by Wood, Vivian
Her eyes light up. “No.” She walks over to the mannequin, turning it slightly. “Ah, this one is perfect. I just need something to wear with my full length black Stevie Nicks dress.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask, my attention drawn to a pink silk halter top. “What have you got planned? A date, maybe?”
I turn back to Harper and find her cheeks pinking up. “Oh, you know. Nothing really. It’s just, Smith is in town…”
“Oh, so you’re finally going to tell Smith that you love him and want to have his babies?” Cate asks.
Harper fires a glare at Cate, but Cate just ducks back beneath the blue velvet curtain.
“Smith and I are just friends,” Harper says. Her face is so red by this point that I can’t help but rib her a little more.
“You keep saying that, but I don’t think you know what that means.” I smile at her.
“If you think that talking about Smith is going to make me forget about your dating situation, you are just sorely mistaken,” Harper fires back. “What happened with that cute college professor you went out with? What was his name?”
“Carter.” I smile thinly. “It turns out that he’s off limits. He works for the medical school and he was directly responsible for my grades.”
Harper’s eyebrows go up. “Isn’t that kind of hot? Some super secret, sneaking around kind of passion?”
“It would be if he wasn’t like totally into some other girl.” I shrug. “He didn’t say who, but he was obviously head over heels for some lucky girl. It’s too bad because he was sooooo hot.”
Pouting, I pull the hanger holding the pink halter off of the rack. Cate pokes her head out of the changing room, pulling a face. “Well that’s a bummer.”
“Yeah. Really though, I should be focusing on this internship anyway.”
I carry the halter top to the front. The girl behind the counter silently starts checking me out. I pull out my credit card, smiling lightly. Cate trails behind me, holding the dress and the shirt she just modeled.
“Not to be a downer, but maybe you should try to date someone with a little bit of substance,” she suggests gently. “Someone that might be challenging to you.”
Harper joins us, holding her necklace. “She’s not wrong.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m fine. You guys know how I feel. I can’t have a family, so I might as well pour everything into work right now. Then I can focus on my dating life after my residency. In the meantime, I can just relax and enjoy some guys that I have absolutely nothing else in common with. Just me, and them, and their abs.”
I wiggle my eyebrows. Cate and Harper have heard this all before and they both roll their eyes.
“But it’s so boring,” Cate complains. “I swear, I don’t even know the names of the last few guys you dated.”
I grab Harper and Cate’s purchases. “Will you please put these on my card? Thanks.”
“Luna!” Harper protests. Cate bites her tongue but doesn’t look exactly happy.
“No more questions about my love life!” I insist. “Really, it’s fine. I feel fine.”
“I’m definitely getting all of us ice cream as soon as we leave here,” Cate says firmly.
Harper just accepts her necklace with a sharp look. “Thank you.”
Yeah, my friends may not love how I use money to end a conversation I don’t want to be in. But they don’t protest too hard, especially not Cate. She’s using what is presumably Luca’s card anyway; all his money and mine come from the same place more or less.
As we make our way out of the shop, I look up into the bright May daylight. It’s warm today, making me second guess my decision to add a light jacket over my dress.
Undeterred, Cate takes charge. She points. “Look, there’s a Salt & Straw across the street. I wasn’t kidding about buying everyone ice cream.”
“Well, if I must,” I say with a grin. I subsist mainly on sugar, which everyone knows.
As we cross the road, Harper pipes up. “Do they have new flavors yet? Last time I was here in October they had this chocolate marionberry flavor that was like eating a little piece of heaven.”
“Mmm, that sounds good,” Cate says.
We reach the plate glass door, Cate leading the way inside. Harper is next and then I follow. Distracted by my phone, I don’t realize we are stopping until I stumble into Harper’s legs.
