Chapter 28
American Cay
Annie had wandered back to her beach chair after floating through about ten minutes of the volleyball game.
The water was glorious, and if she closed her eyes, she could forget where she was for a minute or so.
It was as if the Boy Talk spell weakened once one set foot off the American Fantasy, and Annie had a brief passing thought that the ship was pumping something into the air like they did at Disney, but instead of just making it smell like popcorn or sugar, the ship was making them all incapable of thinking like rational adult human beings.
Maybe that was just being on vacation. Or maybe that was the secret of cruises, that sailing away from land made one’s problems feel out of reach and therefore more solvable.
This was a temporary habitat, like a meditation retreat, only with lots and lots of noise.
The karaoke was over, Annie was pretty sure, because the crowd in front of the seafood shack seemed to have thinned out, and women were dragging their various beach rentals back to the thatched-roof hut they’d come from.
Annie slid her book back into her tote bag and tied her beach towel around her waist. Her bathing suit was a modest black tank, what Annie thought of as standard middle-aged-mom fare, but all around her, women of all ages and sizes were in bikinis and other kinds of bathing suits.
It felt like being in a locker room at an open-air YMCA—all bodies welcome.
Annie tucked her wet hair behind her ears and raised her tote bag onto her shoulder.
The walk back to the tender was short—ten minutes on a palm-tree-lined path.
Annie fell in behind a crowd of women who were all traveling together—even within the cruise, it was easy to identify these smaller herds.
Sometimes they were all wearing matching outfits, sometimes they were wearing matching hats, sometimes they were all carrying the same kind of drink.
These women were doing all three. There were six of them in white captain hats holding two-foot-long plastic tubes that contained the dregs of some alcoholic slushie.
“I saw that crazy bitch,” one of them said. “I don’t know how she shows her face.”
“Seriously,” one of her friends replied. They were all wearing cut-off jean shorts and matching airbrushed T-shirts. How much money did people put into this? Taylor Swift made local economies spike, but had anyone checked what Boy Talk cruises did to Etsy shops?
Everyone’s wet flip-flops thucked-thucked-thucked loudly on the path.
“I swear, I will call the ship cops if she even tries to talk to me,” the woman in front said. “And I bet Scotty would too.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” her friend said. “Scotty’s scared of Maira. She’s a capoeira expert, remember?”
The women all laughed. Annie kept her head down, making sure to keep pace with them. They didn’t seem to notice her. A tree branch whacked Annie in the arm. She winced and kept walking.
“Honestly?” one of the women said. Annie couldn’t wait to hear whatever came next. “I think she’s just sad. It’s sad, come on.”
Her friends were not convinced and all exhaled giant sighs. “Being a liar is, like, the most pathetic thing. It’s like stealing from us and the guys.”
There were a lot of nods and mmms. Disloyalty to the guys seemed a transgression that required somber reflection.
The path turned, rounding a corner, and Annie could see the stanchions to get back on the tender.
A boat was waiting, and Annie followed along as the women got on board, but they all turned right, and she turned left, heading for the other side of the boat.
One bench seat looked toward the water and was in the shade, opposite a bench seat in full sun, and Annie made a beeline for the shady side.
She had already sat down when she looked across from her and noticed Mr. Beer Pong, aka Freddie Mercury.
It was the first time she’d seen him out of a costume, but there were so few single men on the ship that Annie had no doubt that it was him.
It was also the first time she’d seen him alone.
He had a nice enough face—a strong nose, which Annie had always been attracted to.
Chris had had a great nose, still did—thin at the bridge with a delicate tip that pointed toward his chin.
Even when she couldn’t stand him anymore, Annie had always liked his nose, which was good, because now Claudia had it too.
There was only a foot of space in between her knees and Mr. Beer Pong’s, so close that Annie could see the thick blond hair on his arms. He was staring out at the water, humming to himself.
Mr. Beer Pong was younger than she was. Forty?
Maybe forty-five? It was hard to tell with men.
He had his arms slung over the back of the bench seat, and his knees were wide apart.
Manspreading didn’t seem quite as bad on a cruise’s ferry boat as it did on a New York City subway.
Annie looked up at his face and was surprised to find him staring back at her.
“What’s up?” Mr. Beer Pong said. He unhooked his arms from the back of the bench and crossed them over his chest. “Madonna, right?”
Annie felt her cheeks go up in flames. “Uh,” she said. “Yes, I was. I mean, I’m not usually. But I was yesterday, yes.”
He stuck out a hand for her to shake. “I’m Greg.”
“Annie,” she said, and reached her hand out to meet his. Either he was sandy or she was, it was impossible to tell, but there was some grit in between their palms.
“First cruise?” Greg asked. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
“It is. Have you done this…” Annie paused. The tender had begun to move and rumbled away from the dock. The boat vibrated under her feet.
“It’s my third,” Greg said, answering her unasked question. “I love it, you know? Everyone is so friendly. It’s like being in college again. But no homework.”
Annie nodded. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Not that she was checking. It was just that he was talking with his hands, moving them in front of his face—a gesturer.
“So, what do you think so far?” Greg asked.
The boat rocked a little, and their knees knocked together.
Annie laughed. She’d touched so many bodies on this trip—gentle little hands on each other’s shoulders as they squeezed by, high fives, even some hugs.
Why did it feel different to touch a man’s body?
Annie was no prude. She’d kissed a girl once.
Sure, it was during a game of truth or dare, but that counted.
Claudia had suggested that, post-divorce, Annie try dating a woman.
There wasn’t a woman’s knee that had ever sent this feeling into Annie’s body. That was the truth.
“I think you’re having a great time,” she said.
“I am,” Greg said. “Have you noticed?” He raised an eyebrow.
Annie tried to think of the last time she had genuinely flirted with someone.
Not given someone else’s husband a friendly touch at elementary school drop-off, not kissed a male friend on the cheek after two glasses of wine, but truly flirted with an available man.
She couldn’t remember. She and Chris had been married for twenty years, and they’d dated for five years before that.
The last year Annie had been single was 1998, literally in the previous millennium.
How did one ask someone out in a closed environment?
It was like trying to date in the biosphere.
Tonight’s theme party was Pajama Night. Maybe she’d start there.
“What do your pajamas look like?” Annie said, and felt a little bolt of lightning run through her, right there on the tender.
“You’ll see,” Greg said, and grinned.