Mom said she didn’t need to invite any friends because Grandma and I were her best friends, which was probably true. Most of the people she’d met in Hollywood saw her more as Luke Weston’s wife than a person in her own right, and she’d been too busy working and taking care of me to make a lot of friends back in Philadelphia.
Luke got first-class tickets for the family. Jonathan, George, and Jonathan’s fiancée, Izzy, were on our flight, but in coach. Luke and Mom sat together on the flight out, and so did Grandma and Jacob, who happily watched movies the entire way—I’m not convinced he even knew we had left the house.
I was across the aisle from Grandma and next to a businessman who never once made eye contact with me and who quickly popped two pills, drank three cocktails, donned headphones and an eye mask, and fell asleep. I guess he didn’t want the fancy lunch with the real silverware and all.
I did. I loved first class. We never flew at all when I was a kid; we had nowhere to go and we couldn’t have afforded it anyway. The first time I got on a plane was the summer that Mom and Luke got married, and even though it was fun to go up into the sky, I didn’t like much else about flying coach. Then Luke got rich and we all started flying first class together, and it was totally different—you could watch your own movies on a personal screen and the food was good and the flight attendants waited on you hand and foot. It felt like vacation.
Like me, Grandma hadn’t flown until Luke came into our lives, but she wasn’t a convert the way I was. “It’s a necessary evil,” she said to me, leaning across the aisle at one point. “I do it because I have to, but I don’t trust it. There’s gravity. Things fall down.”
“People fly all the time,” I said. “It’s pretty reliable.”
“I don’t want to scare you,” she said, “so I won’t argue. Even though I could. What was that noise?”
“Nothing. Oh, look.” I handed her the menu card. “Wine. You should have some.”
“Maybe,” she said primly.
She had some. And soon after dozed off in her seat, leaving me to enjoy the rest of the flight in peace.
six
The hotel manager came in a limo to pick us up; she handed out our room key cards during the ride, which is when I found out that I was supposed to share a room with Grandma and Jacob.
I didn’t say anything until we had pulled up at the resort, which was spectacularly beautifuclass="underline" palm trees and fountains everywhere you looked. But I wasn’t in the mood to enjoy it. As soon as we’d gotten out of the limo, I grabbed my mother’s arm.
“It’s not fair!” I hissed. “Grandma gets up at like five in the morning. And she drives me crazy. I want my own room.”
“I’m not letting you sleep by yourself in a place where a lot of strangers have passkeys,” she said. “And if you think you can talk me into it, you’re wrong, so save your breath.”
I let go of her and drifted over to George. “I blame you,” I said. “You booked the rooms. You should have gotten me my own.”
“First of all,” he said, “I was following your mother’s instructions. And second of all, I’m sharing a room with Jonathan and Izzy, which is a lot more awkward than sharing a room with your grandmother, so don’t complain to me.”
“You and I could get a room together!” I said. “That would solve both our problems.”
“Yeah, I think that might be awkward in a whole different way,” he said, and walked away.
Mom and Luke went up to their suite, saying they just wanted to have a quiet dinner alone there. I wanted to eat in one of the hotel restaurants, but Jacob was in a whiny mood, so we ordered room service and turned the TV on to the Sprout Channel to keep him happy.
When the food came, Grandma criticized me for ordering a pizza. She said that everyone knew wheat was bad for you and that it was no wonder I was so short.
I told her to stop blaming my diet for the fact I was short—hadn’t she ever heard of genetics? Mom was even shorter than I was, and she wasn’t exactly a giant herself.
She said she was sorry she cared about my health, and she guessed she should just mind her own business from now on, go away, and not bother anyone ever again.
I told her to stop being such a drama queen, and then Jacob suddenly let out a wail. I asked him what was wrong, but he wouldn’t answer, just sat there, his mouth open in a roar so wide you could see bits of french fries caked around his teeth. Grandma said, “It’s because you let him try the pizza,” and I said, “No, it’s not,” and Jacob kept bawling, and the noise was unbearable, and I was losing my temper with them both, so I said I was going down to the lobby and stomped out.
I punched the down button as hard as I could. It didn’t bring the elevator any faster but it felt good.
Once I was in the lobby, I wasn’t sure what to do. I heard distant music so I followed the sound across a breezy walkway to what looked like the entrance to a dance club. I peered in, but I was wearing sweatpants and a cotton tank top and everyone inside was dressed up. Plus they probably didn’t let in anyone under the drinking age. Plus it looked kind of lame—everyone there was middle-aged. Plus I would never go to a dance club by myself.
Still, it was fun to watch for a while. Most of the women were wearing flowery sundresses and the men had on Hawaiian shirts—it was all so tacky it was kind of endearing.
I turned away just as two youngish guys in suits reached for the door.
“Hey there,” one of them said, sidestepping right into my path, blocking my way. “Thinking about coming in?”
“Not really.” I flashed a tight smile.
“Come on,” the other one said. He had slicked-back hair and his suit was a little shiny. “The night’s young and you look like you’re a dancer. Don’t sit this one out.”
“We need you in there,” the other added. His hair was thinning, triangles of bare skin making wings at his temples. “Never enough cute girls.”
“Wrong shoes,” I said, pointing down at my flip-flops.
“Kick ’em off,” the other guy said.
“Take off whatever you want,” his friend agreed, and giggled.
The first one said, “Don’t mind him. We’re harmless. Would you rather grab a drink at the bar?”
“I’m good, thanks,” I said, and turned.
Slicked-back hair grabbed my arm. “Come on,” he said. “Don’t leave so fast.”
I pushed his arm away and said, “Really, no.” I was starting to feel uncomfortable, so it was a huge relief to see someone familiar emerge from the restaurant near the lobby. “Oh, there’s my friend,” I said, then dodged around them while they were still absorbing that and ran toward George, calling him. He turned around.
“Keep going,” I said as I caught up to him. “Don’t look back at those guys.”
He immediately looked over his shoulder. “What guys?”
“I told you not to look!” I glanced back. They had disappeared. “They must have gone into the club. It’s fine. I’m just glad I saw you.” We headed back into the lobby.
“Why? What happened?”
“Nothing really.” We reached the elevator and I hit the up button. “They just wanted me to go dancing with them and were kind of bugging me about it.”
The elevator arrived, but George hesitated, holding it open with his hand instead of following me inside. “Should I be doing something heroic like finding them and telling them to leave young girls alone? Maybe slugging them? How big were they?”
“Let’s just go up.” I tugged him inside the elevator.
“You’re on seven, right?” He punched the button. “Why are you wandering around the lobby at night in a camisole anyway?”
I crossed my arms, slightly embarrassed but defiant. “What are you, slut shaming me? Blaming the victim?”
He flushed. “Don’t be ridiculous. But you look like you’re wearing pajamas.”
“Yeah, well, that’s because they are my pajamas. I was so desperate to get out of my room I didn’t bother changing. My grandmother is driving me crazy, just like I predicted.” The elevator dinged and the doors opened onto my floor. “Where are Jonathan and Izzy?” I asked as we headed down the hallway.