“What are you doing later?” He wiggles his brows. My knees threaten to buckle.
“Ahh. I...I...Uh.” I’m tongue-tied. I step back as Gigi approaches. She pours a glass of wine and gives me a curious look before turning to Hank.
“I didn’t know you were coming to town,” she says.
Using telepathic means, and what I hope are pleading eyes, I try to convey to him not to say anything, but he refuses to look at me. It’s odd having this secret and pretending otherwise. It makes me nervous and sweaty. I struggle against the maddening urge to chew my already ravaged fingernails. Instead, I clutch my hands in front of me.
“I don’t run everything by you,” he teases.
There’s a pause lasting longer than it should.
“Hey,” she says, wagging her finger between us, “did you two hook up?”
Hank is still holding my glass or it would have crashed onto Sarah Grace’s perfectly polished hardwood floors. Panic has shut down my bodily functions, and I’m going to wet myself any minute now.
“Huh?” It’s all I can come up with.
Hank, the big oaf, takes another drink.
Gigi looks at me, puzzled. “You know. Last week at the surf competition in Cocoa. When I canceled. I’m sorry I bailed last minute. Did you two get together?”
Hank drops an arm around my shoulder. “Sure did. We made out, didn’t we, Paisley? Competition was fun to watch, saw some sharks, scored some free surf stuff including a Ron Jon’s Surf Shop T-shirt.” He squeezes my shoulder, pulling me toward him.
“Yep. It was fun.” I nod uncontrollably. I try to pull myself together, stamp back the panic, and force a smile. I focus on a spot over her head and try to think of something other than the make-out session Hank and I had on the beach that night, because tingly heat is climbing up my neck and I’m trying to beat it back.
Gigi leans toward me. “What’s wrong with you? You’re acting weird.” She sniffs my breath. “I think she’s drunk. Cut her off, Hank,” she teases as she walks away.
“Relax,” he whispers. He drops his arm off my shoulder, pinches my ass, and leaves with my drink.
I berate myself for drinking too much, for not being quick on my feet with a response, for going to the stupid beach to begin with because, let’s face it, all roads lead to here. At this very moment, I’m experiencing the infinity wheel of karma hell.
Sarah Grace comes over and asks me to help her set out the food. It’s a distraction I welcome. Dan’s put two tables in a figure-eight layout so no one will sit with their back to another. It’s like watching a bad comedy as people jockey for various seats and my mother’s obvious attempt to make sure Hank and I are seated together. Try as I might to avoid it, I end up sitting next to Hank anyway.
Before we pass the food, Nana raises her glass for a toast. It’s a family tradition done at every meal. Everyone picks up their glasses.
“Slainte,” my nana toasts.
“Slainte,” we repeat and clink glasses, but I need something more than a toast for good health. How about some good luck?
I pick at my food and notice Hank is picking at his, too. Will this new awkward always be a part of us? I reach over, take my wineglass from him, and toss back a gulp.
“You should slow down on the hooch,” he whispers.
“You should shut it,” I whisper back and take a second gulp.
“You keep it up, you might find yourself waking up in the same bed tomorrow you did today.” He squeezes my knee.
I choke on my wine. The ugly kind, where you can’t talk because you are too busy gasping for air, the kind of choke where people stop eating and look at you, waiting to see if you’ll need the Heimlich or not. Hank continues eating with one hand and stroking my knee with the other.
“Paisley dear, ya OK, darlin’?” Nana asks, while whacking me on the back.
I nod, wheezing as I suck in air and grab Hank’s hand on my knee, twist it, and try to push it off. He chuckles and removes it.
“How are you liking Jacksonville, Hank?” my sister asks.
“It’s nice to be close to home. That’s for sure.” He leans back and puts an arm across the back of my chair. “It’s the little things you miss. You get a good idea of how you define home when you’re homesick. Puts it in perspective.”
Everyone nods and looks thoughtful, as if he’s shared the path to enlightenment. I do an eye roll.
“You dating anyone special yet?” Of course, my mother is the one to ask this nosy question.
“Momma, he’s only been home four months.” I give her the stink eye, but she doesn’t care.
“Hush, Paisley. For all I know he met a nice Asian girl and brought her back.”
She dismisses me with a wave. The women in my family turn toward Hank to wait for an answer.
“Yeah, he’s left her in the car outside,” I mumble to Gigi across the table and she sniggers.
“I didn’t bring anyone from Japan home.” He laughs. “It takes a special person to be with a service member. The hours are crazy and the deployments can be long. I was deployed a fair amount in Japan, so it wasn’t easy to meet people. Besides, I find most girls want to stay close to home. Moving halfway across the world takes an adventurous spirit.”
My mother and Nana exchange looks. The scheming has begun.
“I’m the perfect example. I won’t even move the fifty minutes to Tampa for John’s work,” says Gigi.
“Paisley couldn’t wait to get out of Lakeland.” Momma pitches to Hank.
“That’s not true. I love Lakeland. It’s just easier to stay in Daytona.” Plus my job and network of friends are there, but never mind that.
“Pish.” She doesn’t even look at me, her focus solely on Hank. “You do know Paisley’s free now, and she’s always had such an adventurous spirit. You may not want to date a divorcée, not many people do, but she’s a good worker, and if she would do something with her hair, she’d be rather pretty.”
“Momma,” Sarah Grace exclaims on my behalf.
Momma smiles at the group and winks at me. “Hush. Y’all know I’m not being ugly. I have good intentions.”
“She always does,” I whisper to Hank, who cuts his eyes to me before looking at his plate.
I can sense everyone’s eyes on me. The room is quiet except for the scraping of Momma’s fork on her plate. No one knows what to say.
“And her teeth are real, too,” I say, showing off my pearly whites before I reach over and toss back the rest of my wine.
It’s gonna be a long night.
5
An annoying buzz rouses me from my slumber. I bury my face in the pillow and hope it goes away.
It doesn’t.
I crack an eye and sigh with relief when I recognize Gigi’s guest room, in her current house, not her childhood bedroom.
The buzzing starts up again, and I swat at the bedside table, desperate to smash whatever is causing my disturbance. My hand grazes my phone; its vibration tickles my fingers. Squinting at the screen, I take a second before recognizing Hank’s number.
“What?” I croak. Cotton mouth, a sure sign I drank too much.