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Her eyes widen, and she takes a step backward. I swear I see a flash of fear in her eyes, and for a moment I pause. But just as quickly as it was there, it's gone and she steps toward me again.
I pick up my phone and straighten to my full height, giving her the benefit of my haughtiest glare.
"Don't worry about me staying away from you. There's nothing I want more right now than to put distance between us. So, it appears we've finally found something on which we can agree."
I throw my napkin down, push my chair in, and start to leave. She grabs my forearm to stop me. But it’s as if the contact hurts her, and she quickly removes her hand.
"Where are you going?" she demands while taking a step back, as if she's preparing to block my exit.
This time, it's the power of my own surprise that halts me in mid-stride. I can't stop the bark of incredulous laughter her question inspires.
"Sorry? Are you in the grips of some sort of manic episode?" I ask, sincerely wondering what the hell is going on.
Her eyebrows shoot up and her eyes narrow again, then she puts her hands on her hips. "Are you calling me crazy?"
"If the shoe fits," I return, crossing my arms across my chest. "You came in here like a bat out of hell.” He laughs. “Your commitment to all black clothing is actually now really fitting.”
“Are you making fun of my clothes?” she squeaks that last word out. “Are you twelve?”
“You ruined my dessert, told me to stay away from you, and then, when I attempt to comply, you ask where I'm going. So yes, I'm wondering if you're working with a full deck of cards up here." And I tap the side of my forehead for emphasis.
“A full deck?” she asks.
“Yes, you know, playing cards.”
“Cards?” she sputters.
I sigh. "Good God. Listen, maybe while you're busy avoiding me, you should pick up a book. Your vocabulary seems woefully lacking. All you've done tonight is repeat what I've said and rant incoherently."
Her shoulders square, and she reaches into her hair to pull down a pair of sunglasses perched on her head over her eyes.
"You do know that only pretentious people wear sunglasses at night, don't you?" I taunt, knowing I’m being childish, but too annoyed to care.
"Fuck. You," she growls. "I'm sorry I ruined your dessert. I'm also sorry you didn't choke on it. I can’t believe you called me crazy, made fun of my clothes and now you’re acting as if this whole dinner that you practically begged for is my fault," she says, her eyes wide with incredulous anger. She says it slowly and loudly enough that the people at the tables around us have stopped scrolling through their phones and are watching us.
“Stay away from me.” I don't respond to her last barb. And before I can recover my wits to speak, she twirls, the dark scarf she’s wearing around her billowing as she moves like a dark thunder cloud.
“With pleasure,” I say to her retreating form. I don’t care how pretty she is, I won’t go near her again unless my life depends on it.
6
Lilly
Porsha is insane. When I caught up with them last night, she and Kojo were kissing like it was going out of style, right in the middle of the lobby. She brought him back to our house, and I had to put on my headphones to block out the noise. Every time I tried to turn onto my side to get comfortable, my stupidly big headphones prevented me. So, I lay on my back and cursed all of them for my misery. Then I remembered Harry’s taunting “don’t you have earbuds?” that afternoon, and I’d almost cried at the unfairness of everything.
Porsha is also shameless. This morning, she’d informed me that Kojo was the best lover she’d ever had and that she’d be spending as much time with him as she could until it was time for us to head back to Accra.
So tonight, it’s dinner for one. I'm sitting at the bar by the outdoor area they use for their nightly entertainment at the resort. I can hear the waves crashing into the beach, the moon is fat and low tonight, and the weather spectacular. I'm having a drink called an Old Jamaican. The bitters and champagne make for a potent combination, and I’m swaying to the music that irritated me when I'd first gotten here. I should be happy. Instead, as I watch the dance floor full of drunk revelers, I’m envious of their ability to cut loose and be happy. Oh, just wait, I think scornfully as I watch them. The aftermaths of nights like this are usually full of headaches, stomach aches, and plenty of regret. But not me, not anymore. And that’s how I need it to stay.
I'm glad I'm rid of him. He's so presumptuous. Thinks he knows me. Judges me. Excites me, my traitorous mind sings at me.
I finish my drink and contemplate ordering another one. I am on vacation, even if it’s all going straight to hell. I feel a hand tap my shoulder. Annoyance and disappointment rise in my chest because I know, at once, that it’s not him.
I would have felt it before he touched me. I fix a smile on my face before I turn around to see who's decided to give me a try.
It's the man from breakfast the other day. Porsha had sent him scampering off when he told us he was on a college trip and not in town for business. "Go away, peasant. We're busy," she'd snapped, and he’d scrammed.
"Hey," I say with a casual grin that is so false that I know he's got to be completely drunk to not see that I'm not in the least bit glad to see him.