I look up to find Cate helping a dark-headed little girl in a periwinkle blue dress put her shoe back on. My heart squeezes painfully. The little girl is so cute, telling Cate about what flavor of ice cream she’s going to try. Cate beams at her, talking to her gently. The girl’s mother realizes that her daughter is lagging behind and turns, pulling the little girl into her arms.
God, the little girl is a perfect replica of her mother.
And that’s enough. I stand stiffly, turning and pushing my way back out of the store. Tears prick my eyes.
I’ll never, ever have that moment. I’ll never be anyone’s mother. And it tears me up inside, knowing that the one thing I so desperately want, I just can’t have.
As I turn away from the shop and breathe out, I scold myself.
You have everything else you could ever want.
Not everything in life is fair, is it?
Life is definitely unfair. I breathe in, blotting at my eyes. Harper pops her head outside of the shop.
“Luna? Are you okay, hon?”
I stand straight, nodding but not looking at her.
“Totally,” I say, my voice watery. This is far from the first time that I’ve cried over a child or a baby in public. My friends know that this is something I struggle with. “Get me a mystery scoop, okay?”
She watches me for a moment then nods. “Sure. Why don’t you walk around the block? We’ll meet you in a few.”
Swallowing hard, I nod. “Okay.”
I turn away from the shops, making a right turn as I walk down the sidewalk. I know all the usual things that people say now.
There’s still a chance for you to have your own child.
Have you thought of IVF?
What about adoption?
I think all those are good options. None of them are ruled out in my future.
It’s just… when I was a little girl, I always imagined myself with a loving husband and a few kids. The image was crystal clear. The kids had my fine blonde hair and looked cute as matching buttons.
And then suddenly this endometriosis thing happened… now the future is uncertain. The image that I’ve held in my head for so long is milky and blurred.
Steeling myself and taking a deep breath, I repeat my mantra to myself.
I have everything I want.
I have money. I have a career. I have guys.
That should be enough.
Blowing a breath out, I lift my head and continue on my way around the block.
Chapter Three
Gabe
Michelle would have done better. If she was here, this whole yacht would be sparklingly clean.
I make a face at that. Michelle chose to not be here. She doesn’t deserve to be in my thoughts.
And yet, she still looms large.
Shading my eyes against the midmorning sun, I back away from the hull of the yacht I’m working on. The marina has no protection from the sun; the planks under my feet are scarred and warped from the coolness of the water below and the scorching heat of the sun.
For some reason I’m unusually brooding today, the name of my would-be fiancée running through my thoughts again and again.
Michelle would have done it better.
But she didn’t stick around to do it herself, did she? And even when she was still here, she was a magnet for trouble.
My fists tighten, nails digging into the flesh of my palms.
That’s enough feeling sorry for myself, I think. That’s enough anger. Just because your ex-fiancée turned out to be a liar and a cheater doesn’t mean that you have to walk around angry all the damn time.
&
nbsp; Then again, there is a well deep inside of me that is so full of fury and sadness and angst about what happened… there doesn’t seem to be a saturation point for me. All I can do is think about something else.
Eyeing the mast, I drop the scrub brush into the bucket with a sigh. The mast casts a long shadow, standing proudly against the sun. I’ve been here since it was dark and I’ve scrubbed most of the hull until it shines.
And yet, that’s only the beginning.
There are only eight weeks left until the Harbor Pointe Regatta. Only eight weeks left until I’m under the spotlight, sailing toward the finish line as fast as this boat will carry me. It seems like there are an endless number of repairs to be done on the Ethereal Grace before she’s seaworthy.
I exhale.
I hear Malkia walking across the sun-bleached wood of the dock before I actually see her. For someone that is tall and skinny, her footsteps sound like a bridge troll’s. My sister has a heavy gait, so much so that the crew usually teases her about it. Luckily, she gives that teasing exactly zero thought, handling it as smoothly as she does everything else.
Squinting hard, I look at her as she comes to stand next to me. She holds a tube of sunblock, rubbing the creamy white lotion into her rich ebony skin.
