Page 99 of Second Chance Vacation

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 due to the effect of the fifth margarita I’ve guzzled down. However, I reach for the pitcher anyway, pouring myself another 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 her shoulder-length blonde tendrils behind her ear, barely looking at me.

My eyes roll, aggressively, so dramatically that I think they might strain.

This also doesn’t earn me a response. What gives?

It’s then that I realize that everyone besides me has their eyes fixed on the beach, so naturally, I stand to take a look.

Jackson is out there, down on one knee, a ring box in his hand. A gasp falls from my lips without even thinking as all eyes—including Jackson 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 that 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 lipgloss, 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 vice. It shouldn’t be there. It’s disgusting.

Finally, she reaches up and grabs it without a second thought.

“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.

“Atlanta?” The question gets asked, and a few seconds go by before I realize it’s my own voice. I’d asked the question.

“What? Your ego too big to not suffocate me by being in the same city as you?”

“More like the stench of you might evacuate the metropolitan area…”

This gets the reaction I’ve been chasing all night, pulling a scream from Hannah’s lungs as she jumps from the table. Her face is about as red as a cherry Popsicle, and I grin in response.

“You’re a dick!”

Hannah stomps into the house, dramatic as ever.

I don’t really care if she’s in Atlanta, as long as she’s the hell away from me.