“Well, what do you propose, then? Should I go sleep in the minivan?”
For a second—a split second—I consider saying yes.
Instead, I say, “We can share the bed. Just…stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine.”
“Okay,” says Luke. “That works.”
And so I get into one side of the bed, and he gets into the other. I’m so close to the edge of the mattress that if I roll in my sleep, I’ll fall off. But the mere thought of moving any closer to Luke makes my stomach twist, so I stay on the edge, say a quick silent prayer that I will stay absolutely still during the night, and shut my eyes.
* * *
I’m totally disoriented when I wake up the next morning. I’m not even aware that I’m in Hawaii. All I’m aware of is the fact that I’m in a bed, and that my leg is touching someone else’s.
It’s been a long, long time since I’ve woken up next to anyone in bed. And in my disorientated state, all I can think about is how nice it is to have a little physical contact. You miss it, you know? So I lay there like that for several minutes, enjoying the skin-on-skin sensation, until it finally occurs to me who’s leg is touching mine.
I jerk my leg away and jolt up in bed. Thankfully, beside me, Luke is still sound asleep. As quietly but as quickly as I can, I get out of bed, grab some fresh clothes from my suitcase, and leave the bedroom to go take a shower.
When I get back to the bedroom, Luke is awake, still in bed but scrolling through his phone. He sets it down for a minute and yawns and says, “God, that was so much better than sleeping on the floor.”
I make a sound in my throat and busy myself with stuffing yesterday’s clothes in the plastic bag that I brought for dirty clothes.
“You sleep okay?” he asks.
“Yep,” I say. I grab my phone. “I’m going downstairs.”
Luke yawns. “All right,” he says. “See you down there.”
There’s no smorgasbord of breakfast waiting today, just cereal and milk and fruit. While we eat, Catherine presents several options for activities that day. We take a vote and settle on the beach. It’s not until the vote is over that it occurs to me that going to the beach means seeing Luke’s half-naked body again—a thought that once I have, I inexplicably can’t get out of my head.
Luckily, though, when we do get to the beach, I manage to avoid looking directly at Luke, thanks to the hubbub of all of us getting settled in. And soon he’s gone, anyway, heading out into the ocean for a swim. Meanwhile, Garrett goes off to rent a surf board, and Kenneth and Dad decide to check out some museum right off the beach. Both Catherine and Mom lay out on their beach towels and bury their noses in books. They’ve both got the same paperback, some brightly-covered beach read, as if they’re in a book club for two.
As for me, I peel off my clothes, smear sunscreen on my onion-white skin, and lay back on my beach towel.
Without a book to keep me occupied and no one to talk to, I just soak up the sun. After a while, though, Luke comes back from swimming and sits down on the beach towel next to me, his skin still gleaming wet from the ocean. Involuntarily, I eye his taut stomach.
Why do his abs have to look like that? Why do they have to be so defined?
Luke catches me looking at him. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say, averting my eyes. “How’s the water?”
“It’s unbelievable. You should go in.”
“Maybe later.”
“Well, let me know when you want to,” says Luke as he lays back, resting his hands behind his head. “I’ll go with you.”
“Right,” I say, glancing at his stomach one more time before forcing myself to stop. “Sure.”
Later in the afternoon, as I’m pushing away those annoying thoughts of Luke’s muscles again, Catherine informs us that we have reservations at a luau. At the announcement, Mom’s eyes immediately brighten with excitement.
“Oh, Catherine,” says Mom. “You thought of everything, didn’t you?”
Catherine smiles, obviously pleased that she’s done so well. The two of them hug.
“I just wanted this vacation to be special,” says Catherine. “For everyone, I mean. But especially for you and Dad.”
Shoot. I still need to get something for Mom and Dad’s anniversary. Before I can forget again, I excuse myself, saying that I need to go find a bathroom.
“Public restrooms are that way,” says Catherine, pointing up the beach.
