“You’re saying you’re still not ready to tell people,” he said.
“I’m saying I’m still fucking pissed about last night. And now is not exactly the primest moment to be asking me this, don’t you think? Nothing seems to be going the way it normally does. With last month, and this trip, and, I dunno, I just feel like things are gonna be so much clearer when we get home. Can we just hold off talking about it till we get back? Last night made me mad. And you know I’m not like you. It’s not: Sleep it off and everything’s good to go.”
“I know that,” he said. “And it’s too bad for you.”
“So at this point, why would I pretend I’m any other way? I don’t exactly love this about me, but it’s not so easy for me to just sweep everything away. Just: a little space for a little longer, okay? We’ll be home soon. Then we’ll know…”
“You at least realize this fucking hurts, right?”
“I’m sorry. It shouldn’t hurt. It really shouldn’t. It should be right where we were a month ago, and a week ago, and a day ago. Same as before that bullshit from last night.”
“It still…Even if I understand what you’re saying.”
“I’m really sorry? I don’t know what you want me to say. You know where I’ve been with this. I just, my head’s a mess right now. Last night, that wasn’t great. Not just what happened, but where I went, what it made me do. It’s scary to see where my head goes sometimes, what effect certain people can have on me.”
“Then I probably shouldn’t mention that they want to get lunch. I guess they think everything’s A-OK. Or at least didn’t pick up on anything serious.”
“I grabbed her and pulled an earring off her head. What the fuck is wrong with her that she wants to get lunch with us the next day?”
“It was from Jack, but it was filled with your favorite we’s and us’s. Maybe it happens all the time to Jenna Saisquoi. I don’t know. I realize it’s not how it works for you, but I woke up this morning and just thought: That was dumb, let’s discount the last part of the night.” Will hadn’t liked how things had ended with Jack. Jenna he’d never see again, but Jack was their age, they had each other’s phone numbers, they texted now. Wouldn’t it be weird if that was the last they ever saw of him? What if they were just getting started? “Anyway, it’s just lunch. What’s another lunch in the scheme of all the future time of No-Jenna-and-No-Jack?”
“I hope you’re kidding. Did you already say we were going to meet them, or something?”
“I didn’t say anything. I didn’t respond. I know better. I’m just thinking out loud.”
Whitney felt her clammy running clothes on her body in a self-conscious way. The way she could live for stretches without noticing her heartbeat, until she suddenly couldn’t not sense it. She felt the straps around her shoulders and neck. She felt the salt and dampness at her hairline. She tore off her shirt, she kicked off her shoes. Her socks, her shorts. She was standing there in a sports bra, naked from the chest down.
“If you want to fuck her just get it over with,” she said.
She stood there almost naked with betrayal in her face. She stood there like a child who’d just been scolded for playing in a mud pit.
He frowned and shook his head. “Why do you want to have this fight? Why do you say things like that? It’s like you think your only move right now is hopping back into the same old tired bullshit.”
“I’m just saying you still have a freebie.”
“All I did was ask about lunch! We can skip it. We can read and walk down to the beach. We can keep drinking all day, it’s as good as anything else to fucking do.”
She started in the direction of the bathroom, taking an extra-wide line past the giant windows that looked out onto the street. She stopped, then stood before the windowpane and waved at a woman clipping towels to a line on the roof across the way. The woman glanced at Whitney’s naked body, then returned to her business.
“Come fuck me against the window,” she said.
“What?”
She stood on her tiptoes and reached around and body-gloved her ass cheek.
“There are people out there,” he said. “There’s an old grandma on the roof.”
She fell back down onto flat feet and sighed and completed her journey to the bathroom.
“Do you really want to marry me?” she said, as she started the water.
He followed her and placed his hands on her narrow waist, on her tight hips.
“We know the real question is: Do you really want to marry me?” he said.
She slipped through his hands and stepped into the shower and neither of them answered, or both of them answered, or it was a little of each.
“What are you going to tell them?” she said, eyes closed beneath the stream.
“What?” he said. “You’re talking directly into the water.”
“I said, What are you going to tell them?” She opened one eye and it peered at him through the fogging glass.
“I’ll tell them we appreciate it but we already have plans.”
“Fine,” she said.
“Or I’ll tell them we’ll see them at two.”
“I can’t tell you how little I care either way.”
“In that case, I’ll flip a coin.”
“Just make a decision. There’s no wrong answer. Don’t be an idiot.”
“Heads is go, tails is stay,” he said, searching the bathroom counter for a euro.
“You can lie to me, I can’t see through the glass anyway, I’ll never know.”
“Our fate is now in the hands of Icelandic volcanoes and Catalan spirits and the hard currency of the Eurozone.”
The water rushed, he disappeared from the room.
“Found one,” he said, returning within earshot.
“I’ll never know either way,” she said.
“I’m flipping the
