I resolve to do this the next time I see her.
This happens earlier than I expect, because when we arrive at the dining room, she’s seated alone at a two-top a few feet from our table, playing Wordle on her phone.
Surely I am a better dining companion than Wordle.
“Mind if I ask Hope to join us?” I ask my family in a low voice.
“Please!” Mum says. She’s the kind of gracious hostess that believes any table that doesn’t have at least six people around it is depressing. She also thinks I spend too much time alone, and should start seeking out female company.
My father, by contrast, worries that I’m better off by myself. That my previous girlfriends were partiers who enabled me at best and at worst pushed me closer to the brink of destruction.
But he doesn’t object.
I walk over to Hope, praying I seem confident and casual even though I feel like I’m a six-year-old telling a girl I like her on the playground.
“Not dining solo?” I ask.
She looks up from her phone and smiles at me. “My dinner date ditched me for her cha cha cha partner.”
“Well, what if you dined withyourcha cha cha partner? And…” I gesture at my table, “his annoying immediate family.”
“You’re really selling it.”
“No worries if you don’t want company.”
“No, I’d love to. Thank you.”
I try not to look as inordinately pleased as I feel as I escort her over to our table.
“You all remember Hope,” I say to my family, as though we weren’t just discussing her. “She’ll be joining us.”
“Only if you don’t mind,” Hope says.
“Of course not,” Dad says in a jolly voice. “Our children don’t bicker as much in front of company. We’d be grateful.”
“We actually do bicker just as much,” Prue says to Hope. “We all have dreadful manners.”
“Weren’t raised properly,” I agree.
“Sit down, sit down,” Pear says, gesturing at the lone empty chair.
Which, conveniently, is directly next to mine.
“So, Hope,” Mum says, “are you enjoying the cruise so far?”
“I am,” she says, in a tone that rings surprised to me. “I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it’s fun.”
I didn’t expect to enjoy it either. But then I met her.
The sommelier comes by with “tonight’s featured wines”—a bottle of red and a bottle of white—and asks us which we’d like. I decline a glass. I notice Hope does too.
I wonder if she drinks. And if she does, how much.
The waiter takes our orders. Hope goes for yellowtail crudo and the filet of sole. I was going to order the same thing but on the spot I pivot to French onion soup and a ribeye to seem… I don’t know… more manly?
Christ, I’m out of practice.
When the orders have been taken, Hope asks us if we have any plans for tomorrow when we stop in Antigua.
