The hotel manager came in a limo to pick us up; she handed out our room key cards during the ride, which is when I found out that I was supposed to share a room with Grandma and Jacob.
I didn’t say anything until we had pulled up at the resort, which was spectacularly beautiful: palm trees and fountains everywhere you looked. But I wasn’t in the mood to enjoy it. As soon as we’d gotten out of the limo, I grabbed my mother’s arm.
“It’s not fair!” I hissed. “Grandma gets up at like five in the morning. And she drives me crazy. I want my own room.”
“I’m not letting you sleep by yourself in a place where a lot of strangers have passkeys,” she said. “And if you think you can talk me into it, you’re wrong, so save your breath.”
I let go of her and drifted over to George. “I blame you,” I said. “You booked the rooms. You should have gotten me my own.”
“First of all,” he said, “I was following your mother’s instructions. And second of all, I’m sharing a room with Jonathan and Izzy, which is a lot more awkward than sharing a room with your grandmother, so don’t complain to me.”
“You and I could get a room together!” I said. “That would solve both our problems.”
“Yeah, I think that might be awkward in a whole different way,” he said, and walked away.
Mom and Luke went up to their suite, saying they just wanted to have a quiet dinner alone there. I wanted to eat in one of the hotel restaurants, but Jacob was in a whiny mood, so we ordered room service and turned the TV on to the Sprout Channel to keep him happy.
When the food came, Grandma criticized me for ordering a pizza. She said that everyone knew wheat was bad for you and that it was no wonder I was so short.
I told her to stop blaming my diet for the fact I was short—hadn’t she ever heard of genetics? Mom was even shorter than I was, and she wasn’t exactly a giant herself.
She said she was sorry she cared about my health, and she guessed she should just mind her own business from now on, go away, and not bother anyone ever again.
I told her to stop being such a drama queen, and then Jacob suddenly let out a wail. I asked him what was wrong, but he wouldn’t answer, just sat there, his mouth open in a roar so wide you could see bits of french fries caked around his teeth. Grandma said, “It’s because you let him try the pizza,” and I said, “No, it’s not,” and Jacob kept bawling, and the noise was unbearable, and I was losing my temper with them both, so I said I was going down to the lobby and stomped out.
I punched the down button as hard as I could. It didn’t bring the elevator any faster but it felt good.
Once I was in the lobby, I wasn’t sure what to do. I heard distant music so I followed the sound across a breezy walkway to what looked like the entrance to a dance club. I peered in, but I was wearing sweatpants and a cotton tank top and everyone inside was dressed up. Plus they probably didn’t let in anyone under the drinking age. Plus it looked kind of lame—everyone there was middle-aged. Plus I would never go to a dance club by myself.
Still, it was fun to watch for a while. Most of the women were wearing flowery sundresses and the men had on Hawaiian shirts—it was all so tacky it was kind of endearing.
I turned away just as two youngish guys in suits reached for the door.
“Hey there,” one of them said, sidestepping right into my path, blocking my way. “Thinking about coming in?”
“Not really.” I flashed a tight smile.
“Come on,” the other one said. He had slicked-back hair and his suit was a little shiny. “The night’s young and you look like you’re a dancer. Don’t sit this one out.”
“We need you in there,” the other added. His hair was thinning, triangles of bare skin making wings at his temples. “Never enough cute girls.”
“Wrong shoes,” I said, pointing down at my flip-flops.
“Kick ’em off,” the other guy said.
“Take off whatever you want,” his friend agreed, and giggled.
The first one said, “Don’t mind him. We’re harmless. Would you rather grab a drink at the bar?”
“I’m good, thanks,” I said, and turned.
Slicked-back hair grabbed my arm. “Come on,” he said. “Don’t leave so fast.”
I pushed his arm away and said, “Really, no.” I was starting to feel uncomfortable, so it was a huge relief to see someone familiar emerge from the restaurant near the lobby. “Oh, there’s my friend,” I said, then dodged around them while they were still absorbing that and ran toward George, calling him. He turned around.
“Keep going,” I said as I caught up to him. “Don’t look back at those guys.”
He immediately looked over his shoulder. “What guys?”
“I told you not to look!” I glanced back. They had disappeared. “They must have gone into the club. It’s fine. I’m just glad I saw you.” We headed back into the lobby.
“Why? What happened?”
