“Us, you and Harley?”
Melissa pauses, biting on her lower lip. She’d told Max to wait in the car, knowing if they showed up together Dove would immediately say no. “Well, yes, me and Harley and … others.” She looks away.
Dove ducks to meet Melissa’s gaze. “Wait. Hold on. If Harley’s in charge of the party, is she here with you?” Melissa shakes her head. “So who is the we with you?”
Melissa’s mouth forms a perfect O. “Before you get angry, just listen …”
“You’re with Max? He’s here?” Dove tries to remain unaffected by this guess. She puts her hands on her hips. “No way am I willingly going out with him.” Gone are the days of being casual friends with him, way gone are the days of flirting with him, and a bit too close are the days of nearly ruining everything with William for him.
Melissa looks pissed off. “It’s my birthday and he’s been nice enough to let me stay with him and he’s driving to the party. What’s the crime in that?”
Dove shouts, “You’re staying with him? What next, you’re going to announce your engagement?” A flush overtakes her pale cheeks. Where is this coming from? Dove wonders. Why get so upset over nothing? Unless it’s something.
Melissa crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s not like that.”
“Well, how is it, then?”
Melissa starts to crack up, the laughter welling up inside her until it spills out of her mouth, causing her eyes to water. “You …”
“What?”
“Don’t you even see it?” She makes Dove pivot so she can see her reflection in the tiny square mirror, its edges crackled with rust.
“See what?”
“Every time Max’s name gets mentioned you freak out.”
“So?” Dove notes the rise in color in her face, the way her heart slams into her chest.
“So … it’s just something I’ve noticed. You have an inability to be rational around him. Around his name and around his being.” Melissa looks amused.
“Oh, shut up,” Dove says jokingly. She takes a breath, reeling in any stray emotions. “I want to celebrate your birthday, but not with him. Sometimes a response is all it is, nothing more.”
“Fine. Don’t come out with us, but don’t be pissed about me staying at the Sugar Hut, either. It beats the hell out of this place.” Melissa gestures to the rest of the crew quarters, the small berths, the splintering floor, the dank smell.
Dove thinks about William going out. About Melissa going out. About Harley being out and about Max heading out into the island night. And then about staying in. “It’s not a choice,” she says. “I have to stay in.”
“To avoid dealing with Max?” Melissa raises her eyebrows suggestively.
“To get some sleep for tomorrow,” Dove says. “But you have fun. Have a happy birthday! And fill me in on anything that I miss!”
16
AS THEY DRIVE TO the birthday bash, Melissa tries to comfort Max, whose face is a vision of disappointment.
“She’s not coming, but don’t worry.”
Max grips the steering wheel with both hands. “Don’t tell me not to worry unless you think I still have a shot in hell with Dove.”
“I think you do. Have a shot in hell, I mean. Not a big shot, but a small one.”
Max manages a wry grin. “A tiny ray of hope?”
“Something like that,” Melissa says. “And by the way, thanks for driving. And for letting me crash at your place … and for being …”
“A friend?” Max nudges her.
“Yeah.” Instinctively she puts her fingers to her nose, checking to see if they still smell of onions from her hours of chopping and slicing before. She turns to Max. “Is it a huge turnoff if a girl smells like food?”
“Depends on the kind, doesn’t it?” Max says, eyeing the road ahead. In the darkening air, the palm trees rustle and sway as the car veers left and then turns onto a gritty road.
“The kind of food or the kind of girl?” Melissa queries, thinking about Orange Shorts and the potential for a birthday wish come true.
“Both,” Max says and swerves toward the beach to park the car.
As the car settles to a stop, Melissa’s mouth drops open. In front of them is a huge open-air rotunda, looking like a photograph she’d seen of a Victorian seaside pier. “It’s so beautiful,” she gushes.
“Yeah—it’s historic and you can rent it …” Max explains as they walk to the structure.
Billowing out from the posts of the rotunda is what seems like thousands of Mylar balloons. Strung up all across the inside are minuscule white lights that give the large circular space an air of magic. Off to the side, a steel drum band plays, sending music washing over everything.
