Page 72 of Pick-Up
“Very nice,” I say.
Too nice, I think.
There are twinkle lights and sea breezes. The lingering smell of sunscreen. Island flora abounds. We are literally eating under a palm frond. Once I sit down, I kick my shoes off and bury my toes in the now cool sand. I’m just waiting for a cartoon iguana to pop its head out and serenade us.
It is, in a word,romantic.
Luckily, if anyone knows how to destroy a mood, it’s me.
“They sent a pitcher of rum punch,” Ethan says, as he sits down. “Do you want some?”
“Yes,” I say. “No,” I say. “Yes,” I say again.
It seems like a bad idea. So bad, it’s good.
“You’re going to have to translate that response.”
“Yes. Thank you. I would love some rum punch.”
As he pours the red stuff into my glass, ice clinking cheerfully against the sides, I take the metal lid off my room service dish. Theburger is enormous, thank God, but it comes with a salad.Salad?I wilt like day-old lettuce. Ethan reads me instantly.
“I got us a side of fries to share too.” He uncovers another metal dish at center to reveal enough french fries for an army—or just me.Voilà!
My hero.
I figure he’ll be eating something heart-healthy like wild-caught salmon and ready myself for a lecture on the environmental impact of greenhouse emissions from beef, not to mention the clogging of essential arteries, but he has actually ordered the same thing.
“The way you’re looking at that burger kind of scares me,” Ethan says. “But also brings me joy.”
“Pleasure and pain. Two sides of the same coin.”
I take a large sip of my rum punch. It is not weak.
“Do you mind if I…?” I say, crouched at the starting line ready to dig in.
“Not at all.”
And we’re off! The next few minutes are depraved and borderline indecent. I eat the fuck out of that burger.
When I come up for air, Ethan is watching me, smirking. “Wow.”
“What?”
“Nothing. I’m just impressed, that’s all.”
“Don’t shame me!”
“I wouldn’t dare! I just know the real deal when I see it.”
“Oh, please,” I scoff, waving his comment away with my hand. “You haven’t even seen me attack the french fries yet.”
“I look forward to it.”
“As do I.”
I drink some more rum punch. And some more. This stuff is dangerous. It’s sweet but strong. Like me, I think, and crack myself up. This is the first sign that I am in trouble.
“How was your daughter?” I ask, semi-soberly.