“Gabe. It’s hot out,” she says simply. She has a surprisingly deep voice, her speech tinged with the remnants of her early Tanzanian upbringing. Handing me the sunblock, she pushes her dark sunglasses up her nose.
“Thanks.” I accept the sunblock, squeezing a good amount into my hand. I start slathering my suntanned forearms, looking at Malkia.
We couldn’t be more physically different. Her hair is buzzed close to her scalp, a baseball cap covering most of her skull. My dark mop is buzzed on the sides and left to grow up a bit on top, with just a hint of natural curl showing up. Mal wears her usual, loose white cotton pants and a matching long sleeve cotton shirt.
One thing Malkia and I both have are high cheekbones and brooding looks almost built in… Mal smiles a hell of a lot more than I do though, her dazzling grin lighting up a room.
I guess her parents, wherever they are now, had good genetics in that department.
I’m in my trademark tight white t-shirt and low-slung jeans. I own five versions of just this outfit and five dark gray t-shirts too. That’s about the sum of my day-to-day wear when I’m not actively working on the boat.
My gaze wanders behind us.
Another boat my family owns is docked there, though that one is large enough that it can sleep twenty people. The High Hopes is a huge luxury yacht meant for entertaining; the Arctic Light is a racing rig, pure and simple.
“The new rigging fits on the High Hopes, I’m assuming.”
Malkia nods, looking over her shoulder at the mega yacht. Her face is thrown into shadow for a moment. “Yes. We should be ready to sail up to Alaska next week. I am just running over everything again to be safe.”
I turn back to the smaller vessel, a sigh on my lips. “Good. Since we got the High Hopes back from the maintenance crew, I’m worried about her. I want to make sure she’s seaworthy. Our company can’t afford any more cracks in the hull.”
She bobs her head. “I know. I’m triple checking every single thing I can think of, to be safe. Being on the open sea with a full passenger manifest and having to radio for help was not the best thing that could’ve happened. Not the worst, but it definitely put us out of commission for almost two months.”
I frown. “Yeah. For a company that makes their money off of booking charters to Alaska, that was definitely costly.” I wince. “We had to refund a ton of money. It was a serious blow to the company’s coffers. I’ll be glad when we’re back to our normal routines.”
Adjusting her baseball cap, Malkia shrugs. “It’ll be okay. You worry too much.” She pulls her phone out, checking the time.
“We should go down to the Harborside Yacht Club now. You can drop off your registration fee and I can flirt with the pretty waitresses at the restaurant. Eh?”
I shake my head, but my lips do curl up into a smile. “Yeah, all right. I’ve done most of the scrubbing that I can do anyway.”
She smiles mischievously. It lights up her whole face. “It is my turn to drive. I cannot wait for those rich pricks to see me pulling up in their driveway.”
Grabbing the bucket that I dropped the scrub brush into, I nod. “Let me just leave this bucket over by the High Hope’s gangplank. I’ll meet you at the car.”
She trots off down the dock, in good spirits. She’s only recently decided to learn how to drive, despite being twenty two. So when I get to our car, an old green Land Rover that is battered all to hell, I’m not surprised to find her in the driver’s seat, grinning like a maniac.
I climb in the passenger side, careful to buckle my seatbelt. When Malkia drives, the experience can be harrowing to say the least.
“Ready?” she asks. Before I can even get a word out either way, she punches the gas and we launch into motion.
“Take it easy,” I caution her as she pulls out onto the road.
“Ohh, go put your worried face in the closet,” she says, waving a hand at my concerns. “I am fine.”
I make a face, but I don’t protest. Malkia is starting to be her own person, someone apart from the little brown kid that stuck out like a sore thumb in Seattle public schools. I want to encourage her, not tease her about her shortcomings.
I look at her, so happy to be driving, and I smile. “Once you’ve mastered this, you can focus on moving out of The Hub. Mom and Dad won’t like you moving away from home though, so we’ll have to get you a starter apartment. Somewhere close to them.”
