You Have a Match(78)

“What’s the verdict?” my dad asks. He tries for a joking tone, but we can hear the strain in his voice. We may not have been having a ball down here, but I can’t imagine what’s been going through their heads.

“Zero out of five stars,” I say. “The checkout procedures are … really fucked up.”

“Language,” my mom chides me.

There’s a snort from above that sounds uncannily like Savvy’s. Pietra adds, “I think they get a pass.”

My mom laughs. The sound is breathless and manic and tinged with exhaustion that goes well beyond the last few days’ worth of drama, but they’re laughing that same laugh together. Even Savvy stops chewing to listen, the two of us staring at each other in disbelief.

“Just this once,” my mom concedes.





thirty-two




Once the fire department hauls us out, my parents take me to the small hospital on the island, equipped with an X-ray and a very nervous resident who informs us that my wrist is broken and seems a little too pleased with himself when he successfully puts a cast on it. After that, one shower in the hotel room and the equivalent of four ibuprofen running through my veins later, I almost look like a human being.

When I come out of the bathroom, there’s a telling hush in the room. My parents glance over, not even bothering to pretend they weren’t talking about me. I wish they would—it’s the first time we’ve had quiet all day, and suddenly I have no idea how to fill it. No idea of what I want to say, or where I’d even begin if I did.

My dad rescues us all from ourselves by saying, “Should we get some dinner?”

I thought for sure we’d be catching the next ferry out. “Is Colin not begging for mercy yet?” I ask, trying to imagine my uncle surviving another full night with my brothers.

My mom grabs her phone and says, “There’s a Thai place down the street that’s still open.”

“Sounds good to me. Abby?”

They’re so calm. So weirdly patient. Usually when there’s a problem, or something that needs to be said, they’ll do it right then. Rip the Band-Aid off and move on. Between all six of our schedules we don’t exactly have the luxury of time to stew.

But I guess as far as things go, we’ve never had to deal with one as big as this.

“Yeah. Sounds good to me.”

The place is small and cozy, with dim, yellow lighting and warm colors on the walls, a far cry from the camp and its high ceilings and pine smell and somewhat orderly chaos. Even the seats are big and plush, and only once I put my butt in one do I realize I’m so tired I could fall asleep as fast as it would take to close my eyes.

But the way my parents position themselves, the two of them on one side and me on the other, makes me realize this dinner wasn’t a whim. It was a tactical move. They were deciding what to say while I was in the shower, and they’ve chosen a public place so nobody can raise their voice or walk away. After yesterday I can’t really blame them. The usual bets are off.

I try not to squirm, wishing I’d at least used some of my time in the shower to rehearse what I was going to say instead of holding my wrapped-up arm out of the water spray. But before my parents can open their mouths, the front door to the restaurant opens and their eyes snap away from me so fast that there’s no doubt in my mind who walked in.

Sure enough, I turn and meet Savvy’s eyes so fast it feels like we planned this.

“Three?” the hostess asks, before Savvy or her parents can get their wits about them. “It’s probably going to be a half-hour wait.”

“Oh,” says Pietra, doing a very bad job of pretending not to see us, “that’s—you know what? We’ll come back another time—”

“There’s plenty of room at our table,” I say, before I can lose my nerve.

Dale clears his throat. “We wouldn’t want to … interrupt, if you—”

“Please,” says my mom, unexpectedly pulling out the empty chair next to her. “We really wouldn’t mind.”

We’re the ones doing the inviting, but it feels like it’s the other way around. Everyone holds their breath, the poor hostess trying to make eye contact with literally anyone to gauge the temperature of what’s going on, until Pietra says quietly, “If you’re sure.”

Before we can awkwardly put too much thought into who’s sitting where, I get up and sit on my parents’ side of the table, so when Savvy sits down she’s facing me and we’re both sandwiched by our parents. I try not to smile so we don’t look like we’re scheming, but Savvy’s eyes glint at me, and I nudge her sneakered foot under the table.

The waitress comes to take our order, looking at my parents first. My dad orders a beer, and my mom surprises me by ordering a glass of white wine, something I’ve only ever seen her drink when all my brothers are in bed. She turns to Pietra and says shyly, “And I assume a glass of red for you?”

Pietra goes stiff, bristling slightly at the familiarity, but slowly she eases into her seat and nods at my mom. “That would be lovely.”

Everyone buries their heads in their menus after that, my parents scrutinizing the appetizer list like it’s a legal document from one of their cases, Savvy’s parents finishing nearly half their first glass of wine before the waitress makes it back to take our food order. Savvy and I are both dead silent, communicating only through the occasional glance, like we’re too afraid to remind them we’re here and distract from this rare moment of them not being at one another’s throats.