk only to Josh? Hard pass.”
That chip he has on his shoulder, I wonder if he even means what he says anymore, or if it’s just a convenient way to blame someone else for his failings. “I’m staying with your parents,” I reply. “You can do what you want.”
And then my gaze moves past him to Josh, sitting alone across the aisle from us. He’s got his laptop out, feverishly typing.
He’s just…lovely. How did I never notice that flush to his cheeks, the way his tongue taps his lip when he’s deep in thought?
Or those hands. Jesus. Those big hands, calloused from doing God knows what and the tendons in his forearms that move as he types.
Ah, except you did notice, I think. You always noticed and you hated yourself for it while pretending it was him you hated instead.
We arrive in Oahu, grab our bags and walk out to the van waiting to take us to the hotel. Six, chatting amiably with our driver, starts to take the front seat.
“For the thousandth time,” Josh says between his teeth, “she gets carsick.”
This is what it’s like, I think, when someone actually cares about you. They remember you get carsick. They worry about your inhaler.
He catches my gaze and for a moment our eyes lock, and it’s like that moment on Kalalau Beach all over again. When I saw everything he was and he saw me back.
And tomorrow, it all comes to an end.
We check into the same rooms we had before. Six tries to pull me in for yet another hug and I push him away. “Please just stop,” I tell him and he stomps out of the room, irritated with me.
I open my suitcase but most of my nice clothes are looking rumpled and worse for wear. On a whim, I call downstairs and get them to deliver that white dress Josh and I saw in the window. For just this one night, I want to be that other girl, the one I might have been if my entire life had been different.
Once I’ve showered, I don the crisp white cotton dress—a sleeveless V-neck with an empire waist, draping loosely from my rib cage to my ankles. There’s a hint of cleavage, but it’s more girlish than sexy, and in the mirror I see a woman Josh would take to a work party, would come home to after a long day. A woman who isn’t a disaster, who’s happy with a simple life instead of a girl who’s unhappy with her complex one.
For a moment, I want to be her so bad I can taste it.
I grab my purse and room key and walk out the door at the same moment Josh does.
He comes to a stop, his eyes moving over me, head to foot. He pushes his damp hair off his forehead and releases a small breath.
“Is that the dress from the window?” he asks. His voice is like velvet.
“Yeah,” I say. I feel stupid now, as if I reached too far to be something I’m not. I shrug. “All my clothes were dirty and—”
“I like it,” he says. He coughs, looks sheepish suddenly. “I mean…you look nice.”
My cheeks heat like a preteen on her first date.
He looks past me. “Where’s Joel?” His brows pull together in consternation.
I exhale heavily. “He stormed out of the room a while ago. I honestly have no idea where he went.”
Josh’s nostrils flare and his mouth opens, but then—his jaw grinding with the effort—he stops himself from saying whatever he was about to and gestures toward the elevator. We walk side by side, the soft fabric of my dress swishing against his shorts. He holds the elevator door for me and pushes the buttons inside.
“So what happens when you get back to LA?” he asks.
My gaze flickers to his, uncertain if he means in general or with his brother specifically. “I’m only there through the weekend. And then I’m on to New York to pack up and leave for my apology interviews before I complete the tour.”
“I don’t know why you’re going along with that,” he says.
“I’m okay with people believing what they want,” I reply. “As long as it isn’t the truth.”
Telling the world I get panic attacks is like inviting them to research my past, beyond all the half-truths I’ve told. They’d dig and dig until they discovered where it all began—my mother’s affair, my father’s death. It was hard enough to live through once. I don’t need to relive it in every interview I give for the rest of my life.
We reach the bar just as the sun sinks behind the horizon. The crowd is already starting to disperse.
Beth, Jim and Six are all sitting together looking a little miserable, but Beth lights up as Josh pulls a chair out for me.
“Don’t you look lovely,” she says, so earnestly and with so much affection it leaves me feeling close to tears.
I smile at her, hiding the lump in my throat. Beth is so much better to me than any member of my family is, and I’m desperately sad it’s about to come to an end.
“Thank you,” I manage to say. It’s such a nice moment, and I get the feeling that Six—leaning back in his chair, smirking the way he does when he’s drunk or about to be an asshole—is about to ruin it.
“You look like a preschool teacher,” he says.
Josh, behind me, stiffens. “Watch your fucking mouth,” he says, pressing me into the seat with his hand on my shoulder, his eyes never leaving Six’s face.
“What?” Six asks with a smirk. “It wasn’t an insult. I like preschool teachers just fine.”
Josh remains behind my chair. “Get up,” he tells Six.
“Josh,” his mother says gently. “Just take a seat, honey. He’s had too much to drink and—”
Six’s chair scrapes the cement as he pushes backward. “I’m going out,” he announces, looking at me. “You coming?” It’s more a statement than a question. He assumes I’m coming, and he’s set this up so no one can win. If I leave with him, Beth will be upset. If I stay, she’ll worry that we’re fighting. I can’t believe he’s doing this to me or her.
“It’s our last night here,” I reply, remaining in my seat. “I think we should stay.”
His mouth presses flat. “Fine. Have fun.” And then he’s gone. Beth’s eyes close and her shoulders sag.
Josh exhales. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
She waves him off. “I just wish the two of you got along. The day will come when you only have each other.”
She chokes on those last words and Jim takes her hand. “It’s been a stressful few days,” he says. “Let’s just head to the room.”