Page 36

THURSDAY

“Seasick Hit Me Hard and Soft”

The lushness of Billie Eilish floods my ears as I sway in a hammock beneath an orange tree in the cool early morning breeze.

I get lost in “BITTERSUITE,” escape in her lyrics, in the transformation and evolution of the music from song to song, allowing the vibes to transport me somewhere far removed from Amalfi, where I don’t have to think about Cam or Fielder or anything—

Tap-tap-tap.

Squinting one eye open, I see Cam standing over me, one hand now on my knee, smiling sheepishly.

“I got you something for today.” He hands me a bottle of Dramamine.

“I know you get seasick. I figured you’d forget it, and I didn’t want you to be green and hanging overboard all day today.

I figured you’d want to be good for Sienna. ”

“That’s really sweet. Thank you.” I swing my legs over the side of the hammock.

He holds out his hands for me to use to steady myself as I get out.

“This makes me dread the yacht a little bit less. I’m not a boat person.”

“Can we talk?” he asks, and suddenly he’s breathing heavily and not looking directly at me. “I don’t know how to say this, and if I look directly at you I’ll never be able to say it, but I can’t lie to you.”

I feel the anger building. I already know what he’s about to say, but I wonder if he’ll have the nerve to actually say it out loud.

Cam has the tendency to skirt around admitting when he’s done something wrong.

He’s an “I’m sorry but” kind of guy, and I’ve always attributed it to his parents who don’t care about him, but if he doesn’t own up without a “but,” there’s no moving forward.

“I met up with someone yesterday. And kind of the day before. But nothing happened the day before. But something did happen yesterday.”

I shove my hands with the Dramamine bottle in my pockets so he can’t see them shake. “What happened?”

“We hooked up.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he repeats.

“Why did you do it?”

Tears form in the corners of his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“That’s not good enough!” I start to yell, but I don’t want anyone to hear.

“You’re right, you’re totally, completely right. I’m a terrible person, I—”

“No, don’t do that thing. Don’t turn yourself into a martyr.” I hold my hand out in front of him to stop him from talking. “I’m not everyone else in your life who is going to abandon you. I’m not that person. But I deserve a real explanation, I—”

“I wanted attention,” he says quickly. His eyes widen as if shocked he admitted it.

“I was feeling so insecure about Fielder. It’s not an excuse at all, really, but I’ve been asking you for months to define our relationship, to be exclusive, to really commit to me because I love you, Ricky.

And I told you I loved you. Remember that day, two months ago?

We were hiking at Snow Lake, and we stopped to lay in the sun by the water for a while.

You were holding my hand, and we were talking about everything and nothing, and you told me how comfortable you felt and that you hadn’t felt like this in a really long time, and I told you I hadn’t ever felt like this.

You leaned up and looked me in the eyes and kissed me like I’d never been kissed before.

And I told you I was so in love with you.

We’d been together at that point for like four months, and maybe it was too soon, so I get that you couldn’t say it back, but now, after seeing you with Fielder, it all makes sense. So I freaked out and—I made a mistake.”

I remember that day at Snow Lake, how beautifully blue the sky was, the dichotomy between the snowcapped mountains and the blistering heat of the sun beating down on our bare chests.

When Cam told me he loved me, it scared me.

The last time I was in love, with Fielder, I hurt him and ran away.

Was I ready to give in again? Are there other types of love?

Because I did care about Cam, and I have grown to love him. Just in a different way.

Seeing his vulnerability and honesty now, I realize how my inactions have caused him pain. “I’m sorry, Cam. I never meant to hurt you.”

“And I never meant to hurt you, Ric. Really.” He takes both of my hands. “I do think that, if you gave us a chance, a real chance, you could be happy.”

“I really thought I had,” I admit.

He nods. “I know you did. Do you think you could love me?”

His question, though not unfounded, catches me off guard. “I could, one day.”

“Are you ready to give up on me?” His voice breaks, and I shake my head no.

In truth, I don’t think I ever really gave Cam a fair chance, and I did really have fun with him. Being with him the last six months got me through a dark period. How can I walk away from that without giving it a shot?

