Chapter 14 Hannah
By the time we check into our hotel, an enchanting oasis tucked between the sea and a lush garden of pink bougainvillea and pomegranate trees, I’ve already fallen in love with Capri. I have been to some beautiful places in my life, but I’ve never felt this transported. The scenery is otherworldly, and I keep getting the feeling that we are stepping back in time. I know the island has ancient roots, dating back to Greeks and Phoenicians in the eighth century b.c. But for me, Capri evokes the golden age of Hollywood. With every twist and turn we take, I envision Audrey Hepburn biking in a pair of pedal pushers; or a bikini-clad Brigitte Bardot frolicking by a cliffside pool; or Grace Kelly lounging aboard a yacht, donning oversize sunglasses and a headscarf.
The vibe is both romantic and nostalgic—two things that should make me miss Grady. Yet I don’t for some reason. Perhaps it’s because his trashy antics with Berlin feel like the antithesis of that refined bygone era. His cheating aside, I’m ever so slowly starting tobelieve that maybe Grady really hadn’t been the right person forme.
“Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” I ask Tyson and Lainey.
We are sitting on our hotel’s rooftop terrace, looking out over the island’s iconic rock formations, which rise dramatically from the cobalt sea.
“So dreamy,” Lainey says, sipping her Aperol spritz. She’d ordered us a round of the Italian aperitif from the bar for our official welcome-to-Capri toast. “Gosh, this is delicious.”
Tyson takes a small sip of his. He has discarded his straw, along with the mint leaf and orange slice garnish.
“Do you like it?” Lainey asks him.
“It’s okay, but I’m not really a spritz guy.”
“Too manly for a colorful cocktail?” Lainey says.
He smiles and says, “It’s just a little too sweet for me. Sort of like you.”
Lainey laughs, gazing back out over the ocean. “At least we can all appreciate this view!”
“Yes, we can,” Tyson says. “Tell me if there is another spectacle on earth which can compare with this.”
“Whoa!” Lainey says. “Did you just come up with that?”
“No. I read it on the hotel website. It’s a quote by Alexandre Dumas.”
“Who?” Lainey asks.
“French novelist. He wrote The Count of Monte Cristo.”
Lainey shakes her head. “Never heard of it.”
“How about The Three Musketeers?”
“The candy bar?” Lainey grins.
As their banter continues, I covertly check my messages. Since yesterday afternoon, Olivia and I have been texting back and forth. On the surface, and given the circumstances of our meeting, I know our communication is a bit odd. I also know Lainey would kill me if she knew we were talking at all, let alone so often. But I rationalize that other than a brief sidebar about Lainey’s acting career, most of our conversation has had nothing to do with her.
Instead, we chat about random things, like travel and music and tennis. I tentatively ask about her career, hoping she doesn’t think I’m a complete weirdo. She doesn’t seem to, though, freely sharing details about the pro circuit. She tells me that the Williams sisters are as amazing as people as they are as athletes—warm and funny and kind. I wish I could tell Grady that.
Bottom line, our rapport feels so easy and natural—and is a complete departure from my insular world back home. Our interaction actually reminds me of those early days in college with Lainey, Tyson, and Summer.
I smile down at my phone now, reading Olivia’s latest text, which is a response to a selfie I sent her when we got off the funicular.
Beautiful shot, she replies.
“Okay. That’s it. Who the fuck are you texting?”
I look up and see Lainey staring right at me. I panic, flipping my phone over, which I’m sure looks even more suspicious.
“My mom,” I say.
“I thought she was giving you the silent treatment?”
“She is,” I say. “I just wanted to let her know we got here safe and sound.”
“You’re so full of shit!” she says with a laugh. “You better not be texting Grady!”
“I swear I’m not.”
“Then let me see your phone,” she says, grabbing for it.
I hold it out of her reach, then tuck it under my thigh, laughing.
“Do you swear that you’re not texting Grady?”
“I swear,” I say, raising my right hand, my thumb holding down my pinky.
“Wow. The Girl Scout salute,” Lainey says with a laugh, then looks at Tyson. “She’s gotta be telling the truth!”
I smile.
“Okay, if it’s not Grady, who is it?”
I take a deep breath, then a long drink through my straw, buying myself a few extra seconds.
“Olivia,” I finally say.
“Olivia who?” she says.
“Your sister Olivia,” I say.
“Tell me you’re kidding,” Lainey says.
“Please just hear me out,” I say.
She slams her glass down on the table. “No! I don’t want to hear anything about her! Haven’t I made that clear?”
“Pretty clear,” Tyson says, giving me a look.
“But she’s nothing like Ashley. They don’t even speak—”
“I don’t care what she’s like or who she speaks to!” Lainey says. “I don’t want anything to do with her. Or my father. Or anyone he’s related to by blood or by marriage. Why don’t you get that, Hannah? Didn’t you do enough damage in Dallas? You thought another round of rejection would be fun for me?”
“But that’s the thing…. She’s not rejecting you.”
“I don’t care!”
“I’m sorry,” I say, my heart racing.
She stares at me a beat, then says, “I’m not like you, Hannah. I’m not obsessed with this fairy-tale notion of marriage and family. You see where that got you with Grady?”
I know she’s not trying to be mean, but her words are a gut punch.
“And your own mother. Jesus. The shit you put up with simply because you’re related to her…. It’s unfathomable to me.”
“C’mon, Lainey,” Tyson says in a low voice. “You have the right to be upset, but don’t be mean. She said she was sorry.”
I nervously nod.
“Okay, but I’m serious,” Lainey says. “This is the last straw. I just want to have a fun trip, and if you guys aren’t capable of that, tell me now. Please.”
“I am capable of that,” I say. “I promise.”
I look down, feeling ashamed. She’s right. Who am I to say that she should try to have a relationship with her sister? What do I even know about relationships? My mother isn’t speaking to me, and as much as I love my father, I’m not close to him, either.
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
“It’s okay,” Lainey says with a sigh, her voice and expression returning to normal. Her outbursts remind me of summer thunderstorms; they are intense but usually pass as quickly as they come. “I’m sorry if I overreacted.”
“You didn’t overreact,” I say, shaking my head. “I understand.”
“Well…maybe she overreacted a little,” Tyson says. He holds his thumb and index finger a centimeter apart.
It lightens the mood somewhat, and I give him a grateful look.
“Shut it, Tyson,” Lainey says.
He holds up his hands, palms out, with a slight smirk on his face. “Sorry. I’ll be quiet.”
“Good,” Lainey says, rolling her eyes.
She then switches gears, announcing that she’s going to discuss dinner options with our concierge, Alessandro—a handsome man with whom she’s already been flirting.
She gets up, grabs her Aperol spritz from the table, and marches back inside.
I look at Tyson with a rueful expression.
“I warned you,” he says with a shrug.
“I know. You were right.”
“What are you and Olivia even texting about?” he asks.
“Lots of stuff,” I say. “I really like her. I feel like I’ve made a new friend.”
Tyson gives me a skeptical look. “Okay,” he says. “Just be careful. I’d really like to avoid another blowup on this trip.”