“Do you treat all your guests to roses and pink champagne?” she asked, sending a sly smile my way as she ran her fingers over the flower petals.
“Don’t be silly,” I told her, lips curving up. “Most of my guests don’t like pink champagne,” I added, making a smile brighten her ridiculously beautiful face. “This door leads out onto the back balcony, clearly,” I told her, gesturing toward it. “And through here is your bathroom,” I continued, walking over to open the door, peeking in, seeing the rose petals floating in the water, the fluffy white robe hanging beside the tub, a pile of bath bombs in a bowl just waiting to be used.
Diann—who was running this house these days—deserved a raise if she pulled out all these stops. I’d asked Alvy simply to make sure the pink champagne was there, not all the rest.
“Do you do everything over-the-top?” Wasp asked, but her eyes were soft as she took in the deep soaking tub, the excessive number of towels stacked at her disposal, the rainfall glass shower, the built-in stereo system in the wall.
“I do,” I told her, since it was the truth.
“I’m starting not to hate that,” she admitted, shaking her head. “This bathroom is bigger than Wanda,” she added.
“I’m sorry, Wanda?” I asked, watching as she shot me a smile.
“My skoolie.”
“That is a word I’m afraid I am not familiar with.”
“Skoolie. A converted school bus.”
“Converted to what, exactly?”
“A home,” she told me. “I bought an out of commission school bus, gutted it, and rebuilt it into a home.”
“For what purpose?”
“To travel with my best friend.”
“Why not travel in a car and stay in hotels?”
“Because not all of us were born into privilege. I’m not hating on you because of it, but most of us aren’t that lucky. And we have to make the best out of our circumstances. This was the best for us.”
“How long did you travel that way, live that way?”
“A decade or so. Raven crapped out on me a while back. Fell into some guy’s dicksand, never resurfacing. She has kids and everything now.”
“So you’ve been traveling on your own too?”
“I hate to break it to you, Fenway, but you don’t travel alone. You have Alvy. And the drivers and the pilots and the boat captains.”
“Still,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m alone.” Was that a note of sadness in my voice?
“Solo travel is great,” Wasp said, moving past me to go look out at the view. “You always get to pick what you want to eat, where you want to go, what music is on. But it can get—” she paused, trying to find the guts to say the next word. In the end, she failed.
“Lonely,” I supplied, finally recognizing the feeling that had made the past two or three years feel so empty, so unfulfilling.
I’d been surrounded by people.
And lonelier than I’d ever felt before.
“I hate that word,” she admitted, lip curling up, shooting me a disdainful look over her shoulder.
“But it is the appropriate one, isn’t it?”
To that, she sighed, her whole body relaxing with it. “Yes, it’s the right word. I miss my best friend. I miss having someone to share things with, to go out hunting at midnight for a restaurant that was open, or making a meal out of convenience store food. I miss singalongs and getting drunk in bars. I like being on my own. I do. But I miss sharing things with someone else too.”
That rang true as the most honest—and vulnerable—thing she’d ever said to me.
A strange pang ached across my chest, strong enough for my hand to move there, rubbing my fingertips across it.
“Well,” I said, forcing cheer, lightness, wanting to chase the dark out of the room, out of her. “Luckily for you, you now have someone to create makeshift meals with, and get drunk with. Though I must warn you, I am not much of a singer. I will do it loudly. And with great enthusiasm regardless, though.”
The sadness slipped from her eyes, replaced by a twinkling I rather liked seeing there.
“Thanks for inviting me here,” she told me, glancing away. “It is nice not to be so alone,” she added, refusing to look at me, and I was starting to suspect she had a hard time being real and open with someone face to-face.
Relating to that more than she could know, I didn’t press it.
“I will let you settle in. We should be having a late dinner tonight.”
“Thanks,” she said, reaching for the door, moving out onto the balcony, watching the sun start to set.
I went out into the hall, going into my room to shower, change into swim shorts and a white tee, then making my way downstairs, finding Alvy sitting in the kitchen with a woman in her late twenties or early thirties who was chopping vegetables while the two chatted.