“How could I forget?” I ask, wondering what’s bringing forth this round of nostalgia.
“Every night, I’d be surrounded by suitors from all across the realm. I’d send half to you to dance with and entertain, and you’d whine and moan that their company did not compare to the friend you lost. Your Marina.” He shakes his head, and I wish I knew where he was going with this.
“I suppose you’re working toward your point.”
“Only that I hope she’s worth all those years of spoiled fun.” And there’s something in his tone I’m not used to hearing from my usually flippant friend. Jealousy would suit him fine, but worry? Now that’s just off-putting.
“We’re having breakfast tomorrow is all.” I leave out that I’m also planning to snag a few crystals and charms to weave onto something she can wear to breathe underwater. It doesn’t hurt to be prepared. I made a promise, after all.
“Mm, now, I don’t believe that for a second, but know that if things fall apart—”
“You’ll tell me ‘I told you so’?”
“I’ll be here with pastries,” he says, offering a sad smile.
Marina…
In my adolescence, all I wanted was one more day in the sun together—heck, I would have been content just to know she was okay. Tonight, her green eyes made my pulse quicken, her voice as sweet as honey. I won’t take this as anything more than a chance to reconnect. We were friends as children. Could the people we’ve grown into become friends too?
Chapter 7
Marina
There’s something about Gil and the way he showed up exactly when I needed him that makes me worry my wild hallucinations of friendship are happening again. And it’s not even that first initial of his name, though Gale and Gil are almost too coincidental to believe. If this all turns out to be my mind playing tricks on me, at least this time it’s a little more grounded in reality. I know what IthinkI saw in the glass-bottom boat. I’m not about to ruin a good thing by summoning thoughts of my scaly imaginary friend.
This is the only place I was ever able to see him, and it was maddening. As a child, I could never understand: if he really wasn’t real, why couldn’t I imagine him back at home?
I spend the morning trying to summon that feeling into a song, but my heart flutters as the clock ticks on to what I hope will be a very real breakfast date. When Gil didn’t ask for my number before leaving last night, resting anxious thoughts told me it was because he wouldn’t actually show for the date. What if he turned out to be a fuckboy or worse: another figment of my imagination?
Though, neither fuckboy nor figment would have knocked on my door at 9 a.m. sharp with a bouquet of pink water lilies, glittering with morning dew in the bright morning light.
The flowers are nothing like I’ve ever seen before: bright and large, the exact shade of my hair.
Impressive.
Not having packed a collection of vases with me, the arrangement now lives in my reusable sticker-covered water bottle. Gil says the contrast is cute; he even helps me arrange them and offers an apology for not thinking ahead.
I decide not to tell him that this is my first time getting flowers, and I wouldn’t change a thing.
As we load into my car, I notice his looks are mismatched in the sunlight. His arms are a little too long, veins a little too blue, but his smile is just as charming as it was under the moon. He calmly gives me directions with his sweet Southern drawl, and suddenly, it’s more than the Florida heat that has me melting.
I don’t know Gil, not yet, but I think I might want to, which is something I need to be careful of. I didn’t come here to find even more heartache, and the council of old ladies at my Grams’ community have already decided they have full voting rights over my next boyfriend. Considering all I’ve had is a slew of low commitment situationships, their veto power is valid.
“You’re too young to be putting up with this! Move on and find another beau that will treat you right,” Gertrude, who has got to be like 100 years old, once told me. The sweet old lady was uncharacteristically angry when she heard me over-sharing to Grams one day over coffee in the common area.
It’s too soon to know if Gil will meet her requirements, but I think Gertude and Grams would approve of the way he races to open my car door once we’re parked.
The little diner is peppered with a few tourists with matching travel t-shirts and locals, all wearing the same “I need coffee now” expressions. It’s a feeling I relate to; the adrenaline of the way Gil and I met and my misadventure in the springs made my heart pound out of my chest all night. But, then again, I’ve never had an easy time falling asleep. My phone vibrates, grabbing my attention for a moment—it’s Grams. Of course.
Grams: Mini viper brought more bozes today. Did she ask you about beginning all this?
Ugh, why is Jenna bothering Grams? I squint, trying to make out the rest of the typo-filled message. Grams may be fluent in distressed Marina, but I’m still learning to decipher “grandma with a cellphone.”
Grams: beginning.
Grams: BEGINNING
Grams: B R I N G I N G