“Nothing really.” We reached the elevator and I hit the up button. “They just wanted me to go dancing with them and were kind of bugging me about it.”
The elevator arrived, but George hesitated, holding it open with his hand instead of following me inside. “Should I be doing something heroic like finding them and telling them to leave young girls alone? Maybe slugging them? How big were they?”
“Let’s just go up.” I tugged him inside the elevator.
“You’re on seven, right?” He punched the button. “Why are you wandering around the lobby at night in a camisole anyway?”
I crossed my arms, slightly embarrassed but defiant. “What are you, slut shaming me? Blaming the victim?”
He flushed. “Don’t be ridiculous. But you look like you’re wearing pajamas.”
“Yeah, well, that’s because they are my pajamas. I was so desperate to get out of my room I didn’t bother changing. My grandmother is driving me crazy, just like I predicted.” The elevator dinged and the doors opened onto my floor. “Where are Jonathan and Izzy?” I asked as we headed down the hallway.
“They’re still at dinner. The restaurant’s really beautiful—it looks out over the beach and there are torches everywhere and the sound of the waves and soft music. . . .” He smiled ruefully. “It was incredibly romantic. And there they were, gazing into each other’s eyes . . . and there I was . . . totally in the way.”
“I know the feeling,” I said. “Mom and Luke were so in love when they first met—I ruined a lot of romantic evenings for them.”
“They probably didn’t mind. They both adore you.”
“And I’m sure your brother is very fond of you.”
“Yeah, okay, good point.”
I glanced over at him as I waved my key card in front of the sensor to unlock the door. He was wearing his usual khakis with a dark blue jacket over a jarringly different shade of blue button-down shirt. “Is there a dress code at the restaurant?”
“Yeah.” He looked down at himself. “This is my suit jacket—it’s the only one I packed. Does it look stupid with these pants?”
“Not with the pants. With the shirt.” I opened the door to a scene of chaos: Jacob standing naked on the sofa screaming and Grandma scuttling around on the floor below him, picking up food that was scattered everywhere as she scolded him for throwing it. Neither of them noticed us standing there, so I quickly slammed the door shut again before we were spotted. “See?” I said to George. “See what I’m dealing with?”
“Yeah. That’s just . . .” He shook his head. “You can’t go in there right now. You want to go back down and check out the beach? Wait for things to calm down?”
“I so do.”
We took the elevator back down to the lobby. As we were crossing through to the ocean side of the hotel, someone called my name and I turned.
It was Michael Marquand, Luke’s best friend and also his music and TV producer—the guy we all owed our lifestyle to. He was dressed in a T-shirt, jeans, and a Red Sox baseball cap, and was holding his six-month-old daughter in his arms. I exclaimed in delight and instantly reached for her. Mia eyed me with suspicion; it had been a couple of weeks since I’d last held her and she was ready to stranger-zone me. But once she was in my arms, I cooed at her and bounced her gently, and she relaxed.
“Where’s Crystal?” I asked. Crystal was Michael’s wife and Mia’s mother.
“She’s checking us in.” He gestured toward the front desk. “She always has a lot of specific demands, so I let her take charge.” He yawned. “I’m exhausted. Long flight. Someone didn’t stop screaming the entire trip, and for once it wasn’t me.” Michael was a tall, thin, wiry guy, who normally looked very handsome and a lot younger than his fifty-five years but tonight looked a little ragged.
“She’s being a very good girl now,” I said. Mia was the cutest baby in the world—big dark eyes and a fuzzy brown tuft of hair on top of her head.
“She’s just too worn-out from crying for six straight hours to cry any more.” He turned to George. “Hey, Jonathan! How’s it going?”
“Fine?” George said uncertainly.
I came to his aid. “He’s not Jonathan.”
“I’m his brother,” George added. “People get us confused all the time.”
“Thank you for pretending I’m not an idiot,” Michael said. “Hey, Ellie, I’ve got some good news.”
“Do you?” I said, blowing gently down at the baby, who batted her long eyelashes against the slight breeze. “Does your daddy have good news? Does he? Does he? What’shisgoodnews? What is it?”
“I really don’t think she’s going to answer you,” George said to me. “No matter how many times you ask her.”
Michael said a little impatiently, “Aaron’s coming to live with me!”
I looked up. “You’re kidding!”
