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Vivi takes the metallic credit card from my hand and whistles, tapping it against her manicured nail. “I’ve never even seen one of these. You could buy a house with this card.” “I know.” I take it back, looking at it. It has my name on it. Goose bumps break out along my arms. “How does he know I won’t use this to buy a giraffe?” Is West this trusting, or this desperate?
I can absolutely imagine I will, at some point, crack an inappropriate joke to someone who turns out to be the leader of a NATO country.
“When it comes to me, defer to her. She thinks I will always love her the most. She’ll drink like a fish, but you should never have more than two drinks per evening. Smile a lot. Don’t ever finish what’s on your plate, even if I do.” “Exactly how far back in history would you like me to go? Will I still be able to vote?”
“How was Cambodia?” Charlie asks in a low, reverent voice. Every member of the Weston family waits for my answer. “So humid.” I pause, and in the silence realize that this isn’t exactly what Charlie meant. “Oh, but there were also, like, a lot of broken bones?” Oh God. Alex frowns, decides to speak. “Bones, specifically?” West’s hand does the flexing thing again. “Right,” I say. “Well, I was helping in a clinic near a bridge. Without rails. A lot of people fell off.” Janet gasps. “Dear God, that’s horrible!” I shrug, smiling. “But good for business, I guess!”
The ocean is monster soup, and I don’t want to die today.”
If there’s one common skill every adult woman possesses, it’s how to scope out a friend’s prospective or cheating love interest on the Internet.
‘When I was four years old, our mom said we were getting a present. The best, most exciting present ever. When it turned out Mom didn’t mean we were getting a dog, I took Charlie to the neighbor’s house and offered to trade.’ ”
Besides, no matter how good the kissing is, we aren’t really married. I mean, we are legally, but not, like, emotionally or—even sadder—biblically.
“Your mom’s boobs are really great,” I say. “No wonder you breastfed until you were four.”
The entire thing feels like a sexy Scooby-Doo episode, and I continually expect to be busted by the mysterious owner of the island walking in with a group of goons brought to arrest us for the crime of Countertop Fornication.
Maybe I should raid the Old Hollywood costume stash and be Elvis until I can get on a fucking plane out of here.
