Page 40 of That Birthday in Barbados
“Hey! No fair!” she calls out. “And why aren’t you hung over?”
“Who says I’m not?”
“You don’t look like it,” she says, puffing between words.
I slow my pace, let her catch up. “There are some incredible houses along here.”
“Are you changing the subject?”
“Just stating the obvious.”
“Okay. Here’s another obvious for you. I don’t think I’m going to make it up this hill, beautiful houses or not.”
I reach out, grab her hand and forge ahead. “Come on. No quitting now. You’ve still got that English buffet to earn.”
“Oh. Don’t mention food, please.”
“Missed you in spin.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“I have a feeling I’m going to throw up before we’re done here. I don’t think the class would have appreciated that.”
“You may have a point there.”
The road flattens for a short stretch. “Oh, thank goodness,” she says, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.
“The view at the top will be worth it. I promise.”
“Can we walk?”
“No. You’ll thank me once you’ve reached your goal.”
“Who says I had a goal?”
I laugh, picking up the pace again. “Come on. No talking until we get to the top. Focus on your breath.”
“If I’d known you were wearing your trainer hat, I wouldn’t have invited you.”
“I’m not even going to charge you.”
“Hah!” The laugh sputters out of her, and suddenly, she’s bolting past me, headed up the next hill.
“Hey, wait for me!”
She laughs, but runs on as if I’m chasing her. I let her keep the lead because it seems like good motivation for her.
And it isn’t until we reach the top where a view of the ocean sails out before us that she does exactly as she had predicted: drops to her knees and promptly throws up.
*
SHE IS MORTIFIED.
I’m pretty sure she’d like to make a rope of my sympathetic reassurances and hang me with it. A few minutes pass while she takes in air and regains her composure.
“Am I destined to humiliate myself in front of you?” she finally asks.