“Yep,” I say. I grab my wallet and break away from the group.
In the nearest gift shop, I search for something that will make a good anniversary gift. It’s hard to find something, though. Everything feels so touristy. So run-of-the-mill.
Then I see it in the display case at the counter. It’s so beautiful, it’s almost blinding.
“Hi,” I say to the girl working at the shop. “How much is that clock?”
She unlocks the case from her side, crouches down, and checks. She glances up at me. “Five hundred.”
Damn it. Does everything cost five hundred dollars around here? I really can’t afford something so expensive. But I don’t see any other good options. And I’m pretty sure that Mom and Dad would love it. I can already imagine them looking at it every day—and thinking of me as they do, and—
“Ma’am?” asks the girl.
I bristle at her calling me ma’am. But whatever.
“I’ll take it,” I say.
* * *
During the luau, we watch, entranced, as the sun goes down behind a decorated stage, as the hula dancers swirl and shake their hips, as the firelit torches lick at the night sky. The star of the night, the roasted pig, is so golden bronze that it doesn’t even look real. In addition to the pig, there’s also an insanely delicious buffet. And, of course, Mai Tais aplenty.
Between the entertainment, the food, and the warm, gentle breeze periodically passing through, everything feels like it’s exactly how it’s supposed to be. When I look across the table at Luke, it even feels like he’s actually part of the family.
Luke catches me looking at him. He gives me a smile and mouths, What?
I subtly shake my head and lower my eyes to my plate. I stick the tines of my fork through a wedge of grilled pineapple and bring it to my mouth. Pineapple. Focus on the pineapple. Not Luke, not his stupid beach body. Focus on the pineapple.
A few seats down, Mom speaks up. “So, Luke. Tell us about your family. What do your parents do?”
“My mom is a bookkeeper,” Luke says. “My dad teaches high school chemistry.”
“How nice,” Mom says. “And do you have any siblings?”
Luke shakes his head. “Nope,” he says. “I’m an only child.”
“I have a theory that only children turn out to be either creative geniuses or complete weirdos,” says Kenneth.
Catherine knocks him in the arm. “Kenneth,” she says.
“What?” says Kenneth. “I’m not calling Luke a weirdo. In fact, quite the opposite. I’m suggesting that he’s a creative genius.”
Luke laughs. “I don’t know about that. But thanks, Kenneth. By the way, I hear that congratulations are in order. Emma told me that you two are expecting.”
Catherine’s face lights up. “We are,” she says. “We’re so thrilled.”
“That’s exciting.”
“Thank you,” says Catherine. “I keep telling Kenneth that we’ll have to be careful not to spoil our little bean. But it’s going to be awfully difficult not to. Do you want kids, Luke?”
My shoulders stiffen. I’m about to tell Luke that he doesn’t have to answer Catherine’s nosy question, but a waiter leans in the way to refill our water glasses.
“Sure,” says Luke. “I mean, someday.”
“Emma’s never been the maternal sort,” says Mom. “I think she even destroyed a few of her childhood dolls. Do you remember that, Emma?”
I shake my head. I bring my water glass—my now very full water glass—to my mouth. Some splashes, of cours
e, onto my lap.
“You know, Luke,” says Dad. “I’ve been thinking about this startup of yours.”
Relief floods through me. I silently thank Dad for the change of subject.
But then Dad says, “It sounds like something that could be of use to us at the restaurant.”
Great. Of course something like this would happen. Why did Luke have to pick what he did?
“Oh, that’s, uh—” Luke smiles, but I can see that he’s caught off guard, too. “Well, first of all, thank you.”
“Could you tell me a little more about the software?” asks Dad.
I have to break in. “I don’t think Luke wants to talk about work while he’s on vacation, Dad.”
“Jeez, Emma,” says Catherine, scoffing. “Let them talk if they want to.”
