Chapter Twenty-Six
Twenty-Six
I WAS HOPING I might see Cooper once I made it ashore.
But I didn’t.
I did, however, see the three cruise dudes from the MS Decadence while waiting in line at the taxi stand. They were all, once again, wearing beer shirts: BEER ME, IT’S BEER O’CLOCK, and JUST HERE FOR THE BEER.
I stood behind them in the taxi line, holding Ashley’s dress—on its hanger, gently encased in a dry cleaner’s thin plastic bag—with the greatest respect.
I can’t say for certain how many sheets to the wind the cruise dudes were at nine in the morning on this fine Wednesday, but I can tell you that they all three decided at one point to pee on the same clump of sidewalk weeds at the same time.
That’s not a visual you can unsee.
Near them, but not with them, was another guy in an island shirt and a straw pork-pie hat.
Bold choice.
I’ve never seen anyone pull off a pork-pie hat in real life. Have you? That’s a tough look.
I tried very hard to not particularly notice any of them and just enjoy the island breeze.
Especially when Pork Pie started trying to flirt with a woman who was both wearing noise-canceling headphones and clearly had no interest in talking to him. At all.
Read the room, Pork Pie!
It all started when he sidled up to her and asked, “Where are you headed?”
She didn’t reply. Because she was wearing noise-canceling headphones.
But rather than just put the pieces together and move on to some other activity, like crushing ants with his shoe, Pork Pie decided to act offended.
“Hello?” he said, waving his hand in her face until she saw him.
She gave what I think anyone would describe as an I-have-no-interest-in-talking-to-you faint smile, and then looked back down at her phone.
Dismissed.
Another opportunity for Pork Pie to find, ya know, anything else to do.
And yet he kept waving. “Hello! Hello? I asked you a question!”
Finally, she looked up and pulled the headphones away from one of her ears.
“I asked,” Pork Pie said, now stroking his goatee, “where you were headed.”
She frowned at why on earth he’d think she’d answer that question, and then she shook her head. “I’m just busy here,” she said, holding up her phone to indicate where “here” was.
A reasonable decline, I thought.
But Pork Pie disagreed, and so did his face, which seemed to be getting pinker. “What’s your deal? Did your mom tell you not to talk to strangers?”
At that, she frowned, pressed the headphone back against her ear, and turned back to her phone.
Was she friendly? No. Was she afraid of strangers? Possibly—who knew? Did she have any interest in talking to that dude? Absolutely not.
All of this had to be clear, right? It’s hard to imagine anyone could have people skills low enough to not read these signs. Her signals were clear as glass.
And yet, he couldn’t let it go.
I watched it all, aghast. I would never want to talk to a person who had no interest in talking to me. Conversations aren’t fun unless they’re mutual, right? Like everything else in life?
But Pork Pie? The more disinterested the woman was in talking to him, the more he needed to make her do it.
Maybe he was embarrassed to be so flatly rejected.
Maybe he liked a challenge. Maybe he had the tragically misplaced overconfidence to genuinely think he could charm her, if she’d just give him a chance.
Or maybe he really thought that the choice wasn’t hers.
Whatever it was, he kept at it so long that I felt like somebody had to do something. I glanced at the cruise dudes, who were scuffling around on the sidewalk, trying to wedgie each other.
I sighed.
When he tried to grab her phone, I had to act. “Hey,” I called to Pork Pie. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”
At that, he turned and saw me. Still wearing Ashley’s morning-after dress, I’ll add. The one I’d slept in.
As he turned to confront me, the cruise dudes looked up and noticed. “Hey,” Beer Me called out, waving like we were old friends. “It’s Short-Shorts.”
I gestured toward Pork Pie like What the hell? and then said to Beer Me, “Are you just going to let him harass her like that?”
Beer Me looked nervous. “Isn’t he just … flirting?”
“That is not flirting,” I said. I looked over. “Right, Beer O’Clock?”
Beer O’Clock shrugged uncomfortably.
“Flirting,” I explained, “is enjoyed by both parties.”
The cruise dudes nodded, like they hadn’t thought of it like that.
But Pork Pie wasn’t in a personal growth mood. He took a few menacing steps toward me. “Why are you butting in?”
“Because she doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“How do you know what she wants?”
“Everyone at this taxi stand knows what she wants—except for you.”
He tilted his head to crack his neck, and I heard it. “It’s not your business, though, is it?”
“It’s the business of the Sisterhood,” I heard myself say, as if it were some real organization I might report him to.