“Nope. His mother’s husband got a job in Vermont, and Aaron said he’s not about to move to the middle of nowhere for his last year before college. He thinks LA will be a lot more fun. Crystal and I are thrilled.”
“Yay! Does he know which school yet?”
“Fenwick.”
I pouted. “I was hoping he’d go to Coral Tree with me.”
“Don’t worry, you two will still see plenty of each other. Do we have a room?”
This last was to his approaching wife, who joined us and kissed me on the cheek. “The baby looks so happy with you, Ellie. Would you minding holding her for the next fifteen or sixteen years?” She nodded at George. “Hello, Jonathan.” She turned back to Michael. “Megan’s still in the bathroom.”
“Megan?” I said.
“Our nanny.”
“What happened to Tiana?”
“She quit,” Michael said with a brief dark glance at his wife, who didn’t seem to notice. She was wearing skintight yoga pants, high soft leather boots, and a long cardigan over a low-cut top—I guess in theory it was all comfortable traveling clothing, but she looked pretty incredible. She was a beautiful young woman with long, straight dark hair and large black eyes.
Mia reached her arms out toward her mother. Crystal heaved a sigh, handed Michael her purse and the key cards, then took the baby and propped her up on her hip. “Megan doesn’t know which room we’re in, so someone has to wait for her.” Mia waved her arms and made some complaining sounds. Crystal rolled her eyes and thumped her on the back. “And here we go again. You’d think she’d be all cried out after that horrendous performance on the plane. I’ll take her on up. Michael, you wait for Megan. You know you want to. She’s very beautiful,” she explained to George.
“Not as beautiful as you,” Michael said wearily. “And she’s standing right over there, near the elevators. Let’s go to bed. We’re all overtired. Good night, Ellie. And good night—” He stopped. “I’ve forgotten your name,” he said to George.
“Are you serious?” Crystal said. “How could you forget Jonathan?”
“Because he’s not Jonathan,” Michael said. “This is his brother.”
“Oh.” She studied George. “Identical twins?”
“He’s eight years older than me, actually,” George said apologetically.
She pressed her lips together, then said, “Huh. Well, good night.” They left.
“You know what the easiest thing would be?” I said to George. “For you just to be Jonathan for the rest of the weekend. Especially since you don’t seem to like correcting people.”
“I couldn’t correct Michael Marquand,” he said. “He discovered Dense Keys.”
“Who or what is that?”
“Are you kidding me? Ellie, you’re a Philistine. How can you know so little about music when your stepfather is Luke Weston?”
“I don’t know. We talk about other stuff, I guess.” We headed down the wide, carpeted stairway that led to the pool-level lower floor.
George said, “So who’s Aaron and why are we so happy he’s coming to LA?”
“He’s Michael’s son by his first wife.”
“So the wife I just met is number two?”
“Three, actually. There was this young actress in between.”
“Crystal isn’t exactly old.”
“This one was even younger. I believe the words ‘cradle robbing’ were used, but I’m not telling you by who, except it was my mom. It didn’t last long.”
The hallway at the bottom of the stairs ended in glass doors that led out to the back of the resort. George held one open for me and I stepped through. “Wow, it’s really beautiful here.” I stopped to look around. Torches were lit all around us, outlining the paths to the pool and the beach, and their flickering glow tinged everything burnt orange. Palm tree leaves stirred against the blue-black sky. You could hear the ocean from where we were, but the sound was just a gentle rise and fall behind the uneven clash of voices laughing and talking from the patio restaurant. I breathed in the salty-smoky air and closed my eyes briefly to enjoy it. “Why is anyone inside when they could be out here? Why would anyone be anywhere else in the world right now?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty nice.”
I glanced over my shoulder and he was watching me, but his gaze quickly shifted away. “I know what you’re thinking,” I said.
“I doubt it.”
“You’re gloating because you were right—this is just as good as Tahiti would have been. Maybe even better.” I flung my hand around. “I mean, this is perfect. You can’t get better than perfect, can you?”
“I didn’t deliberately not choose Tahiti because you wanted it, you know. This was the best choice for a lot of reasons.”
“Still, you were right and I was wrong. I admit it. Now let us never speak of it again. Want to go down to the beach?”
“Yeah.” As we walked along the curving path, he said, “You never finished telling me about Michael’s son. Do you know him?”
