Page 130 of Gin and Lava

Did you say butt, Mason? Tee hee hee!

Of course, he’s said worse. Far worse.

When I finally get Shauri to myself, I drag her out to the shore in front of the beach house and walk her away from the barbecue and smoke that fills the patio. She goes on and on about Rick, and how much she loves him, gushing about how perfect this wedding is going to be, and how wonderful it already is.

Shauri’s a fun drunk. She gets super sentimental: hugging me, and reminiscing about college, and bringing up all the trouble we got in. She means the two of us and Esme, who is supposed to show up soon. I can feel the conversation turning to the inevitablehow did Esme snag People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive: Desmond Pike,so I ask the question that’s been sitting in my stomach like a lump of explosives.

“Shauri,” I begin, kicking at the sand with my flip flops. “Why did you choose Sam’s side—when we broke up?”

It isn’t an accusation. I ask it as nicely as I can. I just need to understand.

Shauri’s eyes go wide, the booze not veiling her surprise. “I didn’t choose a side, Naomi.” Her hand drops from my shoulders.

“You talk to Sam all the time now,” I press. “It’s like you two are best friends, and I’m the one you decided to lose in the divorce.”

“You guys weren’t married,” Shauri scoffs, stumbling from her drunkenness. Maybe this was the wrong time to ask, but alcohol loosens the tongue and makes one more honest.

“You know what I mean, though,” I say softly, reaching out to steady her. “It hurt. It still hurts,” I admit, looking out at the ocean that’s glittering in the hot afternoon sun and hiding nothing. “I loved Sam. I thought he was the one and then—” I open my closed hand as if it was holding something precious and now it’s gone. “You were supposed to comfortme, buy me ice cream, point out all his flaws so he didn’t seem so perfect. But you didn’t.”

Shauri stares at her feet, watching her flip flops catch the sand as palm trees sway above us. Paradise is supposed to be carefree and easy, and I’m ruining it.

“You had Esme,” Shauri says finally. “You had Esme to talk to and hear your side of the story. Sam didn’t have anyone.”

“Sam has his own friends,” I point out.

“Not really,” Shauri defends. “He has colleagues from work, yes, but that’s not who you talk to about breaking up with your girlfriend.”

“So he had to poach one of mine, and you let him?”

“I was in Washington, Naomi!” She makes large gestures in her drunkenness. “It’s not like I could afford to get on a plane and fly to Hawaii to spoon-feed you Chunky Monkey. Plus, Esme was calling you all the time from So-Cal. I knew you were in good hands.” She gives me a sheepish look. “And you know me. I don’t screen phone calls. I pick up. Even if it’s Sam calling. And you could’ve called more, but you didn’t.”

I look at the sun blazing, wincing at its brightness.

Ishould have called?

It’s true that Esme did the heavy lifting, but when I learned Shauri was talking to Sam, it felt like a knife. I didn’t want to call her.

“I assumed you were fine,” Shauri says quietly. “And Sam—well, he wasn’t. He was a train wreck, and he just kept calling.”

I frown and stop walking. “Sam broke up with me. It’s whathewanted.Iwas the wreck.”

“Sure.” Shauri stops and takes off her flip flops, heading toward the water. “Maybe at first. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard for him, or that it didn’t hurt. Or that part of him, you know, maybe regretted it.”

“Regretted it?” I stare at her dumbfounded, the echo of what Sam said the other day whispering off the water.I’d never throw your heart away again.I kick off my flip flops and follow her into the shallow water, letting the waves swallow my ankles. “This week is the first time I’ve seen Sam in months. He doesn’t regret anything.”

“How do you know if you haven’t talked to him?”

“Because I haven’t seen him since we broke up,” I grind out. “Actions, Shauri. Sam doesn’t have the excuse that he lives on the mainland. And even if he did, he has a telephone.”

“He was afraid you wouldn’t listen. That you would hang up on him. He broke your heart.”

The waves splash against my calves, carving out the sand around my feet and making them sink deeper into the beach.

“He did break my heart,” I agree.

“He wanted to give you space.”

“You mean he was a coward. He didn’t want to face me,” I correct.

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