“What are you doing tonight?” Felix asks as we walk back onto the boat.
My breath catches. Is he going to ask me to hang out, even though we’ve spent all day together?
I really, really hope so.
“Lauren and I have a reservation to do the tasting menu at the Italian restaurant,” I say. “And then after that, definitely Elvis.”
“Definitely Elvis,” he agrees. “My sisters have already made me promise to go. Want to meet us there?”
“Sure,” I say, trying to infuse my answer with chill rather than the five exclamation points I actually feel.
He grins at me. “See you then.”
I float back to my room.
My joy must be apparent, because as soon as I walk into our suite, Lauren looks at me knowingly.
“Well I’ll be,” she says. “I guess the lipstick worked.”
I throw myself down on the bed, smiling. “He’s so nice. We hung out all day. And he asked me to meet him at the Elvis thing after dinner.”
“Shipmance!” she squeals. “Can I interview you about it for my Insta?”
“Absolutely not. You know the rules.”
“Come on!”
“Don’t you have your own exploits to talk about? How was the hike?”
“Arduous,” she said. “I’m so sore. But I met a new beau. He’s sixty, divorced, lives in Fort Lauderdale, and does Muay Thai. He invited me to go for a jog around the deck tomorrow morning before breakfast.”
“Sexy.”
“Some of us have to suffer for our art.” She gestures at a shopping bagwith the cruise ship logo sitting on our dining table. “By the way, I got you a prezzie.”
“Lauren, no!” I say. Gifts are her love language, and she’s constantly giving me things. But on my budget, I can’t reciprocate, and it makes me feel terrible.
The gulf between her wealth and generosity and my constant financial straits has begun to cause us tension. Not because she resents helping, but because it embarrasses me that I need it. We were two broke girls making our way in the city for years. And then, all of a sudden, her reality show changed her life, and she ran with it. She’s very, very good with business.
I’m really proud of her.
I’m just ashamed I’m still floundering.
“Hopie, open it,” she says, waggling the bag over my lap.
I pull out the tissue paper and look inside.
It’s an emerald green wrap dress made of impossibly delicate silk. Just from holding it up, I can see the cut will be perfect for me—long sleeves, low neckline, cinched waist, fluttery skirt. I can also see that it must have been very expensive.
“Where did you get this?” I ask.
“One of those boutiques on the Metropolitan Deck.”
“Thank you, it’s beautiful. But there’s no way I can afford it.”
“Just lean into the glam, darlin’. They gave me a ten-thousand-dollar credit to use however I want on the cruise. I also booked us a spa day tomorrow. You’ll be nice and relaxed for your man. Now try on the dress.”
I do, and it’s magnificent.
