Reckless Girls(22)

“We were thinking of Hawaii after this,” Eliza says, wrapping both arms around Jake’s waist, her fingers curled around the wrist of her opposite hand. He has an arm casually draped across her shoulders, his other hand holding his own beer. “Jake’s been loads of times, but I never have.”

“It’s beautiful,” I tell her, and she gestures to our surroundings.

“As beautiful as this?”

I look back out at the sea again, at how the clear aqua bleeds into darker blue farther out, contrasting with the bright sapphire of the sky.

“I don’t know if any place is as beautiful as this,” I say, and I mean it.

Nico joins us, Brittany trailing just behind.

“Bonfire, nice,” he says approvingly to Jake, who introduces him to Eliza, who gives Nico the same warm hug, the same bright smile.

“I’ll go get dinner, shall I?” Eliza looks at our group over the rims of her sunglasses. “You’ll eat with us, right? A proper celebration?”

Given that our plans for tonight were Spam and rice, I nod, maybe a little too eagerly.

She gives Jake a quick kiss before heading for the Zodiac, which they’ve dragged onto the sand.

“Need some help?” Brittany asks, and Eliza beckons with one arm.

“Wouldn’t say no!”

Amma watches quietly, still standing in the shallows, her arms crossed. But then Nico is taking a beer from Jake, and we’re lighting the fire, and I don’t have time to wonder what her deal is.



* * *



WHEN ELIZA HAD OFFERED US dinner, I hadn’t been expecting a feast.

Grilled fish; oysters, cold and briny; roasted potatoes; delicate spears of asparagus wrapped in bacon; and a dessert that appears to be made of strawberries and whatever it is that actual angels eat.

I haven’t eaten this well in months, not since coming to Maui, really, and Eliza just keeps flitting around, offering more, opening some new container full of some new delight and constantly insisting that we take some, that they brought too much, that she gets “overly excited” in the kitchen.

And the wine …

Bottles and bottles, just as cold and crisp as the beer, and by the time the sun has set and it’s grown dark on the island, I’m full and drunk, and beyond happy.

I’m content.

It’s a sensation I haven’t felt in a while. Years, maybe.

Jake stands, popping open a bottle of champagne. We all give a drunken shout when it froths from the neck of the bottle, as Jake sloppily fills our glasses.

Once we all have some champagne, he stands by the fire, shirt half-unbuttoned, hair mussed, and lifts his glass. “To Meroe Island,” he intones, and we all raise our drinks. “To those unfortunate fuckers who crashed and died here—”

“Boooo!” Eliza says, reaching out with one long leg to kick his shin. “No sad shit!”

Jake catches her ankle easily, pulling her leg up and, in a surprisingly graceful move given how much he’s had to drink, leans down to press a kiss against the top of her foot, their eyes meeting in a way that makes my cheeks suddenly flush hot.

“My beloved is right,” he says, letting her foot fall back to the sand. “No sad shit. Only jubilation for new friends, and a hell of a first night together.”

We all cheers to that.

All of us, except for Amma.





BEFORE





Rome is better.

Maybe it’s the heat, or the bustle of the busy streets. The fact that they’re walking so much every day that they’re exhausted when they fall into their beds at night. Or it could be that this time, they were smarter, and picked a hostel right in the middle of things, not far from the Spanish Steps, and the nights are never too quiet.

Or it could just be that the food is so, so good.

After the accident, during those first few black months (in the before), Brittany hadn’t wanted to eat anything. Had barely been able to, and what she did eat had no taste, and sat heavy on her tongue until she invariably spit it out or threw it up. Her weight dropped, her eyes sank deeper into her face, and the shape of her skull emerged beneath her thinning hair. She’d taken a perverse comfort in watching herself almost disappear, fading into the background. It felt easier than going forward and trying to live in this new world.

Now when she looks in the mirror, she’s still too thin, but it’s not as scary anymore, and yesterday, when she took her first bite of basil gelato in the Piazza Navona, it had exploded on her tongue, creamy and rich, bright and fresh, and she’d felt like maybe she was getting better. Maybe life wouldn’t always feel so hard, so pointless.

She feels that way now, sitting at a café with Amma, the sunshine hot on her bare shoulders as they sip cappuccinos and Amma scrolls through the pictures on her phone.

“This one is good,” she says, holding it up for Brittany to see.

It’s of the two of them in front of the Colosseum, and it is good. They’re smiling, arms around each other, and Brittany thinks that if you saw that picture in a dorm room or on a fridge, you’d think, Those girls are so lucky.

No pity, no concern. Two pretty, happy friends, making the most of their youth and traveling the world together.

Every day of this trip, she feels a little closer to actually being that girl, the one she’s pretending to be.