There’s an awkward moment of silence. Then Dad says, “No, Emma’s right. We’re on vacation. Luke, we’ll talk another time?”
“Sure,” says Luke. “Sounds good.”
After the bill comes, Mom suggests that we take a walk on the beach. We leave the luau and start to meander down the moonlit sand as a group. Slowly, though, we spread out, walking at slightly different paces as we continue on. Luke and I are the slowest ones, which is strategic on my part: as much as I can, I want to avoid being the object of scrutiny of the rest of the group.
Neither Luke nor I feel the need to talk as we walk. Not at first. We just walk, feeling the sand under our feet, watching the night surfers out in the distance. Behind us, growing softer ever so gradually as we walk away, the sound of the live music from the luau drifts.
It’s Luke who breaks the silence. Glancing over at me, he says, “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I say.
“What’s up with you and your sister?”
I look away from him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean all the tension. What’s going on with you two?”
“It’s always this way. We’ve never gotten along.”
“Even when you were kids?”
“Yes. Even when we were kids. Like I said, it’s always been that way.”
“Have you ever said anything to her about it?” asks Luke.
“It wouldn’t help.”
“Maybe it would, though.”
I sigh. “Why do you care so much?”
“I care because I care about you. And I thought it might help to talk about it.”
“Well, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay,” he says. “That’s fine.”
We walk for a while further in silence. By now, we’ve dropped back quite a bit from the group. We’re practically on our own.
I glance over at Luke. I feel bad now for snapping him.
“Hey,” I say. “Thanks. It’s thoughtful of you to ask.”
He nods. “I know it’s none of my business. I was just concerned about you. That’s all.”
I smirk. “Since when did you get so caring?”
“What do you mean? You’re my friend. Of course I care about you.”
I’m sure it’s just the words, but hearing him say that he cares about me makes me feel all mushy inside. I mean, you know that your friends care about you, but to hear them actually say it? It feels nice.
“Well, thanks,” I say.
“If you ever do want to talk, I’m here.”
“Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”
I’m ready to move on to another subject. But my mind refuses to. Now I can’t not think about how strained my relationship is with my sister. And how long it’s been that way. And how sweet of a friend Luke is being. And then all at once, those feelings snowball and the tears come rushing up into my eyes. Suddenly, I’m sobbing like an idiot.
“Emma?” Luke says. “Hey, are you okay?”
He wraps his arms around me and I nod against his chest. Oh, God. What is wrong with me? Why do I have to embarrass myself like this?
Luke rubs my back. Then he pulls away a little. He unwraps his arms from me and lifts my chin.
“You okay?” he asks again. His face is serious and concerned.
I nod. “Yep. I just—I had a moment. That’s all.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Thanks. For…comforting me.”
“Of course.”
“Are you regretting coming on the trip yet?” I say, smiling.
“Not at all,” Luke says.
He looks like he wants to say something else, but stops.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” says Luke.
I’m suddenly aware of how very, very close we are standing to each other.
“No, seriously. What, Luke?” I ask. “Come on. I just broke down in front of you. The least you can do is tell me what’s on your mind.”
He shakes his head. I give him a forceful look.
“Tell me,” I say, punching him lightly in the arm.
And that’s when Luke gives me this look, this look that in a split second changes everything. And then he leans down, moves in closer, and kisses me on the lips.
The first kiss he gives me doesn’t last too long. It’s gentle, tentative, experimental. But when he kisses me again, our lips part; our tongues entwine. I close my eyes and sink into him. My mind is going a hundred million miles an hour. But I try to play it cool. I try to act like of course this was going to happen.
It’s the hooting that makes us stop kissing. The hooting from my family, that is. Mortified, I pull back from Luke and wipe the saliva from my mouth. We both turn our heads to see the entirety of my family watching us.
“Finally,” says Catherine. “I was beginning to wonder if you guys were really together.”
Luke laughs nervously. I’m just glad that it’s night and nobody can see how bright red my face is.
