“The memories are here,” she says, touching her temple as she takes a plastic baby bowl away from Mom and puts it in the donation box. “This takes up space in your life that you need for other things.”
Anna knows better than any of us how that works. The only physical objects she has left from her relationship with Ben are a couple of Polaroid pictures, his record collection, and his boat, but she says that’s all she needs.
It’s late afternoon when we haul the bags of trash to the curb and pack the rental car with boxes of Goodwill donations that Anna and Keane will drop off on the way to their hotel. After showers and a change of clothes, we all meet up at the pirate-themed restaurant where Anna used to work. It’s never been my favorite place—even though the food is decent, the waitress uniforms are gross—but Anna is introducing Keane to her old haunts.
While the hostess—dressed in a sexy pirate costume with petticoat ruffles and bodice lacing—leads us to our table, Keane leans toward Anna and quietly says, “Do you still have your uniform? Because I’d be happy to role-play the patriarchy and let you smash me.”
She chokes on a laugh, then elbows him in the side, hissing, “Stop!”
No context was needed for that joke to land and as I try not to snicker, I feel an old familiar surge of envy. I want what they have. I want someone who looks at me the way Keane looks at Anna. Someone who makes me laugh out loud. Someone who makes me blush in public.
Someone like Mason.
Maybe I’m making too much out of a really good conversation. Maybe it’s been so long since I’ve felt a connection with anyone that I’m creating one that doesn’t exist. Maybe living in his house makes his distance feel near. I’m operating on autopilot as I take my seat, vaguely aware of everyone else at the table. Mom has commandeered my child, so I don’t have to worry about Maisie, and it leaves too much space in my head for thoughts I shouldn’t be having. I pick up my phone, toying with the idea of texting him.
“Rachel.” Mom’s voice penetrates my bubble. “Do you know what you want to drink?”
“Oh, um—a margarita, please, on the rocks with salt,” I say, putting down the phone and pushing away thoughts of Mason Brown.
I tune back into my family for the rest of the meal, catching up on Anna and Keane’s adventures in the tropics and Mom’s plans for her new condo. After dinner, Mom takes Maisie home so the rest of us can hang out. We move to seats at the bar, where we order another round of drinks. Keane, I notice, is drinking Coke.
“Designated driver,” he says.
“And…” Anna prompts.
“I have a murderous hangover.” He aims his thumb at her. “This one introduced me to Carla last night at Waxy’s Pub.”
I let out a laugh because I know Anna’s best friend and I’ve been to that pub. Both are dangerous and almost impossible to experience in moderation.
“In the thirty years I’ve inhabited this planet, I have never met anyone who could consume more Guinness than I and live to tell the tale,” Keane continues. “Carla’s ability to hold her drink is … supernatural. I’m not fully convinced she’s even human. She’s good fun, though.”
As he takes a sip of soda, Anna leans toward me. “Okay, so spill the beans on your boss.”
“I … he…” I stop, not knowing where to begin.
“That bad, is it?” Keane says.
“Yes.”
I tell them everything I know about Mason. His wife. Piper’s death. The unfinished hotel. The nonstop fixation on beer. The plates of food in the oven. The green tea on the kitchen island. Miss Havisham.
“Stall the ball a minute,” Keane says, reaching for Anna’s margarita.
As he downs it like a man who’s been living on a desert island for years, she shakes her head. “I have no idea what’s going to come out of his mouth next, so … be ready for anything.”
“The green tea is a dead giveaway,” Keane says. “But yer man’s not going to make a move while he’s all tangled up. He’s grieving a child. He probably has lingering regrets over his divorce. And now he’s caught feelings for someone who works for him, and it’s likely he feels guilty for wanting to be happy. He has no idea what to do with any of that information, so he’s a right fucking mess.”
Anna blinks a couple of times. “He’s … actually correct.”
“Actually?” He slaps a hand to his chest like he’s been wounded. “Of course I’m correct. Rachel, you need to understand that, at present, Mason might not have anything to give. When I met your sister, I was fully prepared to be nothing more to her than a friend, because that’s what she needed. I mean, she was also a pretty shite sailor.”
“Hey!” she protests.
Keane laughs and kisses her cheek. “I love you to the rings of Saturn and back, but you were very … not good.”
Anna may as well melt right there.
“I hate you both so much,” I say, laughing.
“Listen,” Keane says. “Mason is not so much sending signals as he is lighting flares. But he doesn’t know he’s doing it, so you have to be patient.”
“Thank you.”
He gives me a little salute. “Always happy to help.”
While Anna and Keane fall into a personal conversation about checking up on their dog—they left Queenie with friends in Montserrat—I send a quick text to Mason.
Arrived safely. Packing underway. See you in four days.
The reply bubbles appear on the screen, then disappear. They reappear and disappear again. I hold my breath, waiting for his response. Wondering what he’s typing and erasing. Finally Mason’s message pops up on the screen.
If I don’t starve to death first. There’s no dinner in the oven.
His words are followed by a wink-face emoji. It’s not a lot to hold on to, but I grab it all the same.
CHAPTER 13
Tampó
Filipino
“when a person withdraws his or her affection or cheerfulness toward someone who has hurt them”
The next day is a continuation of the first as we finish sorting, packing, and making donation runs. When the movers come, we leave them to pack the truck, and head to Mom’s new condo, taking her most personal possessions with us. The condo is larger than it looked in the online listing, and because it’s on the third floor, the cathedral ceilings make it feel more spacious. There’s also a generous lanai that could be used as an extra room.
“You’re going to have incredible sunrises,” Anna says, opening the sliding door. We all crowd out onto the lanai, which overlooks a wide canal lined with powerboats and sailboats of various sizes. The complex grounds are neatly landscaped with yellow hibiscus shrubs and palm trees. “And you’ll never have to mow the grass or pull weeds again.”
“I love it here,” Mom admits. “I’m going to have the movers put the dining room furniture out here so I’ll have more space inside. And I bought a new living room set with a sleeper sofa for when you girls come visit, or for guests.” She laughs. “Like I ever have guests.”
“Fire up Tinder, Mom,” I say. “Find yourself a silver fox.”