40. island escape

40

ISLAND ESCAPE

Jameson is the only reason I make it to Sunday breakfast. Last night I told him I wasn't going because I didn't have money for an Uber. It was kinda true—I've been spending way more than usual—but still a bullshit excuse in his estimation. To avoid a lecture about money management, I thanked him for the offer to pick me up, promised to be ready at nine, and hung up on him.

The main reason I didn't want to come this morning is currently staring at me with concerned eyes.

"Quit hovering, Dad, I'm just tired."

"You've been sitting on this couch watching football for an hour. You don't even like football. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yep. Totally good. Is there any more salsa?"

Dad nods, and with a final, worried glance, heads for the kitchen where Jessica is making sandwiches. A gummy bear hits the side of my face. I glare at Jameson, sprawled on the other end of the couch .

"What?" I bark.

"You're doing that thing."

"What thing?"

"The fake-person-who-doesn't-feel-anything thing."

"Suck it, Jaybird. I'm not repressing anything. Like I told you on the drive over, I simply don't want to talk about it. Why do you want to know anything about my sex life, anyway? Freak."

Another gummy bear bounces off my shoulder. It joins the first in my mouth.

"You're right. The thought of you having sex makes me want to hurl. I'm still not over you growing boobs."

"Wow. So mature."

"I know you don't want us to treat you like glass, Meerkat." His serious tone pulls my gaze begrudgingly to his face. "But I think we're entitled to worry a little when you look like that."

I frown. "Like what?"

Jameson cocks a brow and points at different parts of me. "Your hair looks like it hasn't been brushed in days. You're wearing a bright-red shirt, yellow shorts, and socks with sandals. You're a retirement home in Florida."

Candy goes down the wrong pipe. I bend in half with a coughing fit, but I'm also laughing so hard I can't breathe even if I wanted to. Jameson pounds on my back. Dad and Jessica run from the kitchen asking what's wrong. It's a shitshow.

When Jessica steps forward with her Nurse Face on, I hold up both hands. "I'm okay," I say hoarsely, wiping tears from my eyes and swallowing past a sore throat .

Looking up at the three people watching me like they don't know whether to call an ambulance or find a straightjacket, I pull myself together.

"I'm sorry I look like a retirement home," I tell them.

"Say what now?" asks my dad, while Jessica tilts her head, eyeing my attire and nodding thoughtfully.

Jameson ruffles my gross hair. "She's okay. You're okay, aren't you?"

I nod, sighing. "I was seeing someone for a laughably short period of time, but I really liked him. It ended last night. I'm just sad. It was my first mostly sane effort at a relationship."

Jameson and Dad exchange a glance of abject terror. Jessica rolls her eyes at them, then perches beside me. "Oh, honey," she coos, "I know just what you need."

"What?" snaps my dad. "What does she need?"

Jessica gives me a conspiratorial grin. "An afternoon at the spa."

I knew I liked her.

When Jessica and I arrive at an upscale day spa in Malibu, I'm expecting a Swedish massage. What she signs us up for instead is called Island Escape, which includes a tropical bath soak, massage, custom facial, and a mani-pedi.

As Jessica hands over my dad's credit card, I whisper-hiss, "Are you sure he's okay with this?"

She gives me a surprised look. "Yes, Mia. Your father would hand you the moon if you'd let him. "

I search her face for signs of ulterior motives. "Does he give you his credit card a lot?"

Jessica laughs, unoffended, and takes my arm in hers. "All the damn time. I haven't used it until now, though. But I really can't stand football, so let's pretend I'm only doing this for you."

I release a short laugh. "I like you, Jessica."

She winks. "I like you too, Mia."

Three decadent, blissful hours later, I wobble-walk into the ladies' locker room to change into my street clothes. I feel like I've been through a blender. In a good way. Like Klaus the Humongous Russian massaged all my mismatched pieces back together.

Drunk on endorphins, it takes me three tries to clasp my bra. "Motherfu?—"

"Amelia, right?" asks an unfamiliar voice.

I glance over my shoulder, expecting a spa employee. Instead, I find a beautiful woman in her mid-thirties with long, wavy dark hair and a big smile. Her eyes are dark but expressive, currently radiating excitement, and she's wearing the spa's white robe.

"Uh, yes? Have we met?"

Do I owe you money?

Did you have my brother's secret love child?

It's worse.

"I'm Marianne." A trim, feminine hand extends toward me. "Vincent's mom."

My heart slams into my spine. "Oh! Oh, wow. Okay. Hold on." I quickly pull on my shirt, internally grimacing at the garish display of color. The red shirt and yellow shorts aren't even on the same style planet, the shirt primary red and the shorts halfway between lemon and orange. Jameson was right. I look like a blind retiree.

Smiling like I'm not dying inside, I shake Marianne's hand. "It's nice to meet you. I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself at the hockey game. You were probably wondering who the random chick talking to your son was."

She laughs, an airy, addictive sound. "Oh, I knew who you were the second I saw you. Vincent told us all about the nice, pretty lady with pastel pink hair. Any luck with the surfing lessons?"

I don't miss the knowing gleam in her eye. "Nope. I guess Leo thought cold-calling him for a business proposition was a little presumptuous."

Marianne looks crestfallen. "Darn. I was really hoping to hear you were dating."

I'm not sure how many more shocks my heart can take. "What? No. That's crazy. We're, uh… not even?—"

What the fuck happened to my ability to lie?

"I know he drove to your place after the hockey game last week."

Full. Stop.

My knees decide to take a break, depositing me ungently on a wooden bench. "Jesus," I mutter. "I don't know what to say."

Marianne sits beside me. Up close, she's even more lovely. I can definitely see a young Leo trailing after her. They would have been beautiful together—the proof of it lives in their son.

"I'm not here to interfere or offer advice," she says softly, "and as much as I may want to, I won't make excuses for what a complicated man Leo is. I think you know."

I sigh. "I don't think he's complicated. Just burdened by excess morality."

Marianne laughs delightedly. "You do know him well. I take it you were once in a different kind of relationship? I'm not judging."

Oddly, I can tell she isn't. I give a short nod. "We were."

"Well." She pouts. "Shit."

I shrug, ignoring the pang in my chest. "It is what it is. Can't change the past, unfortunately. Or Leo's mind."

Marianne gives me a long, searching look, then smiles softly. "It was really great to meet you, Amelia. I hope I see you again soon."

She gives my shoulder a squeeze, then stands and heads for the exit. Pausing in the locker room doorway, she looks back.

"I do have one bit of advice. Take it or leave it. I've known Leo a long time. He's many things—bullheaded being one of them—but he's also brave. If you mean to him what I think you do, give him a little time to come around."

"Thanks, Marianne," I say politely.

But I'm lying.