“He’s my future husband.”
“Really? What crime did he commit to deserve a sentence like that?”
“Don’t be mean. We’re like the same exact age and his father and Luke are best friends. And—” I stopped. If I’d been with one of my girlfriends, I might have also said something about how Aaron had grown from a reasonably cute tween when I first met him to one of the best-looking guys in the world. I’d seen him briefly a few months ago when he was visiting his father and he kind of took my breath away. He had gotten tall and broad-shouldered and his hair was this bronze color and wavy, and he had these light blue eyes and this perfect jaw. . . .
“And . . . ?” George prompted.
I shrugged. “And so he’s destined to be my husband. I’m just not sure which husband. I don’t want him to be my first, because obviously that one’s not going to last—”
“Obviously.”
“And I want my last husband to be much younger than I am so he can take care of me when I’m dying. Obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“Maybe number three?”
“Would that put him in the middle? Or still toward the beginning?”
“I’m hurt,” I said. “How many husbands do you think I’m planning to have? I’m not that kind of girl.”
“Obviously,” he said.
I nudged his elbow with mine. “Come on. Let’s go down to the water.”
When we reached the sand, I kicked off my flip-flops and said, “You’d better take your loafers off, too, unless you like gritty shoes.”
He removed his shoes and socks, then cuffed his pants. “How stupid do I look?” he asked as he straightened up.
“You don’t want to know.”
“‘Don’t worry, George, you look fine. Not stupid at all.’”
“My mama didn’t raise no liars.”
“Just . . . come on.” We left our shoes and he led the way down to the edge of the water. We stood there in the semidarkness, hearing the waves better than we could see them. The water looked black at this hour. Black with white frills that caught the moonlight. The few couples I could see were spread out along the beach, as far from one another as they could be, greedy for privacy.
“Why is the ocean so wonderful?” I asked after we’d gazed in contented silence for a while.
“I don’t know,” George said. “People can’t survive without water, so maybe we’re biologically programmed to want to be near it.”
“You just managed to suck all the poetry right out of this.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Doesn’t this make you want to do something?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know.” I circled my hands in the air, frustrated by my inability to put the feeling into words. “There’s something about how beautiful it is—and how the waves look—and the sound, too . . . and it’s like we should go out and build castles or fight evil or just run around in circles screaming. Don’t you feel that?”
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s so big and we’re so small. It makes you want to be bigger. To matter.”
“Right.” I turned and we started walking along the shore. “The sand’s freezing. My feet are getting numb.”
“You want to go back inside?”
“Soon. Not yet.” I glanced sideways at him. “So what could we do that would matter? Build hospitals? Slay evil dictators? Write the great American novel?”
“We could write the great American novel about an evil dictator while sitting in a hospital,” he said. “But what we’ll really do is walk away and forget that feeling within about five minutes and end up like the rest of the world, working any job we can get and leading lives of quiet desperation.”
“You’re a cynic.”
“No—a realist.”
I glanced up at the resort and saw a couple strolling toward the ocean, holding hands. “Isn’t that Mom and Luke?”
“I think so,” George said, and we headed toward them. There were a few other couples trailing them, acting all casual and indifferent but clearly sneaking glimpses at the famous TV star. At least they were all keeping a respectful distance.
“What are you two doing down here?” Mom asked as we came together.
“I had to get out of that room,” I said. “Jacob threw a fit—he was screaming and throwing his food. I ran into George in the lobby and we thought we’d see what the beach was like.”
“Jacob had a tantrum?” Even in the dim light, I could see Mom’s brow furrow. “He’s been having so many lately.”
“It’s just because he was on a plane all day,” Luke said with an easy shrug. “After a six-hour flight, I’m ready to throw things, too.”
“Yeah, me too,” I said. “And most kids scream on airplanes. It’s sort of amazing he didn’t.”
Mom didn’t respond to that.
By the time I got back to the room, Jacob was asleep and Grandma was watching TV with the volume down low—some reality show about a bunch of swollen-lipped women who were drinking wine and yelling at one another.
I curled up on the other bed—Jacob was in a rollaway crib—and texted Heather. I wanted to tell her that Aaron Marquand was coming to live in LA.
He’s the cute one, right? she texted back. With the blue eyes? She hadn’t ever met him, but I’d shown her photos.
Yep. AKA my future husband.
Squeal.