“How long have you guys been standing there?” I squeak out.
“Not long,” says Mom.
“Too long, if you ask me,” says Garrett.
“Oh, shut up,” I say, gently.
Together, the seven of us head back down the beach. To my relief, nobody mentions the kiss again. We talk about how fantastic the luau was, how gorgeous the moon is tonight.
But my mind is elsewhere. It’s still spinning. It’s out of control.
Luke kissed me. Luke kissed me.
It’s going to be an interesting night.
14
Of course, though, because this is the way my life goes, after we do get back to the house and say good night to everyone, Luke and I go into our bedroom and act like nothing happened. We get ready for bed like we’ve done the last two nights, with me going out to use the bathroom first and then him taking his turn. And like before, I’m already in bed when he gets back. The kiss on the beach is still spinning in my mind, but as Luke silently gets into bed and stays way over on his side of the mattress, it seems as if that’s all it’s ever going to be.
And as far as I’m concerned, if he’s not going to bring it up, neither am I. Why would I risk making any more of a fool of myself?
“Good night,” I say.
“Night,” Luke says. The word comes out of his mouth clipped. Flat. Well…okay. If that’s how it’s going to be, that’s how it’s going to be.
I turn onto my side, facing away from him, shut my eyes, and wait for sleep to come. I’m not tired, though. Not at all.
Not sure what else to do, I try the old trick of counting imaginary sheep. But they just stare at me, like, Seriously? Don’t expect us to fix this, girl.
On the other side of the bed, Luke shifts under the sheets. And then shifts again. And again. I lay there, completely still and silent, until I can’t take it any longer.
“Can you stop tossing and turning?” I say.
He sighs. After a few beats, he says, “Do you want me to sleep on the floor?”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say. “Just stop moving around so much.”
“I’m trying to get comfortable.”
There’s a
few minutes of tense silence between us. Finally, I roll over onto my other side to face him. He’s on his back, head pressed into his pillow.
“Why did you kiss me?” I ask.
He doesn’t look at me. He shrugs. “It seemed like the right thing to do.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Well, it’s my answer.”
“Are you kidding me, Luke?” I say. “What does that even mean, it was the right thing to do?”
The words come out a lot angrier than I expect them to. I’m not angry that he kissed me, though. It’s more than I’m flabbergasted at how nonplussed he’s being about it. How can this not be a big deal to him, too?
Luke grunts out a sigh. “I only did it because your family was around,” he says. “I was just trying to keep this whole thing convincing.”
“But they weren’t around when you did it.”
“They showed up eventually.”
I squint at him. “You didn’t know they’d come back, though.”
I can see that this argument is going nowhere. But I can’t let it go. Why is he being so stubborn about this?
“So you didn’t mean it, then?” I ask. “It was all for show?”
“Exactly,” he says.
I don’t believe him. He’s avoiding looking at me. And he’s got this look on his face that I can’t figure out. It’s not a look I’ve ever seen on him before. He doesn’t…he doesn’t like me, does he? Luke doesn’t have a freakin’ crush on me, does he?
I think back to that night in his apartment, when he had a concussion. I think about how weird he started acting after I told him that I didn’t like him.
“Kiss me again,” I say.
His eyes finally drift over to meet mine. “What?”
“Do it again,” I say. “I want you to kiss me again.”
“Why?” he says.
“I need to see if I’m right,” I say.
“Right about what?” he says. Annoyance has crept up into his voice. And, unless I’m totally crazy and imagining it, which I admit is a possibility, he seems a little flustered.
“I have a theory,” I say. I don’t want to come right out and say that I suspect he likes me, because I’m sure that will only make him defensive. And, to be honest, I’m not even sure how him kissing me again will prove anything. But it seems like the only option for us right now. It seems entirely necessary. It’s the only way I’m going to figure out what’s really going on here.
Emma and Luke Are Totally Together Page 10