Twenty-Eight
Text to Hailey: Kayaking was AMAZING! Saw (Emoji: dolphin) up close!
Kenny contemplated a witty message to send to Colby to prove that she faced her fears and went kayaking in a body of water inhabited by sharks. For a hot minute she debated taking a selfie before leaving the beach but didn’t want J.P. to think she was one of those girls who needed to document her whereabouts and activities to justify her existence or prove some point. Although, in this case, that’s exactly what she was guilty of doing.
Text from Hailey: So fun! (Emoji: clapping hands)
After drafting and quickly deleting three texts to Colby, Kenny’s phone vibrated.
“Hello?” she answered confused. She was so taken up in trying to find the right words to send to Colby that she thought she hit the wrong button and accidentally called him.
“Queen,whatis going on? Those three little dots have been dancing around the bottom of my screen for an eternity. I thought I’d call so you could verbalize whatever narrative you’re typing, and save you a serious bout of carpal tunnel,” Colby announced.
“Oh, oops! Well, now that I have your undivided attention,unlikelast night,” Kenny said sharply, “you should know that you might be right about the yellow bathing suit, but you are wrong about me!Ikayaked for two hoursonthe ocean this morning and a giant fin knocked the side of my boat with such force that I almost tipped over and ended upinthe water.” She dramatically described the encounter.
“That sounds horrific!” Colby gasped. “Are you, okay? It’s time to come home, sweetie. City girls like you aren’t cut out for things people down there confuse for fun.”
“You’re wrong, Colby. It was the most fun I’ve had in a long time, and I think Iamcut out for the things they do down here.” She closed her eyes and couldn’t get J.P.’s piercing blue ones out of her mind. “And it was a dolphin, not a shark. There were four of them. Dancing, waving, and singing all around us,” she excitedly continued.
“Who is ‘us?’ And why do you sound giddy?” Colby asked suspiciously. “Remember when you were hanging out with that guy from Long Island, and he took you fishing? You caught a baby duck on your hook.”
“That was a fluke,” she said defensively. “After that I reeled in an impressive Cod that made enough fish and chips to feed half of the share house for dinner that night.”
“Whatever. You’re still far from being the face of REI,” Colby rebuked. “I know you can’t share details of the story but tell me there’s at least some hunky piece of meat associated with this one. A brawny investigator? A strapping attorney? A rugged boat captain or whoever led this kayaking expedition.”
“Colby! Is your mind always in the gutter?” Kenny quipped. “I’m only saying this to shut you up and prove that I haven’t totally shut my eyes to the male race, but there is a rather attractive man down here. He’s totally off limits to me other than being a tour guide and providing the occasional few hours of good company. But it’s nice having someone around.”
“Off limits?Yass, Queen, you naughty girl. Tell me more. Is he married? A Catholic priest? A bank robber? What’s the scandal?”
“What?” she yelled into the phone. “There’s nothing more to tell. There’s no scandal and he’s none of those things. He’s a golfer from Ohio who’s never been married.”
“You are so vanilla, Kennedy Sloane. But you do you. I guess I should simply be happy that the lights are on, and somebody is home,” Colby said with undeniable disappointment that she didn’t share some salacious, Harlequinesque anecdote.
“Most importantly, you should be happy I’m speaking to you againandsharing this detail.”
“I concede,” Colby whispered. “With any luck this GQ guy will be enough inspiration to entice you to dabble in some pull at your heartstrings, love-at-first-sight, can’t-live-without-you prose.”
“Muffin’s proposition is under consideration. Nothing more, nothing less right now. I don’t want to hear another word about it or allusion to me writing a piece of women’s fiction until I bring it up. The ball is in my court now. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am!”
“Good. I’ll talk to you later, Colby,” Kenny announced, feeling confident she was ending the conversation with the upper hand.
“One last thing. Since you’re now coming out of your man-draught, maybe you’ll consider giving Ed another shot when you get back? Hereallylikes you,” Colby blurted out before she hung up.
“Colby!”
“Sorry, too soon. I had to try. Love you, mean it, bi-yee!”
Kenny rolled her eyes and pulled up Giuseppi’s Pizza on her phone so she could scroll through the menu. She was still riding on such a high from the morning and afternoon she spent with J.P. that she couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed with Colby’s pestering about Ed. She reached for the refrigerator to pull out the Brita and bowl of sliced lemons when she caught a glimpse of her Conditions List. The list remained in the same spot since the day she hung it on the freezer door but rarely took the time to reread the rules she established for herself. Even though she hadn’t been romantically involved with anyone since the actor/model/trainer guy, whose name slipped her mind, she was proud of herself for having the foresight to add “No new male relationships” to the list. If she hadn’t enacted this simple rule, Kenny knew she’d be at severe risk of overthinking or over-complicating her acquaintanceship with J.P.
“Eat healthy, every day,” also popped off the page.
Kenny put down her phone and pulled out what was left of the head of Parris Island Cos romaine hearts and strips of flank steak she grilled the night before.
Twenty-Nine
J.P. stood over the electric burner of the commercial-size copper stove that spanned half a wall in the spacious kitchen of Mr. Cunningham’s house on Marlin Manor. He scrambled eggs and simultaneously opened the oven to check the crispiness of the bacon. There was a giant overhead copper range hood affixed to the ceiling that he assumed had something to do with smoke, but he was still terrified of setting off the fire alarm during his culinary expedition. Cliff eagerly ran in and out of the sliding door to the patio, from the table to the stove in anticipation of J.P. dropping a piece of bacon for him to eat.