Malkia flushes. “You would like that, Gabe. Let me tell you what.” She holds up a finger. “If I move out, you have the tiniest chance of stealing their hearts back.”
She snickers. I grin. “I don’t think so, sis. I lost that game a long time ago. Our parents went on what I thought was a vacation, and they came back with you. I took one look at you - six years old and with the cutest smile that anyone has ever seen — and I just gave up.”
She smirks. “I was cute, was I not?”
The way she enunciates each word makes me smile.
I nod. “You were so cute. Mom and Dad were already doting on you then.” I roll my eyes. “And they have never stopped.”
“A wise decision if I have ever heard of one.”
“Mm.” I look out the window at the seaside, the beach a mere strip of dark sand. The ocean is unusually calm just now, looking like nothing so much as opaque black glass. Malkia drives the SUV along a winding two lane road, sticking close to the shoreline the whole way.
“Michelle loved it when the ocean was calm like this.” The words are out before I really think about them.
I glance at Malkia with a frown. Her smile dims. “Oh?”
She doesn’t like when I bring up Michelle. No one does, not really. The topic of my dead fiancée stops conversations in their tracks at the very best of times.
I don’t say anything, so Malkia waits a few beats and then speaks.
“I know I have said this all to you before, but Michelle’s death was not your fault.” She looks at me, her expression serious. “All the things you found out after her death… her debt, her infidelity, her secret past… none of that had anything to do with you.”
Looking away out the window, I feel like someone just hit me on the stomach with a two by four. I can’t catch my breath for several beats.
Only Malkia feels close enough to me to be so bold with her words. She’s always been a truth teller, even when the truth hurts. I shift in my seat, reminding myself not to lash out at her for it.
I usually treasure Malkia’s no bullshit attitude. Clearing my throat, I change the subject. “Speaking of Michelle, I really want to win the regatta this year. We tried to win for the last four years, but no dice. We didn’t even place.”
A memory bubbles up, unbidden. For a second, I’m on
board the Arctic Light, pulling at the mast rigging. Michelle is right next to me, laughing as her hair tie flies loose in the wind. Her hair splays out, vibrant as a newly minted copper penny.
It may have been eight months since she died, but sometimes it feels like it’s only been a few moments. The grief and anger are right there on the surface, pushing at me, but I just take a cooling breath.
Now is not the time.
Malkia slows as she takes a right. Harborside Yacht Club appears out of nowhere, looking like nothing so much as a shining palace tucked amongst so many docks and boats. It’s crisp white main building looks like somebody scrubbed it clean this morning.
“I think we have a good chance of winning this year.” Malkia looks over at me. “After all, this is the first year you’re sailing on the new, improved Arctic Light. Plus, you’ve got me as your first mate.” She pats my knee. “I am good luck, you know.”
She pulls into the parking lot of the yacht club, passing the first few rows of shiny Mercedes and brand new Audis.
I smile as she pulls into a space, a sigh one my lips. “So I hear, Mal.”
I open the glove compartment and fish out the registration papers and the check. I’m careful not to look at the dollar amount scribbled on it as I get out of the car.
The thousand dollar sign up fee came out of my savings, but after not working for two months, my savings account is all but wiped out.
I make a silent promise to myself. I’m going to place this year. No, I’m going to win.
And the winner gets thirty thousand dollars, not to mention a much sought-after exclusive contract to be the first company on the yacht club’s list when it comes to booking their lavish vacations.
That’s why there are so many other blue-collar entries into this regatta. Everyone wants to be the first charter considered when the yacht club has a trip to take.
Malkia and I walk toward the front doors of the yacht club. “You’re going to stop by the restaurant?”
She nods, smiling again. “That I am. I baited a few hooks when I was here two weeks ago. I want to check my nets and see if I get any nibbles from the ladies that work here.”