“Harley! You goddess!” Melissa runs over and hugs her.
Harley smiles. “So you don’t hate it?” She laughs. “I was worried it was too much.” Melissa shakes her head, her eyes wide. “But then I thought, heck—you deserve it. Everyone deserves to be happy, right?”
Melissa nods, hugs her again, and says, “You are a transformed woman, Harley.” Who’d have thought she’d go from bitter and ultra-cool to generous and giddy?
Harley waves to Max, who busies himself by the bar, and turns back to Melissa. “Okay—so … there is one thing, though.”
Melissa tilts her head. “Oh, no. Why do I feel like you’re about to …” Melissa looks around at the people filtering in. Coming up the dock are a group of girls, all in dresses. She looks more closely. All in green dresses. Over by the steel band, a couple of guys are bouncing to the beat—one in a green shirt, the other in yellow.
“Hey!” shout another group of people from one of the doorways. They, too, are in green, yellow, and—at the back—two in red.
“Something’s weird,” Melissa says. “You’re in red.”
“I love red,” Harley grins, touching her bright red bias-cut dress. “But yeah, you’re catching on quicker than I thought.”
“The theme is color? Green?” Harley shakes her head. “Okay … green and yellow?”
“What’s green, red, and yellow?” Harley demands. “Come on.”
Melissa shrugs. “I have no clue.”
Harley grabs a microphone from behind the bar and switches it on as the crowd thickens. “Welcome, everyone! And thanks for coming! I’d like to introduce the guest of honor—Melissa Forsythe. Please feel free to wish her a happy birthday and remember—this is a stoplight party, so get to it!” She puts the microphone down as people cheer and mingle, heading to the bar for drinks and to dance by the band.
“Get it?” Harley asks, grabbing Melissa and spinning her around. “You’ve got your majority in green—they’re single. Then your yellow folks, and they’re the ones who are dating but not serious, so it’s okay to approach, and then you’ve got the dreaded red. Red is no go.”
“As in stop.”
“As in, yeah.” Harley points. “Like him. But that’s why I did it—you know, took the legwork out of it for you.”
Melissa sighs and laughs at the same time. “You don’t think I’m capable of discerning for myself if someone’s available? Am I that desperate?”
“No, not like that. I just wanted to save you time.” Harley motions for a few servers to make their way into the crowd, stopping first to give Melissa a taste of the treats.
She nibbles on a shish kebab skewer crammed with roasted peppers in yellow, green, and red, and spicy shrimp. “You really know how to throw a party. Thanks.”
“No problem,” Harley says, her eyes distracted. “But I think I have to go!”
“You’re leaving?” Melissa grabs her arm.
“No—just vacating temporarily.” She thumbs into the crowd. “Bug’s here and he’s wearing red—for me.” She bites her lower lip and smiles, showing her bright white teeth. “Enjoy.”
Melissa ogles the crowd of party goers that she doesn’t know, the red-shirt-wearing boys and yellow-skirted girls, the multitudes of people in gre
en holding tropical drinks in plastic cups of the same colors. With her own dress rustling against her legs in the ocean breeze, she looks into the crowd, letting her eyes sweep the faces of dancers and minglers until she sees him. At the back of the room, his body blocked by a swarm of people heading for the tables of food, is Orange Shorts.
Only, presumably this time he won’t be wearing orange. A stoplight party. And I should be in green, no doubt, Melissa thinks as she accepts a fizzy drink from a tray. Even though I feel yellow.
Intent on seeing what color he’s wearing, she keeps an eye on the crowd where Orange Shorts was, hoping for a glimpse of green. Pine, leaf, kelly, chartreuse, anything will do, Melissa thinks. Just be green.
At that moment, the crowd parts and Orange Shorts emerges from it. Melissa can’t turn away now that he’s obviously caught her looking, so she gives him a smile. He smiles back at her and her heart slides down into her toes. Red. He’s wearing red. Couldn’t it have at least been yellow?
Max saves her from wilting completely. “So, that’s the guy who’s got you swooning?”
