Page 3 of Beach Bodies

‘This isn’t a marriage proposal.’ His voice is louder, overly jocular. ‘Just drinks.’

I can see a vein pulsing in his neck, and you know, Kyle,at this point, there are a few veins pulsing in my body, too– and it’s not the ones you might hope for.

I’m generally coolheaded. I grew up in a trailer park with a mom whose nickname was the Slut of Calumet Heights– no mediocre insults forourfamily– so I had to learn early on how to manage my emotions. That didn’t mean I never let my fists fly. ButIchose when to do it. Not my feelings.

‘It’s not personal,’ I say with a shrug. ‘I’m just not that into it, Kyle.’

His neck flushes. ‘Into what? Drinks?’ His laugh is short, aggressive. ‘Because you had no problem guzzling the one I just bought you.’ Then he mutters, ‘What a bitch,’ so quietly, I could almost imagine it didn’t happen. He pushes his headphones over his ears and leans back in his seat, his thighs pressing out even wider.

Not ideal, Kyle.Notideal.

I discreetly send a wish into the universe that his ex-wife is finding her absolute happiness. That she’s having multiple orgasms at this very moment, why not.

Then I gently nudge Kyle’s arm. He lowers his headphones and gives me a stony look.

‘Sorry– random question– you don’t happen to be headed to the Riovan, do you?’ My voice is perfectly light, perfectly friendly.

‘As a matter of fact, yes,’ he says gruffly.

I figured. The main reason to come to Saint Lisieux is the Riovan, the sprawling, luxurious and exclusive resort where I also happen to be going. I imagine most people on this plane are headed there, too, if not to one of the neighbouring islands connected by ferry. Still, it’s a good feeling to stick apin in Kyle and attach him to my mental map. And I know just where I’d stick that pin, too.

An image enters my brain of a mini, butterfly-sized Kyle pinned in a display frame. The label underneath:homo sapiens assholiens.

‘Why?’ Kyle adds, with an uneasy edge like he can see what’s in my brain.

‘I just wondered,’ I say with a sweet smile. If he has any sort of survivor instinct, it should be blaring an alarm right about now. Lucky for me, he doesn’t. ‘But please– don’t let me interrupt your movie.’

He casts one more glance at me as he slides his headphones back on, and soon he’s chuckling at a car chase scene. Already moving on.

It’s always the jerks who move on first. Have you noticed that? You may think I’m bitter, but this is strictly an observation.

As I see how easily Kyle moves between calling me a bitch and laughing at his gratuitously violent movie, something in me clicks.

It’s a sensation as physical as my ears popping as I flip from one Lily to another. From Cincinnati Lily– the ‘30 under 30’ businesswoman who’s ‘revitalizing the city’; the fun friend who’s always up for karaoke; the ‘happily single’ girl who’s a great shoulder for everyone else to cry on– to the other Lily, the one I become for four weeks every summer. I don’t think it’s strange to have multiple parts to myself; most people do. They’re both me.

I down the remainder of my drink in one final swallow, relishing the spice and the burn in my mouth. The restlessness is gone. The booze helped.

The flight attendant is back, collecting trash.

‘Everything all right?’ she whispers as she holds out the white bag, with a glance at me that says she heard more between Kyle and me than she’s letting on, and I appreciate her concern. Really. More of us should be looking out for one another. But she needn’t be concerned for me.

I know how to take care of myself.

‘Just dandy,’ I say, as I toss the cup and can into her bag.

Chapter Two

The plane touches down at Saint Lisieux’s small airport. Passengers are yawning and stretching in their seats as we bump and roll down the runway. I stretch too, arching my back until it cracks. I did finally manage to fall asleep with the hood of my sweatshirt pulled up. I push the hood back down and rework my ponytail as we pull up to the gate. I sense Kyle’s movements next to me, stuffing his headphones in his backpack, rattling a tin of breath mints, but I don’t engage, visually or otherwise.

The morning sun slices through the row of oval windows, casting my side of the plane in furious light, and I drink in the green of the palm trees beyond the runway as they slide past, a shade of emerald so intense, I can hardly take my eyes off the sight. Bright flashes of ocean jab through the gaps in the trees.

The plane comes to a shuddering stop. The seatbelt sign turns off. Everyone shoots up, but not me. I let them go first. Why get caught in a crush of people– or smashed against Kyle– just to gain a thirty-second advantage?

I watch Kyle as he pops open the luggage compartment and muscles down his Tumi roller bag. As he thumps it down, he catches the eye of a woman across the aisle.

‘I hate these red-eyes, don’t you?’ he says, and she laughs politely. It’s impossible to miss how the two of them take each other in with one swift, evaluative glance. Both seem pleased with what they see. ‘I’m Kyle, by the way.’

‘Serena,’ she says.

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