Left Drowning(68)

Eric rolls his eyes. “That’s true. There were also other incredible views, though.”

I listen to them gush about the plush condo Chris rented for them, the impeccable beaches, the day hikes they took, and Chris and Sabin’s disastrous attempts to learn to surf.

“It’s true,” Chris says. “We sucked. I don’t think either of us stayed up on the board for more than two seconds.”

“It was still fun, though, right, Chris?” I love how Sabin looks at his brother. I think back to the fight on Thanksgiving night and how that could have ripped a family apart, or at the very least caused serious tears, but the adoration in Sabin’s eyes is unmistakable. He clearly looks up to Chris in so many ways, and I wish that James had a fraction of those same feelings for me. One day, one day. Maybe.

“Hey, we went back and surfed again the next day, didn’t we?” Chris gets a spark in his eyes. “You know, Blythe, there are really so many things that I want to do again… .” He sighs dramatically, and I resist kicking him under the table. Then he raises his glass to Sabin’s and nods in Eric’s direction. “And I’d like to give you two credit for your waterskiing success.”

Eric sighs. “Man, I could do that every day. Blythe, you would love it. Have you ever tried?”

I shake my head. “Nope. I’ve done a little sailing, but that’s it. Oh, and I can row a rowboat like nobody’s business.”

“Very impressive,” Estelle says, smiling. “I could sit in a rowboat and bark orders while a half-naked Hawaiian boy rows us to a deserted beach.”

“That’s enough out of you, young lady!” Sabin jokes. “My sister is not to be thinking anything indecent about boys. Not until you’re forty, Estelle.”

“Fine, fine. Blythe, have you enjoyed any new and exciting physical activities we should know about since we last saw you?”

I’m never going to make it through this dinner.

“Yes, tell us.” Chris jumps in. “Any new hobbies you’ve added to your repertoire?”

I clear my throat. “I think that I’ve got all I can handle as it is.”

“Yeah, so how’s the running going?” Eric asks.

He and I talk together for a bit, and he tries to entice me to enter one of the spring races in Madison. “You could totally do it! A five-K? Ten-K?”

“A ten-K!” I nearly shriek. “I can’t do that, Eric.”

“We’ll see,” he says.

Dinner is nonstop conversation and delicious food. I eat ceviche out of a martini glass and devour my scallop entrée, which comes with so many components I can hardly identify what I’m eating. But everything is outstanding. Eric feeds me a forkful of his polenta with basil and cream, and I can’t help groaning over how good it is. I also can’t help noticing with satisfaction that Chris shifts in his seat when I do so.

When they ask me about my trip home, I’m surprised to find myself giving more details than I would have expected. I even tell them about going to the Christmas Eve party at Lani’s and Tim’s and talking to Nichole about applying for an internship.

“Are you definitely going back to Massachusetts after graduation?” Estelle asks. “We’ll miss the f*ck out of you if you do.”

Sabin throws his arm over my shoulder. “We would miss you, but this sounds like it could be cool. Besides, if it’s a magazine, maybe they have travel features, and you’d actually, you know, travel. To Hawaii! And need an assistant to carry your suitcases!”

“I’m sure you know just the person for the job.” It hits me that I only have four months left at Matthews before graduation. “I don’t know. A lot can happen in a few months.”

“A lot can happen in a few hours,” Chris adds all too casually. He takes the olive from his martini and winks at me as he pops it in his mouth. Relentless. He is relentless.

I cock my head and glare at him. “Are we getting dessert? I love dessert. Sabe, want to share something with me? I think I saw a cranberry torte thing that looked good. And coffee. Espresso, maybe.”

“Yeah,” Chris says under his breath, “Blythe’s definitely going to need an espresso.”

I clear my throat. “So, the torte?”

“Oh, I’m in! I love me some torte,” Sabin says as he rubs his belly. “What is a torte exactly? Why isn’t it a tart? Is a torte a subcategory of tarts? Why don’t all tarts taste tart?”

“Can we still order it even if we can’t classify it?” I ask.

“Definitely. Hey, B., do you want to come to the show we’re seeing tonight? I can probably get you a ticket still.”

“No. No, she can’t,” Chris says all too quickly.

Sabin frowns.

“I mean, Blythe was saying on the way here that she’s exhausted from her trip. You know, holiday nonsense and all.”

“Oh hell,” Sabin says under his breath. “No way. No, no, no.”

I glare at Chris again. He smiles at me and shrugs.

Estelle and Eric are busy scrolling through pictures on their phones and deciding which ones of Eric are the best to send to Zach, and they don’t notice anything.

When the bill comes, Chris refuses to take any money, which irritates me, but I’m not surprised. He does enjoy caretaking.