“I’m not swooning,” Melissa informs him as they dance. She tries not to spill her drink while music echoes all around her and fellow partygoers bump into her.
“Don’t rush over to him,” Max informs her.
“Oh, this from the king of successful romance.”
“Touché. No, just give him a few minutes to ogle you.”
“Why bother? He’s in red.”
Max shrugs. “I’m in white. Maybe he missed the memo. Maybe he’s a true nonconformist and is very single but wearing red to prove a point.”
“And what point would that be?”
Max shakes his head. “I have no clue.”
Melissa concedes. “Well, when you put it that way … maybe I will go over. In a minute.” She pauses, noticing something else. “And that should give you an opportunity to make your way to the bar.”
“I have a drink,” Max says. “Don’t need another.”
Melissa insists. “Yes. You do.” She shoves him away from the dancing and toward the long bar.
“No, I—” Max stops short of disagreeing further when he sees Dove leaning on the bar, standing on tiptoe so she can reach a plastic umbrella.
“I guess she decided to come after all,” Melissa says.
Max nods, his voice temporarily suspended from action. “Guess so.”
“Hey, you!” Orange Shorts gives Melissa a hug. “Rumor has it you’re a year older.”
“I can confirm that rumor,” Melissa says, trying to play fun and casual while unable to take her eyes off his shirt. Red. Red. Red.
“You wanna dance?” He looks into her eyes, a small smile playing at his lips.
Do I want to dance? Forever. But if I do, then I’ll be drawn in even more than I already am. She thinks back to the water at the hot springs, to being with him and wanting more. “I can’t,” she says, her protection instincts rising up. “Not right now.”
Orange Shorts swallows, nods, and sticks his hands in his pockets. “Maybe later?”
“Maybe,” Melissa says, looking over his shoulder to see who his counterpart is—the lucky person who gets to dance with him on a regular basis.
Tucked into a small inlet a ways off the pier, Harley leans in for one more kiss with Bug.
“Nice-color dress, by the way,” he says into her ear, pulling her close.
“I thought you’d approve.” Harley plucks at Bug’s shirt. “Not that you’re Mr. Crimson yourself.”
Bug wears a bright yellow long-sleeved T-shirt. He pulls back to look at Harley sheepishly. “I know. I know. I wanted to wear red. Of course …” He kisses her again.
“But?”
“But I’m also not the King of Laundry, so …”
“So …” Harley laughs and watches Bug’s face for signs of dishonesty. Why would he lie, though? He’s with me. I’m with him. No color can disprove that.
“So yellow was the next best thing. You told me the theme, and I wanted to respect it.”
“Well,” Harley says, touching her necklace from him, “I respect that you respect me.”
Bug wraps his arms around her and they hug in the cooling air. “I could stay like this all night.”
Currents of pleasure float over Harley. She nods. “I could, too, but … I should get in and check on things. The cake’s a giant stoplight. I’m not sure where to put it.”
Bug nods. “But I’ll meet you later?”
“Of course,” Harley says. “I’ll wait for you at the usual time.” She wishes, for once, that he’d invite her to his place, so she could see where he works and sleeps. But maybe it’s better this way. Why mess with a good thing? She looks at his face and grins. And this is definitely a good thing.
As Max approaches Dove inside, where the festivities are, Melissa heads outside the rotunda to the pier. The wind is heavy, gusting in and lifting the silvery balloons into the night, though they stay tied to the posts and railing. Melissa feels disappointment ripple through her. Orange Shorts isn’t orange, he’s red. Dove has her choice of two guys, Harley’s got Bug, and I’m … I’m the same as usual. Pining away and not getting what I want. She brushes a tear away, hating the self-pity. Is it so much to ask for one simple birthday wish?
She continues to lean on the railing, looking at the water below. My hands smell like onions and it doesn’t even matter—no one’s going to get close enough to get a whiff of them.
“You okay?” Dove asks her.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Melissa spins to look at Dove, who is dressed in white and looks lovely with the lights glowing behind her.
“You don’t sound fine.”
