Page 32 of Harper's Holiday Romance
“Love Islandis British TV at its finest, and you know it.” I tried every year to not be as invested. I watched a group of single boys and girls flounce around in the sun like it was existential to my existence.
“I would rather have someone fry my eyeballs in a sizzling wok and then put them back in my head than subject myself to that programme,” Billie expressed. Jill found it amusing; Bob had no idea what we were talking about.
“Julia? What’s your opinion?” Sarah asked.
There was no way this Ivy League educated future saver of brains was wasting her rare free time watchingLove Island.
“I have to agree with Harper.”
No. Way.
“You watchLove Island?”
“Religiously. It’s a live topic of conversation at work,” Julia said.
“Oh, like more than saving lives, or?” I joked, and immediately cringed. Why in God’s name was I making a joke with Julia the ice queen of Icelandia.
“It’s on par.” She didn’t laugh.
How did Bob and Jill, the world’s nicest couple, produce her? It didn’t make sense.
The conversation switched to excursions, as Bob and Jill talked us through their favourite trips, from ancient Mayan ruins to the mummy museum in one of the small colonial towns.
“Speaking of excursions, Julia has booked to go on one tomorrow, and she insists on going alone.” Bob frowned.
“Dad, I’m twenty-nine years old, I don’t need a chaperone.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but Billie beat me to it. “Where are you going?”
“On a trip to release some baby turtles back into the ocean.” A hint of excitement was detected in her answer.The tone of her voice elevated. The ice queen defrosted for a second.
“Baby turtles?” I wanted to clarify.
“Yes.”
My eyes widened. I’d desperately wanted to see baby turtles ever since the disappointment of Cyprus four years earlier. I was promised a baby turtle experience, and I got nothing more than some empty nests and a sunburnt forehead.
“Harper has always wanted to see baby turtles!” Billie blurted.
There was way too much enthusiasm involved. I side-eyed her; my stern expression said,don’t you dare, but she didn’t understand. Or maybe she did, and she chose to ignore it, the more likely option.
“You should go with Julia,” Billie suggested.
“Oh, no, that’s not necessary—” If I could’ve kicked her I would’ve, but between me and Billie was Sarah, smirking to herself.
“You’d love it!” Billie added.
“I’m sure Julia doesn’t want me tagging along.”
“That sounds like a fantastic idea,” Bob agreed. “It will make me feel better if you have a friend with you.”
Afriend. Pfft.
Bob was a lovely guy but a terrible reader of the room. Julia half-heartedly smiled at her dad and turned to me defeated.
“Okay, I’ll see you in the lobby at eight fifteen.” She hid the discomfort on her face with a large glass of red wine, and I slouched back in my seat. Billie returned to her conversation with Julia’s parents. Sarah continued to text her latest flame under the table indiscreetly. the overwhelming number of emojis made my stomach curl.
Julia sipped her wine; with each sample her lips became more of a soft burgundy. Her supercilious gaze through half-lidded eyes watched me intently. I felt exposed like a fish in a glass bowl. Was she observing my body language? The superiorly educated surgeon was studying me like a new case, like a problem to be solved.
