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"Wait, where is the hot tub this year? I haven't seen it," the redhead asks.
"Jane told me there's no hot tub anymore," Paula says. "I wonder why."
They all stare pointedly at Addison, and Lisa says, "You and Luke messed it up for everyone."
Luke. Ted's friend. Or they seemed like they were friends yesterday.
"He seems different this year," Paula observes. "More . . . driven, I guess?"
"Oh my God, and Crenshaw is weirder than ever," Lisa says.
"And I swear to hell and back, if Steve pumps another one of his gigantic-headed babies into me," the redhead grumbles, "I'm gonna castrate him."
"Y'all are on my case about the hot tub," Addison gripes, "but we're all fine with Crystal coming back for baby, what, number five?"
That's when it all clicks for me. Everyone else is making fun of the redhead – Crystal – while she admits that she loves being pregnant but hates kids, and I'm realizing that Addison was talking about something that happened last year with her and Luke.
Breakfast is served, and I stay in my chair, clutching the pancakes and eggs I know I should eat but my stomach keeps flipping, and they keep going like this is that summer camp shit I've seen on TV. Their stories mention men and women I haven't met, but it's mostly the same group. Story after story, all the same crew. I tell myself I shouldn't care, but then I remind myself that the more I know, the better prepared I'll be for what comes next.
But someone is notably absent from the stories, and as each one progresses, it's more and more obvious that they're deliberately leaving him out until I finally blurt out, "What's Ted's deal?"
The room goes silent. Everyone turns to me. I've shown a weakness, and they're sharks with blood in the water.
Only, I don't see any sort of malicious glee in their eyes, only interest. A lot of interest.
"What about Ted?" Paula throws back, her voice sincere.
"I-I don't know." I shrug. "He just hasn't been mentioned."
"Where was he last night?" Lisa insists. "Was he with you? Is that why you can't sit right?"
"This is how I always sit!" I snap. Yep, I always sit half sideways with one foot tucked under the other thigh and the other foot thrown over to the side so my ass doesn't touch anything. Absolutely normal.
"Ooh, he was so tough and growly with you," Crystal coos. "Did he spank you?"
"Certainly not," I lie.
"I want him to spank me," she fires right back.
"What the fuck," I breathe out. Who wants to be spanked? That shit hurt!
"Did he spank you because you're a brat? I can be a brat."
"He doesn't like brats," I grumble, tucking myself deeper into my hood, totally over this conversation.
Six
"I got Crystalpregnant last night," Steve announces after lunch. It seems like the same blustering I've heard from the other men all morning, so I ignore it, preferring to watch the waves breaking out in the open water and glide in until they gently lap at the beach.
It still fascinates me after two decades in America. We had plenty of beaches in the UK, of course, beaches we called white sand, and the water was blue, and it all seemed perfect. What we saw on American programming was fantasy, I assumed, with some digital effects to make the sand look that white and the water look that blue.
And then we moved to Miami, and I discovered that it had all been real. Every morning, I sit outside on my balcony and drink my tea and watch that sapphire blue water lap at the shimmering white sand, and I know my day will be better for that moment.
I know my day will be better as I watch the women walk out single-file over the beach dunes. They have three hours left of personal time before this little game of baby roulette begins again, but for now they're just a group of girls on vacation in their big floppy sun hats and sheer bathing suit cover-ups.
Except Baylee, of course. From this distance it's hard to see the doodles on her arms and legs or even tell that she's got a darker complexion than most of the others, but the ball cap on her head and oversized t-shirt on her body are obvious enough.
"You can'tknowthat," Everett scoffs.
