12. Sloane #2
Violet slid a laminated itinerary across the table while the waiters set down the plates. Snorkeling all morning, then a grueling jungle hike right after if the timeline allowed.
"Absolutely not," the whole table chorused, more or less at once.
"I am not hiking a jungle right after snorkeling," Eliza declared, pressing Violet's schedule flat against the table. "After the ocean, I want to eat carbs, collapse on the sand, and do nothing."
"That," I agreed, pointing at her. "Yes. That's the energy I need."
"We could organize some beach games," Andrew offered.
"Okay, now we're talking," Violet approved, perking up.
"Are you two suddenly the event coordinators?" I challenged, and Violet laughed.
"After we survive the beach games," I negotiated, "I fully intend to go inside, collapse into bed, and refuse to move."
"Staying in bed doing what?" Xavier asked, his voice low.
I turned my head to look at him. My brain flashed to his interrogation at the rehearsal dinner, the intrusive phone call, the demanding who are you meeting, and I filed this question right alongside the rest of his jealous garbage.
"Just lying motionless in bed." I held his stare. "That's it. Nothing else. Is that itinerary acceptable to you?"
"That sounds reasonable," Andrew chimed in, missing the tension.
"Reasonable," Eliza agreed.
"Thank you," I said, smug.
Xavier stayed silent and picked up his black coffee.
After breakfast, the staff walked our group out to a private chartered boat.
The dive gear lay across the deck, and the over-enthusiastic instructor asked who was brave enough to jump in first. Simon volunteered, Violet followed, Andrew stepped up.
Eliza stared nervously at the dark water, then told the instructor she wanted to go too.
The whole group turned to stare at me.
"I'm good right here," I announced, backing away from the railing. "I'll cheer from the safety of the dry deck."
They pivoted to stare at Xavier.
"I'm staying on the boat too," he said.
"Both of you?" Simon asked, his eyebrows shooting up.
"I don't love deep water," I defended.
"Same," Xavier agreed.
"Are you two scared of sharks?" Violet teased, rolling her eyes.
"Yes," we answered at once, the confession landing in the same deadpan, terrified tone.
Violet and Simon traded a suspicious look before staring back at us. Eliza pressed her lips together, her nose wrinkling. Andrew glanced between the two of us, his head tilted in quiet observation.
I turned my head to look at Xavier. He was already staring straight at me.
I knew why. I'd always been irrationally terrified of deep water, and Xavier had always carried the same phobia. There'd been a humiliating afternoon years ago when we'd dressed for the beach, only because I'd stubbornly handed him a "cute date ideas" list Violet had drafted for me.
We drove the whole hour to the coast, parked, then sat in the front seats for twenty miserable minutes.
He finally broke the silence and asked why I wasn't getting out, and I confessed through tears that I was terrified of the ocean.
He let out a huge breath of relief, admitted he was too, and we threw the car in reverse, drove to a greasy diner instead, and laughed ourselves stupid about our mutual cowardice through the whole meal.
That was the evening I understood what true safety felt like. Same as the vanilla cake. Same as the beach. We shared the same irrational aversions, the same inside jokes, the same stupid fears wrapped in two different bodies.
And now eight years had burned away, the love was supposedly dead, and the only thing left between us was this tense minefield we sat on opposite sides of.
The brave members of the group jumped into the water. Xavier walked over and dropped onto the bench beside me at the edge of the boat.
"How was your night?" he asked.
I stared out at the choppy water. "It was fine," I answered. "Andrew doesn't even snore that much."
"Is that supposed to be a shot at me?"
"If the shoe fits."
He had snored. He snored so hard the walls of our tiny apartment used to practically vibrate, and I'd complained about it for months, until somewhere along the way it turned into the rhythm I needed to fall asleep.
Eventually there was a long stretch where I got brutal insomnia if I didn't hear it. I did not tell him this.
"Is the lack of snoring the only good thing about the man?" he pressed.
"I'm in the process of getting to know him," I defended. "Discovering the good things takes time. That's how dating works."
"Sure it does," he scoffed. "Takes a lot of time. I wonder sometimes if there's even a point to the performance."
"Did it feel like a pointless performance when you were getting to know Eliza?" I shot back.
He cleared his throat and looked away.
"Why won't you answer the question?" I asked.
"Why'd you drag Eliza into it?"
"Because you brought up Andrew."
He whipped his head around to glare at me. "Are you uncomfortable with the fact that I'm in a committed relationship?"
"Get off your high horse," I snapped. "You're not the only thing on my mind. I've got a long list of things I'm thinking about. Your love life is dead last."
"Okay," he conceded, holding his hands up.
"We agreed on the sidewalk to move past this garbage."
"I'm aware."
"Then why do we keep doing this? Every time we're in the same room, I have to remind you we agreed to be friends."
He flashed a hollow smile at the ocean, the corner of his mouth lifting but the amusement never reaching his eyes. "Then maybe it's time we started acting like it."
"Yes. It is."
"So what do platonic friends do?"
"Friends don't pick apart the person the other one's seeing," I instructed.
"You're right. I won't do it again. It's just hard not to."
I stared at his profile. "There's nothing wrong with Andrew."
He stared at the waves, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
"Are you sitting there hunting for a fatal flaw in him?" I demanded.
"You asked."
"I said there was nothing wrong with him. That wasn't an invitation to launch an investigation."
"I'm just worried about you in a strictly platonic capacity," he lied.
"Sure you are. Every single thing about your behavior is platonic."
"Are you not worried about Eliza's intentions?"
I paused, thinking about it. "Not really. She seems like a good, solid person. And the two of you clearly have chemistry."
He turned to look at me, his eyes narrowing. "How long have you been watching us to form an opinion on our chemistry?"
"Longer than you've been hunting for flaws in Andrew," I fired back.
He rolled his eyes. "You're boring."
"I'm not boring. I'm just uninvested in the details of your personal life."
"You're a terrible liar."
"I'm not—"
"Real friends are supposed to be invested in each other's lives," he argued, leaning closer. "Isn't Violet invested in yours?"
"That's a different dynamic."
"How is it different?"
I opened my mouth to argue.
"What's the actual difference," he pressed, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "between the loyalty you've got with Violet and whatever the hell we're chasing here?"
I snapped my mouth shut. He was right that there was a difference, but naming it meant resurrecting the whole history of us, and I wasn't going to detonate that bomb on a rented boat.
"There might be differences," I deflected, cold. "There might not be. It doesn't really matter."
He let out a bitter laugh just as Eliza and Simon breached the surface beside the hull, yanking their snorkel masks up. I spun away from Xavier and leaned over the railing to applaud them, and Xavier reluctantly followed suit.
The explorers eventually dragged themselves out of the ocean.
Our group relocated to the beach, where Violet laid out a wide towel on the white sand.
Eliza collapsed onto it, Violet dropped down beside her, Simon claimed a shaded spot, Andrew sat nearby.
Xavier and I stayed standing at the farthest edge of the towel, a defensive distance Violet clocked instantly.
"Why are you two standing all the way over there like security guards?" she demanded. "Come sit."
"I'm fine standing right here," I declined.