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“Seriously, sweetie. Are you okay? I’m going to have some words with your fiancé if he didn’t make sure you reapplied sunscreen all day. Did you forget to hydrate? I told you that Hawaiian sun is a lot stronger than—”
She swats my hand away and huffs in annoyance, and I don’t think it’s because I’m mothering her like usual.
Okay, maybe I know what’s going on here.
“You missed absolutely nothing, Birdie,” I reassure her, leaning forward and rubbing the side of her arm. “I’ve told you a hundred times to travel with Palmer as much as you want. I love that for you. I swear to God. I know you think every time you leave you’re going to miss out on something here, but you truly aren’t. Like, ever.”
My sister never really left Summersweet Island until Palmer came back to town. Just like myself, this small island is our home, we love it here, and we never want to live anywhere else. Where I’ve gotten to do a lot of traveling over the years due to Owen’s baseball, Birdie never really had the opportunity or cared to go anywhere. Now that she’s getting to travel more, she feels like she’s going to miss out on things here. She and Palmer travel maybe once a month, and it’s usually only for three days at the most. I’ve told her over and over she’s being ridiculous, but clearly it hasn’t sunk in to her beautiful, stubborn head yet.
“I have finally come to terms with the fact that no one misses me when I leave,” she teases, knowing Tess and I both miss the hell out of her when she’s not here, and Summersweet Island Golf Course—or SIG, as the locals call it—practically falls apart without her. “I’m not talking about my stupid worries. I’m talking about a visit from—”
Birdie’s cell phone rings from the back pocket of her skinny jeans, cutting off what she was going to say as she leans to the side and pulls it out. We both share a laugh as Buckcherry’s “Crazy Bitch” plays from her phone. She assigned that ringtone to Palmer because of a video that went viral of him having a very public meltdown on the golf course during a tournament that someone hilariously set to that song. Thankfully, Palmer has never been in the same room with Birdie when he’s called her phone, so he has no idea that’s his ringtone.
The song cuts off as Birdie answers the call, the smile on her face turning into a frown of annoyance.
“What do you mean Murphy made you do it? He’s in his seventies and you can outrun him.”
I laugh as Birdie gets up from the coffee table with the phone pressed to her ear, miming the act of drinking to me as she rolls her eyes at whatever Palmer is saying to her on the other end. Murphy Swallow was our neighbor growing up, still lives in the cottage next to our mom, and he works at SIG with Birdie and Tess. He’s like a stand-in grandfather to us, if that grandfather was constantly sarcastic and threatened everyone around him because he hated people. For some reason, the miniscule soft side he keeps buried down deep has only ever been shown to my family. After all these years, we’re still not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
“You know damn well Murphy wouldn’t really slit your throat if you didn’t do shots of whiskey with him to celebrate our engagement.” Birdie sighs, mouthing to me that she’ll stop by the Dip and Twist later for Sip and Bitch as she walks toward the door and puts her attention back on her fiancé who just drunk dialed her. “Yes, I’m coming to Dockside Eddy’s now to rescue you. Lock yourself in the bathroom and wait for me until I get there. I’ll call Murphy and tell him to stop making you drink. Yes, I’ll also tell him to stop telling everyone there you’re a pussy. Yes, I promise.”
I’m still laughing as Birdie shuts my front door behind her, and I push myself up from the couch. I have just enough time for a shower before I need to run snacks and drinks up to Owen’s practice after school—because Bethany asked me to switch with her, since she and Derek decided to go on a last-minute vacation to Florida—before I head to work.
Walking down the hall, into my bedroom, and right over to my closet, I stare at the stacks and stacks of folded T-shirts and sigh, blindly grabbing one from a shelf along with a pair of ratty yet comfortable jean shorts.
Definitely going to dress to impress all those hot, single guys who will be coming for me tonight. Ha-ha, so funny. I’m definitely buying Birdie sunblock the next time I’m at the store.
