Page 45 of When We Meet Again

I have lookedhigh and low for Roman, his mom, and his dad. Nothing.The only one I find is Lena, unfortunately.

“They took a dingy to shore. Something about a surprise for you,” Lena says from behind me.

Great. They are leaving me on board with a slightly unhinged GenZ’er who knows how to kill me off because she listens to true crime podcasts to relax.Sweet.

“Great. I’m going to make some coffee.” I decide to be nice. “Want one?”

She shakes her head. “No, thanks. Teeth.” She points to her straight white teeth.

“Right.” I smile a closed-mouth smile. I have straight teeth. They may be a little stained from my love of coffee and tea, but there are easy fixes for that these days.

The gurgle of the coffee machine is music to my ears before it’s rudely interrupted. “I know why you hate me.”She followed me?!I glance at the coffee one more time to see if it magically sped up. No such luck. This is not a conversation to have pre-coffee.

“You’re threatened by me.”

“You hold nothing back, do you?” I cock a brow as I search for a mug.

“Top left,” she says with a wide smile. Because she’s obviously been on this yacht before. Roman has had her in his bed hundreds of times. Or maybe thousands. They’re young and were probably still in the ‘screw like bunnies' phase. I gag a little at the thought.

I pull a mug out and grab the oat milk creamer from the fridge. I’m waiting for her to comment on my choice of creamer because it’s not some fancy flavor. I got rid of dairy strictly for breast and gut health, not that I need to share that with her because she’s not old enough to be concerned with those types of things, apparently. Just the sparkle of her pearly whites.

The scent of coffee fills my nostrils before I take a sip, and once it hits my veins, I become otherworldly—full of caffeine,hope, and reachable dreams. If we want to have a decent rest of the trip, we need to squash this. Right now. So I’m channeling my maturity.Go me.

I slide onto a chair across from her and open the can of worms. “Why exactly am I threatened by you, Lena?”

“Because I’m young, famous, no wrinkles...” She counts off each point on her fingers before continuing, “My hair color is natural?—”

I hold my hand up, signaling for her to stop talking. Immediately. “Let me stop you right there, little Lena.”

Her mouth falls open.

“Uh-uh. You may still have your youth, but that’s so incredibly temporary. Everybody ages and I’m going to do it gracefully. I’m also not going to inject myself with fillers to look younger. I want to look my age. And I have to admit…” I rub my fingers over my face, gently. “...I look pretty damn good for my age. I have maybe a handful of gray hairs, and the reason I dye my hair is because I enjoy having dimension. I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the color ‘dishwater blonde’.” It’s a real color, and it's as drab as it comes. I know, because it’s my natural color. I’m not threatened by yourfamebecause it’s not real. Your looks will eventually fade, and you’ll have to get a big girl job once the million followers move on to the next young thing. What will you qualify for then?” I take a deep breath, about to impart some wisdom I doubt, but sincerely hope, that she’ll take to heart, “Aim higher. Influence on the side, but take a law course, or study meteorology or…or whatever floats your pretty little boat. I know you like Roman. Maybe even love him, but don’t let a man define your worth or your future.” My tone softens slightly, and I can barely believe what I’m sharing with her. “I made the mistake of doing that, and it’s taking me a while to get out of the funk I let him put me in. You know what? I let it happen, so it’s my fault for not seeing the signs that Iwas becoming less of who I wanted to be, and more of what he wanted me to be.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Of course, you didn’t. Like social media, we only show people what we want them to see. Rarely does anyone see the real shit. We’re constantly seeking validation from anybody but ourselves, and it’s ruining us.” I take a few deep breaths trying not to go all mama bear, which has never happened before.

“My last piece of advice for you is this: why chase a man who doesn’t want you? You’re beautiful. And you’re smart. I can tell…there is a brain in there. Want more for yourself? You need towantmore, Lena, because one day you will find a man who will try to lasso the moon for you. But Roman is not that man.”

“I…” she starts and stops.

We sit there quietly before I hear the Huxley’s climb aboard. I could get up and fake a headache, pardon myself from this overwhelming company, but they planned this for me when they could have just let me be alone in my house all week.

“She’s in here,” I hear Harold shout. Lena and I stare at each other, both marinating in the words we’ve just exchanged.

“Happy birthday to you…” he starts singing, and Janine and Roman walk in holding a cake with an embarrassing number of candles. I’m pretty sure there has to be a fire extinguisher somewhere here, just in case.

My eyes leap from one person to the next, all admiring the beautiful work of art in front of me. There are hibiscus decorating the left and right lower corners while an ocean scene is iced on the background.

Funny how the ocean came full circle. What I once loved, I eventually hated—feared, even…and now love again.

Flames dance back and forth over the wicks of the colorful wax, and I see the flickering in Roman’s eyes. Except he isn’t looking at the cake—he’s looking at me.

They all finish singing, even Lena. “Make a wish, Kensi,” Roman whispers, now sitting across from me, and his face turns into a slow, secret smile only I could understand. We kissed. And we’re going to do it again. I don’t need to blow out candles to make a wish. It’s already come true. I’ve wished for Roman Huxley and he’s finally mine.

The room is silent watching the exchange, but I don’t care anymore. I blow out the candles, finding it hard not to smile. Harold, Janine, and Lena cheer, but not Roman. He slowly makes his way next to me, grabs the back of my neck, and pulls me into him—and he kisses me. I hear a gasp, and some mumbling before I kiss him back.

Forty is a great year to release every fuck I had to give.

---