But Pork Pie didn’t find the Sisterhood intimidating in the least.
“Just leave her alone,” I said. “Take a snorkel lesson or something.”
He squared his shoulders and stepped closer to me. “I don’t remember asking your advice.”
“It’s free. You’re welcome.”
In the background, slightly out of focus, I could see the woman giving up on her cab and walking away.
I’d had her back—but now who would have mine?
Because the madder Pork Pie got, the more menacing he seemed.
It’s a crucial life skill for women, learning how to read men. You have to tune your radar to distinguish between harmless idiots and harmful ones. You need to be able to tell the difference.
The cruise dudes who’d mooned me? Harmless.
But Pork Pie?
With him, my danger radar went off.
And as soon as I felt it, without ever deciding to, my first instinct was to look around—for Cooper.
Who wasn’t there. Of course.
What was there instead was a cab pulling up. And now that he’d driven away the headphones girl, Pork Pie was next in line.
But did he really deserve to go next, after his poor behavior?
As the cab came to a stop, I slipped past them all, opened the back door, and slid in.
Saved by the cab.
I waved to the dudes through the window, extra glad to be escaping, as I mouthed a not-sorry “sorry,” and Pork Pie squinted at me like I was his new prey.
THE TAILOR WAS easy to find, and I dropped Ashley’s dress off, no problem.
I texted the family group chat that Yolanda the seamstress said it would be “an easy fix” and she’d have it back in plenty of time—and Ashley texted back a GIF of a cartoon rabbit hugging another rabbit so hard that they both fell down.
So—crisis de-escalated.
Ashley was better.
And my dad, now embarking on his second chance with my mom, was better.
But I was pretty sure I … was worse.
Things with Cooper were worse, at least.
As I walked the streets of town, passing restaurants, and shops, and open markets with vendors selling everything from straw hats to beaded cover-ups to woven beach blankets, I had the feeling like I’d missed my chance to catch Cooper.
I sent a text but got no answer. I tried calling but got voicemail.
Even still, my eyes scanned endlessly for him while my brain churned through all its new input. Was it really possible for him to kiss me like that and then just leave? Had he finally given up on me? And could I even blame him?
It was so much to process.
Cooper had been my first kiss.
Not only that, he’d been rescuing me—again, as always—from disaster.
Of course Finn didn’t remember our kiss. He hadn’t been there!
He’d ditched me.
That kiss wasn’t Finn’s. It was Cooper’s. And it always had been.
I guess Cooper hadn’t told me the truth about that day at first because he thought I’d be embarrassed. And even when I kept going on and on about imprinting on my first kiss, Cooper didn’t know it was that kiss I’d been talking about.
No wonder he’d been so shocked when he found out. And then Finn showed up after the talent show and dragged me off as Cooper tried to stop us and tell me—but I chose Finn over him? And then Cooper thought I slept with Finn under the influence of false information?
Cooper had every right to be horrified by it all.
Technically, the person I should have been chasing all this time was Cooper.
Not that he would have wanted me to chase him, necessarily—but he was definitely robbed of some proper credit.
And what a near miss on Finn! Good thing he had a terrible personality and a texting addiction, or I might have slept with him for no reason. Whew!
Though, it had been an honest mistake on my part.
I’d been blindfolded, after all. And ten years old.
And Cooper wasn’t exactly perfect, either.
I got that he might’ve been frustrated by the way everything unfolded, but was it really worth leaving the ship over?
Quitting the wedding? Abandoning his post as my duet partner?
Didn’t giving up on me forever seem a little extreme?
Couldn’t he give me, like, a moment of grace to absorb this huge new twist in my life story before ditching me?
And don’t get me started on Cooper’s deeming Bridesmaid Two sock-worthy.
I mean, come on. Unforgivable.
There was no excuse for Bridesmaid Two—in any situation.
I WALKED THE streets of Bishop’s Cay for two hours that morning, scanning for Cooper and trying to clear my head.
The town was the epitome of beachy charm. Quaint buildings in bright colors, a little marina full of painted boats, and lush flowering plants everywhere you cared to rest your gaze: vinca, and parakeet flower, and bougainvillea.
It had lots of good things. Just not Cooper.
Was he gone already? Or might he have booked a hotel room to grab a quick nap after staying up all night with the worst person in the world? Or was he, perhaps, doing a little sightseeing to kill some time? Hadn’t there been an abandoned lighthouse on Bishop’s Cay that he’d wanted to go explore?
Anybody’s guess, I guess. Since he wouldn’t answer his phone.