“Do you love Fielder?”

I don’t answer because I know saying it out loud would hurt him.

He lifts our still-joined hands. “You’ll see— this is where you should be.

” He kisses both palms. “We should get ready, though. Today’ll be great.

Sailing along the coast, seeing the famed grottos!

” Before he lets go of us, he says, “If you need space to figure things out with Fielder while we’re here, you have it.

No restrictions. It’s the least I can do for you after what I did.

But I’m not giving up, either. Game on.”

What the hell just happened?!

The thing about Dramamine is that you need to take it at least a half hour before you get on a boat for it to have any impact; if you take it once you start to feel seasick, it won’t work.

I learned that at a young age when Dad saved all year to take us on a family cruise and I spent four out of the five days green in bed.

Cam did not expect to get seasick, so by the time the superyacht pulled away from the docks at the Amalfi seaport, it was too late.

Now I’m in one of the small bedrooms below deck, rubbing his back as he moans. Despite the air-conditioning on full blast, the air is thick and smells like acrid vomit. I dip in and out of holding my breath.

“Oooh, bleeps, iown wan yew mids ow.” His voice crescendos and crashes like the bow of the yacht.

“Scusi?” My hands rub his back in concentric circles.

He picks his head up, but it looks delicate, dangling like meat on a skewer. “You can go, please. I don’t want you to miss out.”

“No way, babe.”

“I want you to go.” His head crashes back down into the mattress. He pulls the comforter up between his legs and cuddles with a tiny corner of the fabric. “Ughhhh. One of us should have a good time. Plus, it’s Sienna’s big day. She needs you.”

“Her big day is Saturday,” I reassure. “I don’t want you to be alone.”

“I need sleep,” he mumbles. “Can’t help me sleep.”

“I’ll stay ’til you fall asleep; then I’ll go. And if you need me, just text and I’ll be back in a second. Deal?”

With a half-hearted thumbs-up, he moans and closes his eyes.

After a solid ten minutes of labored breathing and groans, he elicits the tiniest of snores, and I slowly start to slide off the bed. Before leaving, I crank up the air and turn on a fan for circulation.

Shutting the door behind me, I bump into Sienna. “Is he okay?”

I shake my head. “It’s rotten in there. But hopefully.”

“You’re a better person than me.” She stops to check her makeup in a hallway mirror.

She looks Instagram-ready, glammed to within an inch of her life with a bridal-white, almost pearlescent one-piece bathing suit with massive cutouts on either side of her body to show off her curves.

Her blond hair is curled and bounces as she fluffs it.

“Ready to party? I need my brother up there! I’ve barely spent any time with you this week, and I hate it.

” She grabs my hand like we’re kids again.

“You’ve spent more time with your two boyfriends.

” She eyes me over her white-framed bug-eyed sunglasses with gold accents.

Emerging from the staterooms below deck to the main salon of the hundred-foot superyacht—which I didn’t know was a term until we all arrived at the docks and were greeted by the captain, first mate, and ten-person crew—and out onto the sundeck, I take in the sheer magnitude of the vessel, and how stunning the mountains and coastline look from this angle.

I didn’t get a chance to appreciate it because when we all boarded the superyacht, Fielder avoided me and Cam, so I dwelled on that.

I also noticed Matty brought the hot farmer’s son, Nic Avello Jr., as his date.

The rich, cerulean sky is cloudless, contrasting the rugged mountains jutting up from the land, dotted with lush greenery set back against the rolling towns built into the rock.

Amalfi is in our rear as we jet toward Praiano, which is a less assuming, more enchanting local town built into the cliffs.

We sail by Positano soon, the picturesque town associated with the glossy pictures on social media and videos on Clock with its layers of multicolored houses that rise up into the mountain.

Bright turquoise waters surround us. Smaller wooden boats and catamarans zip across the water along the coast. The hull of the boat cuts smoothly through the waves, creating a welcome breeze that’s cool in the shade and sun.

