Page 21 of The Vacation Mix-Up
“That’s me.”
As I’m about to say,“Table for one, please,”she collects a leather-bound menu and cradles it to her chest. “You’re the last to arrive. Please follow me.”
Last?
I look at my watch; I’m not even late. I’m never late. And if I’mlastto arrive, who’s first, second, third, and….
Wait! Does she mean I’m the last diner for the session?Oh goodness, how embarrassing.
“I’m sorry I’m last,” I say, scurrying behind her and past waiters and waitresses rushing about, carrying trays the size of hula hoops stacked with dishes covered in domes.
We stop and move aside, allowing one of them to pass, his head barely visible above the tower of food he’s so expertly balancing.
She continues walking, so I follow, the clang and clatter of cutlery and crockery playing a culinary melody. Chandeliers sparkle two floors above, while large gold pillars etched with aquatic mythological figures gleam on either side of the room. It’s rather grand, chaotic… and rocky.
Skipping a few steps to avoid landing in a gentleman’s lap, I have no choice but to use the back of his chair to balance myself.
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
He chuckles. “Someone hasn’t found her sea legs yet.”
I pull aneekface. “I’m not sure I own a pair.”
“First time cruising?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“Just give it a day or two. You’ll find them in no time.”
“I hope you’re right.” I let go of his chair and summon the sheer will to walk with at least a little bit of poise.
No doubt resembling a penguin, I continue to totter, splaying my hands out at my hips while silently cussing myself out for wearing heels.
Five-inch stilettos on a floating structure…. Are you crazy, Riley?
“Here you go, Ms. Wilson,” the hostess announces as she pulls out a chair at a large circular table, numerous strangers seated around it.
I stumble again before bracing myself on another poor gentleman’s chair. “I think there’s been a mista?—”
Other Riley stands and takes the hostess’s place.
“Oh! I didn’t see you. Th-Thank you,” I stutter, offering everyone a meek wave.
“Can we order now?” a little girl asks.
I recognize her from the dock, sans herI Love to Cruisetee.
Her mother pats her leg. “Yes, Avery.”
“About time. I’m starved,” her brother grouches, his face buried in his iPhone.
I lower into my seat, and Riley pushes me in before taking his seat next to mine.
“Do you know these people?” I whisper.
“No,” he whispers back.
“So why are we sitting with them?”
