Page 33 of 32 Days in May

“Yes,” I manage. “You look great.”

He turns to face the beveled-edge mirror hanging in the waiting area, pulling a hand down his neck, kneading at his skin. Jesus. “My neck’s cold.”

I pick up the newspaper, dragging my eyes away from him. “And your head feels lighter, right?”

“Yeah. It’s fucking weird.” He squints at his reflection while craning his neck left and right. I stand and cross the tiny waiting area to stand behind him. His hair is an otherworldly shade of black and without the extra weight, it falls into perfect S-shaped waves. “I think I miss my mullet.”

I let out a sudden bark of laughter, tossing my head back. I think I startle Marco—I definitely startle myself. I haven’t laughed that loud in months. “I think you’ll adjust,” I assure him.

His eyes are fixed on mine through our reflection, a smile on his lips. It’s a very Eyes Wide Shut sort of intimacy, to meet someone’s gaze through a mirror.

I’m wearing my bucket hat again, the brim curled upward, curls flattened to my forehead, coiling around my ears. I cringe internally at the sight of my body. I’ve always been a curvy girl but now my hips pull at the fabric of my short-sleeved green sundress more than they would have six months ago. Marco doesn’t seem to mind, if the way his gaze is straying is any indication.

I yank nervously at the cardigan tied around my waist. “Come on, the boat leaves in forty minutes and I don’t want to miss out on any of the freebies.”

He pivots on his heels, turning to face me as he reaches for my hand, pulling it away from my waist, his fingers grazing the soft inside of my wrist. “You look really nice today.”

I take a half step back, my voice trapped in my throat. “Oh—”

He laughs softly. “Am I making you nervous? It’s just a compliment. That’s what boyfriends are supposed to do, right?”

“Yeah.” Holy shit. “I guess,” I choke out.

“I was really in my head before, otherwise I would have said something sooner.”

He’s watching me, waiting for me to say something. I can’t look at him, can’t handle the weight of his eyes, which matches his words. A double dose of sincerity. You don’t mean that, I want to say, defaulting to my factory setting: self-deprecating, evasive.

But I’m starting to get Marco. He means everything he says whether I like it or not. He’s completely honest, and right now, that’s a good thing. Maybe one day I’ll wish he wasn’t so forthcoming. Maybe one day he’ll realize how good I am at hiding.

The whale watching ferry leaves from the private dock behind Barney’s Sea Shack at 4:30 p.m. on the dot, no exceptions. Passengers are welcome to join Barney and his brother, Captain Bill, for an unlimited buffet of hot dogs, pizza, crab cakes, soft drinks, light beer, and ice cream inside the family-owned Irish pub before boarding Bill’s watercraft and heading out into open waters.

One might wonder why Barney is giving away so much free food. One might even question the quality of such copious amounts of decadent treats. One might even begin to consider that perhaps Barney has a sick, nasty fetish for bodily fluids.

“I didn’t eat meat for like, eight years,” I say between bites of a perfectly charred hot dog. Marco and I are sitting on a bench on the dock, away from the indoor cacophony of our sea-mates getting lightly blitzed in anticipation of meeting Moby Dick.

Marco practically ran outside when he saw the volume of alcohol being handed out willy-nilly inside the pub, and, not to be outdone, I was hot on his heels, hot dog in tow.

“First time I ate a hot dog, I got a massive migraine.”

Marco nods, expertly shoving half a crab cake sandwich into his mouth. “Had to go vegan for season five because they kept wanting me to take my shirt off for all these like, waterfall scenes.” He rolls his eyes.

“Waterfall scenes? What did that have to do with the plot?”

“Bold of you to assume there was any plot at that point.”

I’m laughing through bites of my dog. “So, what happened when you were a vegan?”

“Every time I cheated and ate cheese or ice cream, I’d have these crazy dreams. Like seriously fucked-up, prophetic shit. It scared the shit out of me.”

“And your solution was to just start eating meat again?”

“I was desperate! It only happened to me when I was a cheating vegan, not when I was a regular carnivore. I had to set the universe right.”

I pull back at how serious he sounds. The man is clearly traumatized. “What the hell did you dream?”

Marco considers telling me very carefully. He narrows his eyes at me and freezes, sandwich hanging limply midair, mouth open. Then, he snaps his mouth shut and shakes his head. “Nah, another time. Too bleak.”

Barney gets on his PA system and gives us a five-minute warning for departure and welcomes us to start boarding the Miss Teak Skye. I’m hell-bent on getting good seats right at the bow of the boat, so I force Marco to trash his final hot dog. We’re in line, waiting to step off the dock and onto the ramp, when I hear a small voice behind me.