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“What do you want from me?” I ask.
“A lot more than you’re willing to give.” He moves away from the door, smiling as he rubs at the scruff on his chin.
Shaking my head I slip through the door, letting it close behind me and I lean against the wall to catch my breath. The restaurant is now cleared out, the hall is empty, and I’m struck by a thought. Yanking the door back open, I lean in and ask, “How old are you?”
“Thirty-one,” he smirks.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I say, annoyed by his cocky grin. Before I let the door go, I lean in and say, “Oh, by the way, nice fucking skateboard under your bed.” I let the door go and walk down the hallway.
“I haven’t used that skateboard in a long time!” he yells in amusement at my back as I turn the corner in a huff.
10
WE HAVE YOUR FATHER
Wouldn’t Want to Be Like You by Sheryl Crow, St. Vincent
Georgie taps her foot at the front desk, her blonde ponytail swinging behind her as soon as she sees me. Predictably, she has a huge smile on her face and a bottle of wine in her hand.
“You do know they sell alcohol on the premises? This isn’t Amish country,” I tell her as I approach, my heels clicking on the tile floor of the lobby.
“I don’t travel well without my favorite red,” Georgie says, holding the bottle in front of her.
“God, am I glad to seeyou,” I pluck the bottle of wine from her hand, “and this wine.” I give her a hug.
“That bad, huh?” she asks, as she follows me through the lobby. We cross through the open courtyard, the sun setting and the clouds coloring the sky with beautiful pinks and oranges. The bridal party is staying in the bungalows at the back of the property, a long stretch of rooms with doors that open to the courtyard, and beautiful palms and bird of paradise lining the walkways.
“You have no idea,” I say ominously as we reach the room.
“Do tell all of the dinner gossip,” Georgie says, excitedly. “Did your dad make an inappropriate joke?” She grabs onto my arm, laughing, “Or did Beth lose her shit because you were late?”
“Hey, who says I was late?” I ask, cradling the wine in my arm as I dig for the room key.
“Lake, come on,” Georgie states, raising an eyebrow.
We burst into laughter as I open the door to my room, and we practically fall in. Mine and Noelle’s luggage is sitting at the end of the nearest bed. The room is decorated in a cozy western style, the duvet a bold pattern with orange and brown colors.
Plopping down on the mattress, I kick my shoes off while Georgie wheels her luggage to the opposite bed.
As soon as she sits down, I turn towards her and say, “He’s here.”
Momentarily looking confused, Georgie puckers her lips but then I see it dawn in her eyes. She doesn’t say anything as she walks over to the mini bar, grabs two plastic cups, and then plops down on the bed next to me.
“I think we’re gonna need wine before you explain that further,” she says, holding a cup out to me.
It takes two and half glasses each to drain the bottle while I fill her in on everything, as we settle comfortably into the room. Georgie hangs her dress in the closet next to mine and begins to rifle through her suitcase for options of shoes to go with it.
“You may wear heels all week, but I’m getting tired of crocs and scrubs, so when I get a chance to dress up, I like to make it count,” she says when she catches me rolling my eyes.
Comfortable in bare feet, a tank top, and my sleep shorts, I lean over the bed towards the mini bar, riffling through the tiny bottles.
“If you had brought more than one bottle of wine we wouldn’t have had to break into the mini bar,” I say, unscrewing the top to a tiny bottle of gin and mixing it with a bottle of coke Georgie got from the vending machine.
“Geez, these are expensive,” Georgie says, eyeing the price tag as I hand one to her.
“Then it’s a good thing you’re not paying for the room,” I reply.
“Who is?” Georgie asks.
