Chapter 9 Washy Washy, Happy Happy
WASHY WASHY, HAPPY HAPPY
ASHLEY
Bex strolls into the ship's theater, which doubles as the lifeboat station, right on time. He’s even managed to shower and change in the few minutes he had to get ready—even if his slacks are a little wrinkled…
My mind flashes to the wrinkle releaser I’ve unpacked in the room. I could swing by the cabin before we go to the welcome party…
No.
Thank gosh we’re the only two people from Luna’s wedding party present at this mandatory muster.
We won’t have to play the happy couple. For now.
It’s a lot easier to be separated when we can just be separated.
Beckett drops into the seat beside me, arms folded, the faintest smile playing at his lips.
Before I can ask what he’s up to, the lights dim, and a man strides on stage.
“Good afternoon, and welcome to the Paradise Empress, your home for the next six days!” he booms, headset mic gleaming. His name tag reads “Chief Safety & Sanitation Officer Todd”. His shirt is a blinding shade of teal, and honestly, I kind of hate that it’s the same color as my swimsuit.
He claps twice, beaming. “Welcome to our safety briefing! I’m Todd, but you can call me Captain Clean!”
If a cruise director and a kindergarten teacher had a baby, it would be this guy.
“Now, before we get to the exciting stuff—lifeboats, emergency exits, surviving disaster at sea—I want to talk about something even more important: keeping everybody healthy!”
He gestures toward a massive PowerPoint slide behind him that flashes in glittery font:
“Washy Washy, Happy Happy!”
I blink. Beckett tilts his head.
“Yes, friends,” Todd continues. “If you touch something, wash those hands! If you’re about to eat or drink something, wash those hands! If you feel like you have to sneeze or get that little tickle in the back of your throat, maybe wash them twice… from the safety of your room!”
Beckett’s mouth twitches and I can feel him trying not to laugh.
“Remember,” Todd says, wagging a finger, “the fastest way to ruin a vacation is a stomach bug. We don’t want to be that ship on TikTok. So use the handwashing stations! They’re everywhere. Dining rooms, elevators, bathrooms, even the mini-golf course!”
“Did you write this speech for him?” Beckett whispers beside me.
“It’s important. Don’t you watch the news?” I answer without looking at him.
“Washy Washy, Happy Happy,” he whispers back.
“Hush.” But I feel a smile tugging at my lips.
Todd points dramatically to a table of orange life jackets. “Now! Let’s review proper donning procedures in the unlikely event of an emergency—because your safety is our business.”
“Step one!” Todd yells. “Insert arms through the straps—like you’re hugging the ocean!”
“So,” Beckett says, pitching his voice low enough that only I can hear, “I’ve been thinking.”
I keep my eyes forward. “That sounds dangerous.”
“If you don’t want your family—and everyone involved in this wedding—to know about our… situation,” he continues, undeterred, “we probably need a game plan.”
I glance at him. “Define game plan.”
He hesitates, just a beat. Then: “I’m going to have to touch you.”
Just the thought of that sends an uncomfortable heat spiraling inside me.
“Is that really necessary?”
“Seriously?”
I fold my arms, wanting to argue, but… he has a point. “I suppose… yeah. A little, maybe.”
“We’re on a cruise. A romantic one, according to your sister.”
He isn’t wrong. Dang it. “Well, fine. Just the basics. And only when we’re around the wedding party.”
“Whenever we’re in public, Ash. We won’t always know who’s watching us.”
I clutch my hands in my lap. “Fine. Just keep it PG.”
“13?”
“Beckett.” I shoot him a sideways glare.
“PG then, noted.” His mouth twitches.
I ignore that. “The second I say stop, you stop. No questions. No wounded looks.”
His expression sobers. “Agreed.”
“And,” I add, because this matters, “this is for appearances only. We are not… rekindling.”
“If you say so. And also… we need to spend time together, and with the boys.”
“They’ll like that.” I sigh. Loudly enough that a few people turn to look. “It’s the least we can do.”
Because maybe this is the last time we’ll ever feel like a family.
Up on the stage, Todd is now pantomiming an enthusiastic leap into an imaginary lifeboat. Great. Now I’ve missed who knows how many lifesaving instructions.
Most of the crowd bursts out laughing.
“You‘re gonna have to touch me too, you know. I mean…”
“I’m not an idiot.”
“Never said you were, Ash.”
I don't look at him.
“By the way,” he says casually, like this is nothing at all, “I booked go-karts for me and the boys tomorrow morning. While you’re at the spa with the girls.”
This time, I turn fully in my seat. “Is that safe?” I start, then stop. “Wait—”
I blink at him. “You saw the schedule?”
After a year of disconnection. Of missed baseball games, dentist appointments, award ceremonies. After months of adding things to the shared calendar and watching them disappear into the void.
And now—now—he’s read it?
I’m not sure what unsettles me more: that he knows where I’ll be tomorrow morning… or that he’s finally paying attention.
“Are they even old enough?” They’re just little boys!
“Already checked the rules. As long as they have an adult with them, it’s fine.” He’s not looking at me anymore, but watching as Todd tosses the life vest away and sprays sanitizer on his hands.
“Washy Washy! Happy Happy!” he sings as the audience applauds halfheartedly.
I turn back just as the spotlights dim, the bright PowerPoint vanishing from the screen.
Everyone moves to file out, and I try to make my escape. But… Beckett is following me.
“What?” I ask. Just because he’s here, just because we’re pretending, doesn’t mean anything has changed between us.
“You’re… setting up for the welcome party.”
I nod slowly.
“What can I do to help?”
“Don’t you have emails to write? Calls to make?”
He’s shaking his head. “No laptop, remember?”
“I still can’t believe….”
He blinks down at me, and dang it all, for a few seconds, I’m caught by the blue of his eyes.
“I don’t need any help,” I say. “Maybe you can check in on Mom and the boys.”
Instead of pushing back or arguing, he just stares at me, and then dips his chin.
“If that’s what you want.”
“It’s what I want.”
I pivot and make my escape.