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After a while, Manny suggests moving the party to the pool for a game of keep away. The group filters away until it’s just Greg and me.
“Manny seems nice,” I say. “The life of the party.”
Greg grins and scoots his chair closer to me. “He is the life of the party.”
“Did he get you two in a lot of trouble?”
“You have no idea.” He rolls his eyes. “We only got in trouble with the school a few times, but there was always other trouble.” He leans in conspiratorially. “I have some of the best stories about drunk Manny.”
Greg’s telling me a story about how in med school, Manny vomited on a table, and when he saw some earrings in his puke, he thought he’d thrown them up and called Greg in to “treat his torn esophagus.” “He cried when I explained to him that he needed to call the ambulance…until the girl got back to her room and said that Manny hadn’t eaten them, just gotten sick on top of them.”
“Aw, he must have been scared,” I say, but I’m laughing too.
Something catches Greg’s eye, and he waves at someone behind me. “Okay, brace yourself,” he mutters out of the corner of his mouth. “Giselle and Bernice, you look lovely this morning.” He’s addressing two white women walking past, arm in arm. They’re at least seventy years old, wearing matching floral one-piece suits and bathrobes.
“Dr. Hasten, dear, how are you?” The shorter of the two with spiked hair reaches out and pats his cheek, and then turns her attention to me. “You must be Michelle.”
Jesus, how many people at this resort did Greg tell about me? They introduce themselves, and we shake hands.
“How are you feeling, darling?” The other woman, Bernice, who’s lean and willowy, peers at me.
“Fine,” I stammer.
“Greg refused to tell us what was wrong, so we didn’t know whether we should send you some soup or ice cream or what. Maybe popsicles would have felt good on a sore throat.” Her Bronx accent is thick.
Giselle tuts. “I know what was wrong with her.” She gazes at me sympathetically. Her accent is a hint of something—maybe Eastern Europe? “Women’s trouble, of course. Such a shame to have to spend your vacation like that. So inconvenient. On our honeymoon, I got my first hot flash. I thought I was going to die!”
“Uh…” I do not know how to handle that information. But it gets worse.
She leans into me. “You know what’s really helpful for menstrual cramps? Orgasms.”
Greg looks just as scandalized as I feel, and Giselle leans back, satisfied that she’s imparted wisdom onto us.
“I hope you packed—what’s that cute saying? A battery-operated boyfriend. If not, I am sure the hotel can sort something out. Or come find me. I’ll clean it, of course.” She hurriedly assures me. “But really, orgasms help.”
She doesn’t seem to notice that Greg and I are both stunned speechless.
Bernice tugs on her partner’s arm. “Dear, let’s leave them alone. I’m sure she doesn’t need any toys when she’s got our Greg.” She pats his cheek again and sighs dramatically. “And a doctor too.”
They both beam at us and wave goodbye. “See you at the party tonight!” Giselle calls over her shoulder.
Greg and I sit in silence for a moment.
“Did they just—” I don’t even know how to finish the sentence.
“…offer you a sex toy? I think so.” Greg tilts his head back, gazing at the umbrella over our heads. Then he barks a laugh, and it pushes me over the edge.
“Oh my god,” I wheeze around my laughter, wiping tears from my eyes.
“Wow. They are a hoot.” Greg shakes his head, smiling fondly after the ladies. “Giselle was a supermodel and grew up in Slovenia.”
That explained her accent.
Greg’s laughter quiets. “You are going to come to the party, right?”
I glance out at the pool, the game of keep away still going. I haven’t been my usual self these past few days, and while it would be fun to go—it is New Year’s Eve, after all—I don’t want to take up all ofDr. Hasten’sattention, nor do I want to see it on anyone else.
My feelings are complicated.
