Page 60 of Enemies to Lobsters
I choke on my broth. “That’s a low blow.”
She snickers. “Are you saying you’ll get married again after this thing with Ike is over? You’ll give your grandma a chance to plan a wedding?”
I imagine the possibility for a fraction of a second until my brain rejects the mental image. Some other guy? And where would we live? New York, I guess. I try to picture some New Yorker making a pot of soup and shake my head. “Obviously not.”
“So let your grandma have her fun. Enjoy it.” She elbows me. “You’re acting kind of spoiled, you know.”
“I am not.” I sip my broth.
“Yeah, you are.”
“Listen,” I lean forward, setting my empty bowl on the coffee table. I realize she’s right, but I don’t like it. My grandparents have taken good care of me. The new hardwood flooring and freshly-painted walls around me are evidence of that. “You’re only allowed to call me out on my crap when it suits me.”
She laughs.
“You’re right.” I sigh. “I can muscle through a reception. Let my grandmother live her dream.” I sigh again. My pride is batting against the box I’ve stuffed it into.
“You’re not mad at Ike anymore?”
“Who said I was mad at Ike?”This town.
She shrugs. “Marlow, and also Hal. I guess he was having lunch at the counter when it all went down. Word was, you were over here digging a shallow grave behind the boat shack.” She titters. “Marlow said the diner was packed. No doubt word is out.”
“Great.” Good to know that I’ve made no progress with the people of this town.
Then Marlow pushes through the door, dumping her purse on the floor. “I’m here for damage control.” She’s still dressed for work, with her hair in a messy ponytail. She drops onto the cushion on my other side in a French fry scent cloud, kicking her feet onto the coffee table. “But I only have a little bit of time before Brady’s game, so let’s do this.”
“Stevie already talked me into the reception.” I roll my eyes. “You hiked over here for nothing.”
“I wasn’t thinking about the reception.” Marlow arches an eyebrow, tilting her head to the side. “You’re not mad at Ike?”
“Ugh. No. I never was. This is trademark York behavior. Ike wouldn’t have planned something like this. It’s not him. I doubt he’s looking forward to it either.” I grin, picturing the event. “I mean, can you see Ike wearing a tuxedo in a tent full of retired executives who want to talk about their real estate holdings?” I snort. He’s going to hate that. Then I feel my friends' eyes on me. “What?”
They don’t say anything. Instead, they sit on either side of me, looking at me with poorly-concealed glee. Marlow is all but bouncing on her cushion.
“What?” I ask again.
Stevie beams. “Nothing.”
“Stevie Saoirse Sullivan,” I warn.
Marlow titters. “Uh-oh. She’s pulling out the big guns, Saoirse."
I scowl at Stevie. “You know what? I’m remembering why I moved to New York.” I try to push myself off the couch, but both of my friends drag me back.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Stevie says with a bright smile. “You’re just somarried. YougetIke. I’ve been watching you two. We all have. You’re fighting and fighting against this, but nothing makes me happier than two of my best friends—who are so perfect for each other, by the way—being so obviously blissfully wed.” The accusation spills out of her like she’s been holding it in for a while.
Her words are like seeing myself on one of those hostile Target check-out cameras. My life is playing in 4K—the nights watching baseball with Ike, laughing at his left-field jokes, and the feel of his hands in my hair. And his kisses. In 4K, IkeWentworth kisses Diana York like the world could end at any moment, and it’s his last chance. And Diana is happy. She is married. She is happily freaking married. She got herjoie de vivreback, but a bearded man came with it.
No. No, no no. I shake my head to clear my thoughts. I’m happy because I’ve spent a few months in the one place where I’ve always felt connected and loved—the lighthouse—and it’s finally being renovated. That’s all. Ike is fun, but even he wants this marriage to be temporary. If this marriage was genuine, the high stakes and reality of it would pop the bubble. I know I’m right about that.
“She’s glitching.” Stevie says soberly. “We need to unplug her and plug her back in.”
She’s so close to being right. “That’s exactly it, though. That’s what happened when I moved onto this island. I unplugged. Now I’m plugging back in, and I’m happier.” I frown. “That’s all. It’s not the fake marriage. Don’t read into it.”
Marlow swipes open her phone with a heavy sigh. “Let me just…” she trails off as she clicks around.
“What?” I ask. Does she have photographic evidence or something?