Melissa tugs at her hair. “I am. I’m okay. It’s just …” I don’t even want to admit it. Saying your disappointment out loud only makes it more real. Melissa turns to look over her shoulder and does a quick scan of the rotunda. “I’m glad you ended up coming out.
“Way to switch subjects, but thanks. I took a cab. It just didn’t feel right not being here with you.”
“But I thought you had to be up really early to impress the owner?”
Dove nods. “But at least I can give you a birthday hug.”
“Were you hoping to see William?” Melissa feels a little tug asking Dove, but she figures it can’t hurt.
Dove looks out at the water, her skin clear and bathed in the moonlight. “Not really. He said he was going out—but probably to the Bait and Tackle—some crappy dive over on the other side of the island.”
“Did you look for him?” Melissa turns again, this time spotting Orange Shorts dancing with a girl in a red strappy dress. So there’s his girlfriend, the reason for the red clothing. Melissa bites her lip.
“Sort of,” Dove says. “But I kind of got sideswiped.”
“Meaning?” Far off, Melissa can see Harley walking up the beach, her telltale hair and colt-long legs giving her away. Where has she been? Melissa wonders. No doubt getting a birthday kiss even though it’s not her day.
“Meaning—nothing, I guess. I saw Max—he’s … he looks …”
Melissa raises her eyebrows at Dove. “See? You’re losing your ability to speak—all rational thought going out of your—”
“No. Not true. So he looks great. So he’s smart and—”
“What’d you guys talk about?” Melissa asks, wondering if Max put into action a grand plan of getting Dove to fall for him once and for all.
“Books.” Dove looks serene as she goes on. “That book I was reading on the plane? He’s read it. Studied it. We just talked about that.”
“About love?” Melissa pokes Dove in the ribs.
“About the academic idea of love,” Dove corrects.
“Well, it sounds like quite a class discussion.” Melissa stands up and tucks her hair behind her ears, smoothing out her dress and getting ready to head into the rotunda and take advantage of not being the one who has to work tonight. Why should I skip the food, wine, and c
ake just because I’m lovelorn? Having a bad case of unrequited crushing isn’t the end of the world. She takes a few steps away. “Do you ever regret not being with him—Max, I mean?”
Dove licks her lips and ruffles her hair. “Maybe?” She thinks about lying in the cramped bed with William. “No?” She thinks about William not meeting her at the airport, about his lack of interest in her academic dreams, his wanting to go out all the time instead of staying in with her. “Yes?” She shakes her head. Then she touches her necklace. “No. No, I don’t. William’s perfect for me.”
Melissa nods. “Good. Because regret sucks.” She thinks about how much easier it would be if she hadn’t bumped into Orange Shorts when she lost her flip-flop. How much simpler it would be if they hadn’t had so much fun and connection at the hot springs. But at the end of the day, did it matter? I owe him a dance. And I’ll be damned if I’m letting one last shot at being near him pass me by. “I’m heading inside to dance with someone before I have more regret.”
“I’m going to flag a taxi. There’s a whole line of them waiting at the top of the road. Happy, happy birthday! May you get your wish,” Dove says as she walks off.
“We’ll see,” Melissa says and gives a flick of her eyebrows and a sly smile.
17
THE NIGHT VERGES ON becoming morning, and Melissa works her way over to the dessert table, where soon her birthday cake will be on display for everyone to see and eat.
“William!” she says, surprised at first to see him. “What are you doing here?”
“Isn’t everyone on the island here?” His gold-tipped hair matches his shirt. “Happy, happy, by the way.” He gives her a friendly pat on the back.
“You just missed Dove,” Melissa says. Probably a good thing, since you’re not exactly sporting the red you should be.
William’s mouth opens as though he’s surprised. “Really?” He looks around the room.
“She took a cab back to the boat.”
William lets out a sigh. “Oh. Well … I’ll see her at the Botanical Gardens thing, anyway.”
“Emmy Taylor’s?” Melissa questions. Why would they wait until then to get together? Is Dove delusional? Or is their relationship just mellower than I thought?
Off the Trails Page 10
