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“Sky juice! Yes!” Manny takes one, but Michelle and I both pass.
“There are other drinks circulating too,” the server tells us. “And an open bar. And food. Have fun!” He shouts the last as he walks away.
Michelle and I visit the bar and join Manny at the four-top table he’s picked out to wait for the sun to set.
It doesn’t take long for Manny to get Michelle cracking up as he tells her embarrassing stories—embarrassing to both me and him—from our med school days. The sun is inching closer to the horizon, and the timing is perfect.
“Dr. Hasten,” a familiar voice calls from behind me. It’s Giselle with Bernice in tow.
I stand for both women to kiss my cheek, to Michelle’s amusement. They don’t linger, though, and Giselle pats my arm. “See you on the dance floor later, dear!”
There are other people we know here. The bachelorette party we were hanging out at the pool with earlier is at a big round table, and they waved as we walked past with our drinks. There are available seats at their table, but I’d rather sit with Michelle.
Our drinks are almost empty when the volume of the music drops.
The whole party quiets as everyone turns to watch the sunset. It’s a clear view of the horizon, with high, wispy mare’s tail clouds that are turning outrageous colors.
“The last sunset of 2022!” the DJ shouts.
The sun, a brilliant golden globe now, melts into the horizon, and a murmur goes through the room as a horn blows behind us. When I turn back to the stage, one of the staff, a black guy with a goatee, is holding a seashell up to his lips, cheeks puffed out, and the call of the horn hauntingly beautiful.
And then there are more. Another one from the entrance blows, and the crowd parts to show a woman with light brown skin and black curls blowing a similar shell. And then another from somewhere in the back of the crowd. And then one off in the distance, and I see a figure standing at the end of the dock.
The call lingers for a few moments, and when they are done, there’s applause and catcalls.
“Did you see that?” Manny leans towards us, eyes wide in excitement.
“The sunset?” I ask, confused.
“No, the green flash.”
“Oh my god,” Michelle chimes in. “I saw it too!” Manny offers her a hand, and they high-five. My chest does a weird thing, and I feel…jealous that Michelle and Manny high-fived? That’s ridiculous. I should like that she gets along so well with my best friend.
I frown. “You did? I didn’t see anything.”
“You had to really be watching,” Manny says, rubbing his eyes. When his hands pull away, he blinks.
“Seeing spots?” I ask, and he nods. “Maybe you were watching too closely.”
Manny shakes his head and grins as the music changes. Instead of leisurely tropical tunes, the bass drops, and the volume turns up. “Oh man, I haven’t heard this song in so long.”
Michelle tilts her head. “Is that…Sean Paul?”
“Dude, the party is starting!” Manny stands and offers a hand to Michelle, who takes it. “Let’s go dance.”
Michelle and Manny join the crowd, and I hurry to catch up with them. Now I recognize the song, though, yeah, this is an old hit. And it’s a bump-and-grind kind of song, which, well…Manny and Michelle aren’t bumping and grinding exactly, but they are getting close. Close enough that I wonder if Manny’s trying to make a move on her.
And then I shake my head. Where the fuck did that come from? This is Manny, the outrageous flirt who’s out on the dance floor having fun, the guy who would never make a move on a woman he knew I liked.
My thoughts are completely irrational, and it doesn’t help that Michelle looks like she’s having fun. Manny is a great dancer, much better than me. He’s got a hand on her hip and the other one up in the air, and they’re both belting out the lyrics toTemperature.
I want to dance with her. Instead, I’m a slightly awkward white dude dancing by myself.
There’s plenty of time, I remind myself. The party will go past midnight. Just have some fun.
And as one song filters into another, I relax more and more. We aren’t alone on the dance floor; Manny high-fives a couple I don’t know, moving slightly away from Michelle. Giselle and Bernice are a few bodies away, holding each other like they are foxtrotting but swaying in time to the reggae beat of the next song.
The DJ keeps things upbeat, and soon I’m sweating. I catch Michelle’s gaze, and she dances closer. Close enough that I can see the bead of sweat rolling down from her neck to her cleavage…
