Page 25 of Shameless

I’m no match for Stefan’s tall, athletic frame, but I offer him my support by wrapping one arm around his trim waist, while keeping Napoleon in the crook of my other elbow.

“Hey Jules,” I raise my voice to be heard in the loud wind. “Do you have some wipes? Stef has had a little accident.”

Jules has the small pack of wipes in his hands, he’s wiping his own mouth and the front of his t-shirt. “Thank fuck this isn’t a long journey. I feel like my stomach sunk all the way inside my shoes. Is that mutt ok? He was yakking on the way over to the island yesterday when the sea was nice and calm.”

Napoleon is fine, peacefully asleep in my arms.

“Hey,” Crew reacts. “It wouldn’t matter if he was a mutt, but Napoleon is a pure breed chihuahua and he takes offense to being called a mutt?—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, running to the railing and projectile vomiting overboard.

Before I know it, I realize that ninety percent of the passengers are in the same boat—pun totally intended.

Dad and Arianna are holding onto each other for dear life, while Tilly is holding three sick bags with white knuckle force after dumping a full one in one of the trash cans on the deck.

Tiffany isn’t faring better than the rest of my family. “I should have insisted on not coming to Star Cove. Or at least make Howard fly us by helicopter. We would have already been there and we would have missed this ridiculous storm. Can someone tell the captain to keep this stupid boat from rocking this much?”

Dad rolls his eyes before using his sick bag again. “The captain doesn’t control the weather, Tiff.” It’s surprising, during their marriage Dad rarely stood up to her.

“I don’t care,” Tiffany screams. “If I vomit on my Louboutin boots, they’ll be ruined andsomeonewill have to foot the bill.”

Arianna intervenes. “I doubt you can send the bill to God, Tiff. He or She is responsible for the storm.”

My mother doesn’t take kindly to her best friend’s rebuttal. “No one likes a know-it-all whore, Arianna. Butt out, if I ruin my boots, I?—”

Tiffany joins the ranks of the many passengers who have been throwing up so far.

The deck is a mess and several crew members are tasked with cleaning the floors.

One staff is offering free bottled water to everyone. “Sip the water to rehydrate,” she advises. “Move toward the center of the boat and avoid looking at the waves; pick a stationary objectin front of you and focus on that. We should dock in twenty minutes.”

Napoleon stirs in my arms, finally waking up with one of his trademark noisy yawns.

Yip.

“You ok, Naps? You don’t look sea sick this time,” I observe, relieved that he isn’t vomiting like he did yesterday. “Maybe yesterday you ate something bad? I’m surprised I’m not sea sick, but we need to step away from all the vomiting people, or all bets are off. There’s nothing like hearing someone yack to set me off.”

I find a metal bench toward the bow of the boat, right under the bridge. “Let’s wait here, we should be on the mainland soon.”

I see his shadow before I hear his voice, and by then it’s too late to flee.

“What are you doing here all alone,sis?” Evan is looming over me, his malicious tone matching the smirk on his lips.

I force myself not to look him in the eye, as my stomach plummets like when you’re in an elevator that starts moving suddenly.

Isn’t it ironic that the choppy sea didn’t affect me, but just Evan’s voice is threatening to bring up my lunch?

If terror wasn’t freezing my muscles, I would run and screw the vomit on the deck. I’d bathe in it rather than being near Evan.

He lowers himself on the bench, entirely too close for comfort. When his arm brushes mine, I shudder and slide as far from him as physically possible without standing up. That’s all themovement I can manage with my heart beating so fast that I’m surprised I don’t pass out.

I pretend he isn’t there, staring at the approaching shoreline as if it was the promised land.

“I see how it is,” he chuckles, scooting closer again. “You’re giving me the silent treatment. And to think that I missed you so much, Lula. We used to be close, you and I.”

Yeah, before he took my attempt at being friendly as an encouragement to creep into my bedroom at night.

It’s hard to believe that at first, when I was forced to move into Howard’s penthouse apartment in the Upper East Side, I thought Evan and I could become friends. It was nothing like my feelings for Stefan and Jules, not even close. But Evan had been friendly and I needed someone in my corner if I had to live under Tiffany’s tyrannical and loveless parenting.

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