“To do something that earns a ten.”
She grins. “I have to warn you: I’m a tough audience.”
“Challenge accepted,” I say.
“I think the castle is a two at best,” a woman says, and we both look up to see that same opinionated older lady, that big visor on her head. She’s got a T-shirt on that says Hot Grandma. I hadn’t seen her in a few days and thought maybe she’d gone back to the hole she’d crawled out of.
“Thanks?” Presley says, looking up at her.
“I need a drink,” the woman declares.
“Okay, I can . . . grab someone for you?” I say, wondering for a second if she thinks I work here.
I’m also wondering if she’s even supposed to be on this beach. Should we tell her it’s private? I still have no idea who this woman is, and I keep forgetting to ask my mom about her.
“I’ll do it myself,” she says, her tone sounding frustrated. Then she points at Presley. “Sit up straight—you’re killing your posture.”
I watch as Presley does, in fact, sit taller. The woman gives her a nod before walking away, muttering to herself about people these days and something about a daiquiri.
“Who is that woman?” Presley asks, when she’s walked out of listening distance.
I lift my shoulders. “I have no idea. I think she moved to the island after I left home.”
“She’s so . . . weird.”
“And has a very strange aversion to smells,” I add.
“Hmm?” Presley asks, confused.
“It’s nothing,” I say, waving the words away with my hand.
We spend the rest of the afternoon sitting under the umbrella on lounge chairs, talking about mostly superficial things, similar to the other night when we were at my apartment. I now know Presley James hates mushrooms and tried going vegan for all of one day. And she knows that I wrestled in high school and was rejected publicly by a girl named Brittany when I tried to kiss her at the homecoming dance, subsequently causing my aversion to public displays of affection.
“I never got to go to a school dance,” she says, now wearing an oversized white swimsuit coverup over her red bikini. She takes a bite of a club sandwich, which we each ordered from the resort. They delivered them to us on fancy trays and on real dishes. Food service on the beach is something I’ve never done before and will probably never do again. Especially since my bank account wouldn’t allow it at the moment. I argued to, at minimum, pay for mine, but Presley insisted it all be put on her tab.
“How did you do school?” I ask her, and then take a bite of my food. It tastes amazing, like all food seems to on the beach. It’s a strange phenomenon.
“Tutors, mostly. And some online classes,” she says.
“I can’t say you missed out,” I tell her honestly. High school for me was a rough time. I struggled with making close friends and resisted listening to Keith when he tried to be a father to me. I was kind of a jerk to both him and my mom, which, luckily, I was able to apologize for before Keith died. Still, it doesn’t make up for how I acted. I wasn’t terrible, but I wasn’t all that considerate or understanding either.
“Did you like college better?”
“Much,” I say. “I think I like being on my own.”
“Which is why you’re not happy being back here, working for your mom?”
I bob my head from side to side as I think about answering that. “I’m not unhappy about being back. I’m just not happy about how things turned out with my company.”
“I’m sure,” she says.
Once the sun is close to setting, employees from the resort bring out tiki torches and place them around the private beach. The umbrella we’ve been sitting under all afternoon has been taken down by one of the beach attendants, and we’re now lying flat on our lounge chairs, looking up at a purple sky as a few stars start to appear.
“Thanks for spending the afternoon with me,” Presley says, and reaching over, she grabs ahold of my hand and gives it a little squeeze. I expect her to pull away, but she keeps it there, and I wrap my fingers around hers. Her hand feels dainty in mine, and soft. It’s a friendly handhold. That’s all it is. Just friendly.
“It was my pleasure,” I tell her. And it really was. Today has been a good day. I haven’t felt this free in . . . well, I don’t even know how long. Probably not since college?
“So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?”
“I have to work all day,” I tell her, feeling disappointment weigh on my shoulders.
“Oh,” she says, turning her head toward me so we’re lying on our chairs, still holding hands and now face-to-face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume.”
“No.” I shake my head in tiny movements. “My mom and Scout had a shopping trip planned for tomorrow on the mainland that I don’t want them to miss.”
“Yeah, of course. They should definitely do that. We’ve got all summer, anyway,” she says, giving me a soft smile. “Maybe Thursday?”
“Or … you could maybe come over tomorrow, after I close up the shop?” I ask, feeling instantly nervous, for no reason really. Maybe it’s because, in my head, I’d just assumed we’d hang out tomorrow night, and now I feel sort of ridiculous for thinking that.
“Okay,” she says, her lips pulling into a wide grin, putting my nerves at ease.
Her head lolls back to the sky, and mine does likewise, and we lie like that, holding hands, looking at the stars until the sun sets fully.
Presley
“You’re seriously not going to tell me your middle name?” I ask, leaning across the bookshop counter toward Briggs, who’s printing out some kind of sales report from the register after closing.
