Page 161 of Gin and Lava

I nod, not denying it as I dab my cheeks. “Or I’m a sucker for love.”

Esme kisses my temple. “Yeah, that too.”

As the officiant asks, “Who gives this woman to be married,” and Shauri’s father gives her away to her future husband, I notice Sam looking back at me. His face is confused, his eyes glaring at me as if my tears are false, and I shouldn’t be moved by the friend who doesn’t know who I truly am or my past. He thinks I’m a fraud, faking for attention.

But I smile and lean into my tears.Iknow they’re genuine. I know that I want to believe in happily ever after, and Shauri deserves that as much as anyone.

Maybe I haven’t been the best friend to Shauri, but I can still love my friend and celebrate her happiness. And maybe Shauri and I will grow apart after this. Or maybe I’ll be brave enough to tell her about my past. But at the very least, I can be thankful for this week we shared together. Yes, Shauri was Team-Sam, but she was also never anti Team-Mason. She embraced every naughty, raunchy joke Mason threw at her. She celebrated him. And ultimately, all Shauri ever wanted was for everyone around her be happy and have fun.

Maybe Shauri’s heart is the biggest out of all of us. And for that, I can only admire her.

53

MASON

This is a bad idea.

Not only because I’m sunburnt (and putting on a suit and tie is literal torture), but because I said I wouldn’t come to the wedding.

But then Esme sent me that text.

And then she sent a second text, and third, and fourth …

And now I’m pulling into the parking lot of the Turtle Bay Resort on the north side of the island like a fool. I put my car in park and pull out my phone, texting the meddling maestro.

Mason:Your sister gets the wrap as the one who meddles, but I think you might be just asdevious.

Esme:First, Hell hath seen no fury like my sister meddling. I’m an amateur.

Esme:Second, there is merit in meddling. I’d be single and love-less if it weren’t for Arie’s special skills.

Esme:Third, are you here? I’ll meet you in the lobby and walk you to the reception.

Mason:When you see my sunburn, you’re going to rethink this.

Esme:It can’t be that bad.

Mason:Imagine a lobster in a tux.

Esme:You own a tux, Mason? I’m impressed.

Mason:Of course, I don’t. That was a hypothetical.

I get out of my car. No, Ipainfullyget out of my car, because physically moving rather than sitting in a bathtub of aloe was the poor decision I made this evening.

Esme:I’m by the reception desk.

Mason:And I’ll be the unmistakable asshole wearing a full-on Hawaiian-penis-print suit.

Esme:I hope you are, because that would be perfect.

Mason:You joke, but don’t put it past me …

Every step toward the resort is pain. It’s mostly my face, shoulders, and chest that are burnt, but who knew how interconnected the body is. I take a step and that slight shift in weight causes the sandpaper of my shirt to scrape, scrape, scrape!

When I walk in the door, Esme’s hand lifts to her mouth in shock. There’s no way to hide that I’m an idiot whose masochism of choice is skin cancer.

“Oh my gosh, you weren’t kidding,” Esme gasps, her hand out like she might actually be mean enough to touch me.

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