The Loose Ends List(33)

The noise level in the room rises. Enzo half stands and waves, shaking his head.

“Which of Astrid’s lovely granddaughters is banging the boss’s son?” Burt says.

Gross.

“Her.” Janie points to me. “I’m seeing Ty the intern.”

“Doctor Ty? No way. We have a nickname for him, too,” Mark says.

“Oh, yeah?” Janie says.

“Ken Doll,” Burt says, laughing.

Enzo texts. Now you know why I avoid these things. By the way, your gram is f*cking hilarious.

Janie chugs three out of Burt’s four pomegranate martinis and tells Mark and Burt about Pickle. She says she scoured the ship for other prospects. She even asked Eddie for a tour of the kitchen, pretending she was interested in culinary arts, so she could see if there was a cook or dishwasher worthy of a hookup. Nobody. It’s Pickle or celibacy. Meanwhile, Pickle thinks she’s playing hard to get, which makes him even more obsessed with her.

“I say go for it. It seems like Barbie and Ken Doll should be together,” Burt says. “Plus, it makes sense, right? Ken dolls don’t have man parts.” Mark and I laugh out loud.

Janie dips her fingers in the half-full glass and flicks martini at Burt. “I feel bad. I shouldn’t have told you guys. He’s such a nice person. Please don’t say anything.”

“How about this: I’ll confess to you that Mark had a pickle even before his erectile dysfunction,” Burt says. “There. Now we’re even. Now you have our biggest secret.”

“Nice,” Mark says. “Way to have my back in front of the chicks.”

These guys are high school kids in old bodies.

After dinner, we migrate to the ballroom. The ceiling is open, and the crowd flocks to drink cappuccinos. Enzo actually seems to be enjoying his physics conversation with Dad.

“Hey, Enzo, come meet Mark. He used to be a professional surfer,” I say.

“Hi, Enzo. Mark Hill. I’d shake your hand, but I can’t move, so I hope you’re man enough to let me wink hello.”

“Wait a second. Mark Hill from California?” Enzo studies Mark’s face.

“Yes. That would be me.”

“You are a surfing legend. I can’t believe you’re here. I mean, shit.” Enzo can’t stop staring at Mark.

“You can’t believe it because I’m all deformed in a wheelchair or because you love surfing?”

“Both. No. That came out wrong.” Enzo pulls a chair up to Mark’s wheelchair. “My roommates have made a job out of smoking weed and watching your YouTube videos. You were unbelievable.”

I leave Enzo talking to Mark about surfing and look for Gram. Our bees buzz in unison. Thirty minutes until we cross the equator. All hands on deck. You won’t be disappointed.

The whole dining room empties toward the elevators. I make my way up to the Grotto with Gram and set up equator-viewing chairs for her and Aunt Rose. I’m picturing the line I’ve seen on maps all my life and wondering what, exactly, an equator looks like.

Dad and Jeb come up behind me.

“Look, kids.” Dad points to the horizon. “The sky’s different than in Connecticut, isn’t it? We’re about to enter a whole new hemisphere. We’ll be able to see another set of constellations, like the Southern Cross and the Centaur. We need to get on that telescope later.”

“I’ll do the telescope tonight,” Jeb says.

“Mads?” Dad looks at me with his you-never-pay-attention-to-your-dear-old-dad-and-it-hurts expression.

“Yeah, I’d love to,” I say, trying to sound like doing the telescope is as enticing as lying on top of Enzo Ivanhoe.

I don’t know if the sky is different yet, but it feels as if we’re catapulting through space on a rocket, soaring toward the next galaxy or another dimension. It’s as oddly comforting as Dad’s arms around Jeb and me. The deck lights shut off. People feel around for the railings. Then a loud noise explodes from the distance. Fireworks. Everybody cheers.

More fireworks light the sky, and I can’t tell if they’re a mile or a hundred miles away. I’m guessing a bigger ship has crossed the equator.

Enzo comes toward us. “There he is!” Dad says. He slaps Enzo on the back. I guess Dad approves. I rarely invite boyfriends to my house months into a relationship, and here I am subjecting my crush to my family before he even knows me.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Southern Hemisphere.” Eddie’s voice blasts through the sound system and cuts Dad off. “I hope you’re feeling hot, because it’s time for our favorite Wishwell tradition.”

Ole, ole, ole, ole, feeling hot, hot, hot.

The conga line begins. Eddie runs over and yanks Enzo and me toward the crowd. Wes and Uncle Billy carry Gram and Gloria on their backs. I end up behind Dad, who has no rhythm, and Vito is holding my waist for dear life while one of the Ornaments drags his oxygen tank. Paige and Lane push Mark in the front of the line.

We circle the deck five times until people drop out, one by one, and the group disperses for bingo and baby bedtime, leaving behind the “kids,” as we are now called.

“So, you want to get high?” Jeb says to Enzo.

“Sure. Come on, Maddie.”

I feel scrunch face coming on. “Uh… that’s not my thing.”