Page 102 of People We Meet on Vacation

“It just feels... rude or something,” Alex tries to explain.

“Rude?” Trey lights a cigarette. “We’re all adults, man. Hold on to your girl if you want.”

Sarah snorts. “Don’t bother. This has been a years-long conversation. I’ve accepted my lot. I’m going to marry a man who hates holding hands.”

My chest jolts at the wordmarry. Is it really that serious between them? I mean, obviously it’s serious, but they haven’t been back together that long. Trey and I talk about marriage occasionally, but in a lofty, far-off,maybe-who-knows-let’s-not-put-pressure-on-thisway.

“Now,thatI can understand,” Trey says, blowing his cigarette smoke away from us. “Hand-holding sucks. It’s not comfortable, and it limits movement, and in a crowd it’s inconvenient. Like, you might as well just handcuff your ankles together.”

“Not to mention your hands get all sweaty,” Alex says. “It’s all-around uncomfortable.”

“I love holding hands!” I chime in, tucking the wordmarrydeep inside my brain to puzzle over later. “Especiallyin a crowd. It makes me feel safe.”

“Well, it looks like if we go into Florence before this trip is over,” Sarah says, “it’s gonna be me and Poppy holding hands, and you two lone wolves getting utterly lost in the masses.”

Sarah holds her wineglass out to me and I clink mine to hers, and we both laugh, and that might be the first moment that I like her. That I realize maybe I could’ve liked her all along, if I hadn’t been holding so tight to Alex that there was no room for her.

I have to stop doing that. I decide I will, and from then on, the wine takes over, and all four of us are talking, joking, laughing, and this night sets the tone for the rest of the trip.

Long, sunny days wandering every old town spread out around us. Driving to vineyards and swirling glasses of wine with our mouths held ajar to inhale their deep, fruity scent. Late lunches in ancient stone buildings with world-renowned chefs. Alex leaving bright and early each morning to run, Trey dipping out not much later to scout locations or capture photos he’s already planned. Sarah and I sleeping in most days, then meeting for a long swim (or to float on rafts with plastic cups full of limoncello and vodka), talking about nothing too important but with far more ease than that day at Linfield’s lone Mediterranean restaurant.

At night, we go out for late dinners—and wine—then come back to our villa’s patio and talk and drink until it’s nearly morning.

We play every game we recognize from the closet full of them. Lawn games like bocce and badminton, and board games like Clue and Scrabble and Monopoly (which I happen to know Alex hates, though he doesn’t admit that when Trey suggests we play).

We stay up later and later each night. We scribble celebrities’ names onto pieces of paper, mix them up, and stick them to our foreheads for a game of twenty questions in which we guess who’son our heads, with the added obstacle of every question asked requiring another drink.

It quickly becomes obvious that none of us has the same celebrity references, which makes the game two hundred times harder, but also funnier. When I ask if my celebrity is a reality TV star, Sarah pretends to gag.

“Really?” I say. “I love reality TV.”

It’s not like I’m unused to this reaction. But part of me feels like her disapproval equals Alex’s disapproval, and a sore spot appears along with an urge to press on it.

“I don’t know how you can watch that stuff,” Sarah says.

“I know,” Trey says lightly. “I’ve never understood her interest either. It’s at odds with every other thing about her, but P’s all aboutThe Bachelor.”

“Notall about it,” I say, defensive. I started watching a couple seasons ago with Rachel when a girl from her art program was a contestant, and within three or four episodes, I was hooked. “I just think it’s, like, this incredible experiment,” I explain. “And you get to watchhoursof the footage compiled in it. You learn so much about people.”

Sarah’s eyebrows flick up. “Like what narcissists are willing to do for fame?”

Trey laughs. “Dead-on.”

I force out a laugh, take another sip of my wine. “Not what I was talking about.” I shift uncomfortably, trying to figure out how to explain myself. “I mean, there’s a lot that I like. But one thing... I like how in the end, it seems like it’s actually a hard decision for some people. There will be two or three contestants they feel a strong connection with, and it doesn’t just come down to choosing the strongest one. Instead, it’s like... you’re watching them choose a life.”

And that’s how it is in real life too. You can love someone andstill know the future you’d have with them wouldn’t work for you, or for them, or maybe even for both of you.

“But do any of those relationships really work out?” Sarah asks.

“Most don’t,” I admit. “But that’s not the point. You watch someone date all these people, and you see how different they are with each of them, and then you watch them choose. Some people choose the person they have the best chemistry with, or that they have the most fun with, and some choose the one they think will make an amazing father, or who they’ve felt the safest opening up to. It’s fascinating. How so much of love is about whoyouare with someone.”

I love who I am with Trey. I’m confident and independent, flexible and coolheaded. I’m at ease. I’m the person I always dreamed I would be.

“Fair,” Sarah allows. “It’s the part about making out with, like, thirty guys then getting engaged to someone you’ve met five times that’s harder for me to swallow.”

Trey tips his head back, laughing. “You’d totally sign up for that show if we broke up. Wouldn’t you, P?”

“Now,thatI would watch,” Sarah says, giggling.

---