Blood Sugar(33)
Jason decided to have his party by the pool of the landmark hotel the Fontainebleau. It was the place to be seen in the 1950s, all glitz and glamour, kitten heels and cat eyes. By the eighties it was a punch line. Sunburnt, overweight tourists and discounted frozen daiquiris. But like so many old ladies on Miami Beach, it got a face-lift and a makeover and a rebrand and was forcing its way into a comeback. New owners! New lobby! New guest rooms! But the same classic chandeliers and pizzazz of yesteryear. Jason reserved several of their cabanas and planned a lunch of burgers, veggie skewers, and an open bar.
He invited lots of his coworkers from the news station, both on-camera talent and fellow behind-the-scenes employees, and many of his surfer friends who saw him at sunrise most mornings. Because he grew up in Georgia, he didn’t have any childhood friends in town. But several of his college friends from Florida State University were in Miami and also attending.
So not only was I going to be meeting his mom for the first time, I was going to be meeting almost everyone else from Jason’s world for the first time as well. And I wanted to be liked. I wanted his friends to give him a knowing smile, like, Hey, you got yourself a keeper. She’s smart, yet easygoing, yet keeps you on your toes. She’s pretty, but not in an intimidating or trashy South Beach way. She’s a great match for you, Jason. Don’t fuck it up!
It mattered to me that all his friends thought this because it’s normal to want to be liked and accepted, and although I might be a murderer, I was still just like everyone else. And as far as platitudes go, “There’s never a second chance to make a good first impression” is at the top of my list. Because it’s true. There’s been plenty of times I’ve met someone, liked them at first, and then learned I didn’t like them one bit. But I can’t think of a time I met someone, didn’t like them, then learned to like them.
Jason wanted a new outfit of his own to wear to his party and thought we should have some fun and go shopping together. Many guys I knew dreaded going clothes shopping and sitting in the man-chair in the center of the store while pretending to care and doling out phrases like, “You look hot, babe” and, “Whichever one you like better” and, of course, “Stop it, you don’t look fat.” But Jason actually loved shopping. Again, total alien. Going into stores with him was like a movie montage of trying on fun hats and silly pants and laughing and telling each other the truth about outfits.
There was one place in particular I knew Jason and I had to go—Hannah Vale’s thriving boutique on South Beach. And after the awkwardness of Ameena coming to visit me in Miami and learning about a big event I had kept to myself, I made sure to fill Jason in on the major details of Richard’s tragic death. But, of course, omitting a few minor details that in my mind were unnecessary to ever share with anyone. Including the man with whom I might be falling in love.
Hannah gave me a huge hug when I walked into the store. We actually hadn’t seen each other in a long time; work, stuff, life got in the way. I introduced her to Jason, told her we needed birthday party outfits, and let her start whipping things off racks. After finally getting her bachelor’s degree in marketing, she got a small-business loan and opened up her store. She still had her own princess-of-darkness vibe going, but she had the insight to curate her boutique with the best of all styles for men and women. She also had a small section where she sold her own designs, a line called Vampire in the Sun, which consisted of long-sleeve black shirts and long, tight black maxi skirts in breathable material that looked like sexy Elvira-goes-to-brunch outfits but had a sunscreen woven into the fabrics. It was a clever idea, cool clothes for goth, punk, and emo sun-sensitive people. It hadn’t taken off yet, but I was proud of her for pursuing her dream.
She handed Jason a pair of white linen pants. He looked at her, then at me.
“You sure I can pull these off?”
Hannah said, “No. That’s why you’re going to try them on.”
He took them into the dressing room and she gave me a knowing smile, as if to say, Hey, you got yourself a keeper. He’s smart, yet easygoing, yet keeps you on your toes. He’s handsome, but not in a trashy South Beach way. He’s a great match for you, Ruby. Don’t fuck it up!
Jason walked out of the dressing room, and yes, he pulled off those pants perfectly. Hannah had me try on a Greek-goddess-esque white-and-gold sundress that looked amazing over the gold bikini she was also about to sell me. And Jason bought a thin cotton light blue button-down to go with his new white linen pants. Hannah was happy and deemed us complementary without being too matchy. She sent us on our way, bags full of new clothes and hearts full of love.
Jason planned his party mostly by himself, and I knew he wouldn’t have a cake since it was way too sugary and carb-heavy. As I watched Jason make his morning protein shakes and measure out his berries, I wanted so much for him to be able to blow out twenty-nine candles and eat a piece of cake like a person with a normal pancreas gets to do on his birthday. So I thought it would be a nice surprise if I hired a baker to make some sort of special low-glycemic-index sugar-free dessert. But since he stayed away from all desserts all the time, I didn’t even know what type of cake he would most enjoy. And I didn’t want to casually ask him, fearing it would ruin the surprise. I was good at keeping things close to the vest, but he was good at seeing right through me. Which made being with him make me feel more alive than stinging salt water on my eyeballs or pounding dance club music or cocaine or even oxygen ever could.