Synth-y music with sick 808 beats blasts through the speakers, and though it feels a lot like a fancy music video, I wish it were silent so I could lean over the edge and stare at the shoreline and think, dream.

No such luck, though.

Benny, clad in a matching white-and-blue terry cloth short and button-down set with a nautical neck scarf in a double wrap French knot, bounds toward us. Monroe and Jenni Lee flank him on either side. He hands us some sort of pink concoction.

“All my besties together!” Sienna squeals.

“Drink up,” Benny encourages.

I stare at the glittery sugar swirling like a lava lamp. Whatever it is, I don’t want it in my body. “I’m good.”

Sienna laughs. “He’s salty he’s not with his boo.”

“Which boo?” Benny tongues at his straw. He takes another sip.

Topher’s mom, Gabriella, holding on to the sides of her floppy straw hat that’s so big it needs its own carry-on for the plane ride home, bounds over.

“What’re we doing, kids? Shots?” She slides right into the mix quickly and grabs hold of Sienna as if they’re girlfriends.

“Guisy, Rosa, get your asses over here!”

“The Coven, yes!” Sienna shouts. “Shots for the Coven!”

Guisy pulls her gauzy black wrap over her shoulders. “I want to nap.”

“Nap when you’re dead,” Gabriella snaps.

Guisy sticks out her tongue.

“I want a shot too!” Rosa yells, appearing from nowhere.

Guisy sidles up next to me. “Lookit my little Ricky, so grown up!” She squeezes my cheeks like she did when I was a young boy. “Get your mom over here.” She winds up like an old wooden toy to shout, “Bianca! Bee! Come here, we’re doing shots.”

When my mom drinks, she’s basically Regina George’s mom from Mean Girls , the “cool mom.” Mom throws her hands in the air and screams like she’s in a sorority, and grabs Benny’s mom, Zia Francesca, and pulls her over, too.

This whole scene is strange. I don’t really drink, not like other guys my age. I like wine and limoncello, but it’s more of a family tradition than to get drunk.

Sienna was right. I am Nonno.

“This is amazing,” Monroe says.

“I want to yeet myself off the balcony,” I whisper, slyly pouring the pink drink into the sea and pretending to throw it back.

Guisy turns to me. “I’ve missed having you around the house.”

I nod and say, “Me too.” Guisy was a second mom to me.

Growing up next door and dating her son for my entire life will do that.

Whenever the Lemons and DeLucas would get together, the story of how Bianca DeLuca met Guisy Lemon never failed to come up.

Our family had just moved in next door. Fielder’s mom and Nonna weren’t home, and Fielder’s dad was supposed to be watching Fielder, but Fielder was a handful, so his dad went next door and asked my mom—a stranger—to watch him to give him a break.

When Guisy came home, she panicked, unable to find Fielder, when she heard his voice coming from the house next door.

She didn’t even get to the front door when my mom opened it and said, “I think I have something that belongs to you.” They’ve been best friends ever since.

Guisy, Gab, Rosa, and Mom pound back shots like champs. Soon they’re all cackling, cheering, and drinking Sienna and her friends under the table, who eventually migrate (with Gabriella in tow) to the sundeck on the bow of the yacht to take pictures.

“One thing I’ve wanted to say to you, Ricky,” Guisy says, the way moms do when they’re about to teach a lesson.

“My son will never love anyone the way he loves you. I’m not one of those people who trusts love so easily, just ask Fielder’s father’s grave.

” She pauses, then bursts out laughing before doing the sign of the cross and begging Jesus to forgive her.

“What I’m trying to say is, what you two had doesn’t come around often. ”

“Oh, Madonna mia,” Rosa exclaims, pulling her away from me.

“He’s moved on. He has a boyfriend. A whole new life.

” Rosa looks at me, eyes full of empathy.

“I love my nephew more than anything, but you need to be happy, too. Fielder will thrive. Life always goes on; that’s what makes it so beautiful. ”

Rosa and Guisy leave me to make their way toward the sundeck.

I’m alone, head spinning.

Listen to my head, or my heart?

How many times can I make the same measurements before I cut?