Reckless Girls(30)
“I’m sorry.” I breathe against his mouth when we part, and he smiles, bumps his forehead into mine.
“It’s okay, babe,” he says. “I know it’s a different way of living out here. But it’s good practice for when we take off, just the two of us.”
There’s a piercing whistle from the beach, and we turn in the water to see Brittany on the shore, laughing and giving us a thumbs-up. I laugh, too, sinking a little farther down into the water to cover my breasts, my boldness draining away now that things are okay with me and Nico.
Amma is next to Britt on the beach, her hands in her pockets.
I think about her shoulder against Nico’s, and the way that her hand had brushed his as she’d reached out to touch the skull.
Just a weird day, I think again.
Just a weird day.
THIRTEEN
That night we decide to hang out on the Azure Sky.
It feels cozy, the way you’d feel sitting around a campfire. The six of us are arranged on the deck, which is illuminated by little fairy lights that Eliza strung up, the boat gently rocking at anchor. Amma has plugged her phone into the speakers, and a low-key mix of acoustic coffeehouse stuff plays softly in the background.
Jake is on one of the low-seated chairs, Eliza on the deck between his legs, one arm draped over his thigh as he tells Nico about some boat race back in Sydney. Amma sits next to him, slowly peeling the label from her beer bottle.
Brittany kneels behind me, gently attempting to untangle my salt-and sea-ravaged hair, and I tip my head back to smile at her.
“No one has played with my hair since I was a kid,” I tell her.
“It’s totally selfishly motivated,” she replies. “You have the best hair on this boat, and it’s a crime to let it sit like this.”
That makes me laugh as I take another sip of my drink. I’m more than a little drunk, and everything has gone soft and hazy. Jake made us daiquiris, but they’re not the kind I’m used to—those bright pink frozen concoctions that came out of machines at the Haleakala. This is just fresh lime juice, some sugar, and really good rum, not a strawberry in sight. I’m on my third, and my face is starting to feel a little numb, but I can’t seem to stop. The more I drink, the further away this afternoon feels. Like it happened to someone else.
Nico laughs at something Jake says, and I look over at him, warmth spreading in my chest that has nothing to do with the booze.
I’m so glad he brought us here. I’m so glad we met Brittany and Amma and Eliza and Jake. I’m—
“Alright, petal, your eyes are crossing,” Jake says, leaning forward to take the half-empty glass from my hand. I surrender it without a fight, grinning at him.
“Did you just call me petal?”
“He calls every woman that,” Eliza says, lightly pinching Jake’s knee. “He thinks it’s charming and, annoyingly, he’s right.”
“It is charming,” I agree. “I mean, usually when dudes call me sweetie or babe or something, I hate it.”
“I call you babe,” Nico objects, and I wave a hand at him.
“I mean dudes I’m not dating. Random dudes.”
Jakes raises his eyebrows. “Am I random?”
I’m probably too drunk to be having this conversation, my words pinging all over the place, and I shake my head. “No, we’re friends now. I think,” I say, and from behind me, Brittany chuckles.
“You are so wasted, Lux.”
I really am. I haven’t gotten drunk like this in a long time. Haven’t really felt safe enough. When grief is still raw, drinking and drugs are a double-edged sword. They can numb you, make you feel the pain less, but they can also crack you wide open, leaving you vulnerable for a flood to come rushing back in when you least expect it. I’d learned that lesson the hard way in the months after Mom, when a couple of vodka and sodas in my apartment turned into four, turned into six, and next thing I knew, I was sick and crying on the bathroom floor.
There’s no flood now. Instead, I look around at my new friends and wish my mom could’ve met them. Wish she could’ve seen this place, this slice of paradise that feels like something out of a dream.
“There,” Brittany says from behind me, patting my hair. “All fixed and beautiful.”
I reach back, and my hair actually feels smooth under my fingertips for the first time in forever, twisted in a low knot at the back of my neck.
“All gussied up and nowhere to show it off,” Eliza says, smiling, and reaches for her phone.
“I can take a picture at least,” she says. “Not that I can share it until we’re back in civilization.”
Jake tilts his beer bottle in her direction. “Alright, now here’s a thought for you—is the place where things like Instagram and Twitter exist more or less civilized than this, God’s own masterpiece of nature, hmm?”
“Ohhh,” Brittany says, coming around from behind me to flop onto the deck. “You’re one of those types. Too good for a well-chosen filter.”
“Nah, he’s just old,” Eliza says, wrapping an arm around Jake’s shin and looking up at him. “Turned thirty last month, now pretends he’s never used an emoji in his life.”
“I haven’t,” Jake insists, and Eliza rolls her eyes.