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ONE
LIAM
“You used to be way nicer to me!” Hannah’s shrew voice travels through the air, pulling an unwilling eye roll from me.
Much to my dismay, there is no avoiding our joint family trip—you would think in the twenty-seven years we’ve been coming here together, I would give up on that pipe dream.
“That was your first mistake,” I say with a chuckle, bumping my arm into Jackson’s.
Jackson and his sister Hannah are the children of my parents’ absolute best friends, George and Linda, so naturally we grew up together. While Jackson and I have always shared a friendship as a result, his sister Hannah has been the bane of my existence for years. There is something about her that just makes me want to scream, and not in the fun way.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jackson laughs in response, letting my words roll off his back per usual.
Jackson started at Baker & Park, my father’s law firm, a little under a year ago, so we’ve spent more time together recently, and thus have gotten much closer than we once were.Unfortunately, that has been met with more than one visit from his devil spawn of a sister.
Gen, Jackson’s girlfriend, is standing next to him, equally lacking interest in engaging my disdain for Hannah. That’s fine—I’ll hate her enough for all three of us.
I venture outside to help my dad tend to the grill before heading back in with a plate stacked with sirloin steaks. Each one is cooked to a perfect medium rare, while the outside still manages to have a delicious-looking sear.
“Well—your inability to admit you want to sleep with Liam is nasty.” Gen’s voice carries out of the kitchen as a roll flies past my face in the entryway. I stifle the gag this pulls not because the thought of sleeping with Hannah grosses me out at face value, but because, once I consider her personality, I’m steadily returned to Ew-ville.
“Don’t speak those disgusting thoughts of yours into existence. I would rather take a hot poker to the eye.”
Okay, Hannah, that was a bit dramatic.
“That can be arranged…” I say, grabbing Hannah’s dinner roll on its way to her mouth and stuffing it in my own. This elicits the reaction I am looking for, as Hannah huffs. However, I don’t appreciate the searing pain that throbs from my foot as the heel of her sandal digs into my bare flesh. I do my best to bite back the remark that bubbles up; giving her attention only makes it worse. Typically I’d chase it, but I don’t want her to break skin.
We make our way out to the back patio, each with a dish in hand. In the middle of the table is a big bowl of lemons surrounded by an array of greenery. Chargers are placed in each place setting, where crisp white plates lay on top. Why my mother insists on decorating for what are essentially just family meals, I will never know.
After a while, we settle into a rhythm as the fairy lights draped over the table start to blur into tiny little sunbursts: the effect of the fifth margarita I’ve guzzled. I reach for the pitcher anyway, pouring myself another glass goblet of George’s famous cocktail.
“Sure you need another?” Hannah asks. If I didn’t know her, I would think it concern.
“It helps drown out your squeaky voice, so yes…because I can still hear you.”
This barely earns me a shrug, which I don’t appreciate. Her reaction is what it’s all about. She pushes shoulder-length blonde tendrils behind her ear, barely looking at me.
My eyes roll so aggressively and dramatically that I think they might strain.
This also doesn’t earn me a response. What gives?
It’s then that I realize everyone has their eyes fixed on the beach, so naturally, I stand to look.
Jackson is out there, down on one knee, a ring box in his hand. A gasp falls from my lips before I can stop it, and all eyes—including Jackson’s and Gen’s—turn to my own. I pretend to zip my mouth shut and toss the key, mouthing “sorry” toward the happy couple.
He’s seriously proposing? I mean, I know he’s been in love with Gen since we were kids, but one vacation and ten months of dating hardly justifies a marriage. It all just seems a little fast, but if you ask Jackson, he’d say it’s been a lifetime. The two dated when we were teenagers, but it ended badly. That was, until about a year ago when they somehow ended up on the same vacation together, and, well…the rest is history. I can, however, admit I’m just being a bit too cynical for those around me. Hannah’s elbow finds my ribs, signaling for me to shut up, and to my surprise—I listen.
Hannah’s hair catches in the wind and a piece sticks to her lip gloss, leaving me fighting the urge to remove it. She’s fixated on what’s unfolding in front of us, but all I want to do is remove that damn piece of hair. The gleam of her gloss catches the light, pulling attention to her pillowy lips, but it exaggerates the clump attached to it like a vise. It shouldn’t be there; it’s disgusting.
Finally, she reaches up and grabs it.
“Congratulations!” Voices ring out in unison as Gen and Jackson make their way back to the yard, hand in hand, Gen’s left hand sparkling in the moonlight.
Linda pulls her into a hug, mumbling something about the daughter she always wanted. This shouldn’t bother me, but as my eyes dart to Hannah, who barely reacts, I’m reminded that it isn’t new.
We all make our way back into the yard, crowded around the table once more, this time talking about Gen and Jackson. The group drones on about the wedding, when it might be, who might be invited, and who will be in the bridal party.
“Hannah will be in Atlanta, so that will make things easier for you, Gen!” Linda says with a gleam, pulling an awkward shift from Gen. Hannah and Gen had a falling-out years ago, and while they’re okay now, they’re not where they once were. Linda can’t seem to take that hint, but it’s not my business to insert my opinion on the matter.
