“So how exactly do you two know each other?” Prue asks Hope.
“We used to date,” Hope says, flitting her eyes in my direction for the first time since we got here. A silent apology? An acknowledgment of how uncomfortable this all is?
Gabe looks at her fondly. “She’s the one that got away.”
He says it like it’s a joke, but his expression makes me think he’s not kidding.
Her face twists like she just bit into a lemon she thought was an orange.
I can’t parse it. Is she angry at him? Or moved to hear he longs for her?
Whatever the case, there’s some emotion at work between the two of them that is not at all neutral, and it is excruciating to observe.
Hope stands up abruptly. “I’m going to the bathroom,” she says. “Can someone order me the snapper if the waiter comes by?”
“Of course,” Gabe says, at the same time I say, “Sure.”
Gabe’s eyes follow her as she walks away.
Pear starts peppering him with questions about books, looking for recommendations. Gabe goes into a monologue about upcoming releases andbrilliant debuts with apparent relish, while Pear whips out her phone to write it all down.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s a text from Hope.
Hope:This is so awkward. I’m sorry!
My acculturation as a Brit makes it my impulse to write something like “not at all” but I am too frankly pissed to wave it away. I settle on:
Felix:It’s a bit weird, yeah.
Hope:I didn’t know he was here—he’s randomly on the cruise with his grandma.
Hope:Just found out this morning.
It’s not generous of me, but I can’t help wondering if she’s telling the truth. Could she really not have known he was here? Am I a pawn in some sort of revenge game? An effort to make him jealous?
Regardless, I’m not going to ask her via text.
Felix:Got it.
Hope:Coming back. Just wanted to let you know privately.
I don’t like the formal nature of her phrasing. I type “thanks.”
The food arrives right as Hope returns. The fish appears to be perfect, served blackened with a side of rice and peas and a bright slaw of onion, cabbage, and mango.
I can’t taste it.
Gabe looks at his phone and winces. “Hope, we’d better go. Our van leaves to go back to port in five minutes.”
She nods and wipes her mouth with a napkin as he throws several hundred-dollar bills on the table.
“My treat,” he says. “It wassonice to meet you all. Let’s do it again on the boat.”
“Absolutely!” Pear says.
Hope, standing out of his eyeline, looks at me, clenches her teeth, and shakes her head no.
I know she wants to reassure me. I can see that, whatever is happening here, she feels terrible.
