Page 101 of People We Meet on Vacation

I should’ve said it, but I didn’t. Betty shook her head and looked me in the eye. “Wish he knew that.”

Then she walked out of the kitchen, leaving me to follow. Alex and Sarah had brought Flannery O’Connor with them, and she chose that moment to make her dramatic entrance, walking up to me with her spine arched up and eyes wide, staring into my face and meowing loudly, in a full-body expression that Alex and I callHalloween Kitty.

“Hi,” I said, and she rubbed against my legs, so I reached to pick her up, and she hissed and swung a handful of claws toward me just as Sarah walked into the kitchen with a stack of dirty dishes. She laughed and said in that sweet voice of hers, “Wow! She doesnotlike you!”

So yes, I see where Alex is coming from with his nerves about this couples trip, but we’re making progress. With the Instagram likes and the perfectly pleasant time Trey, Alex, and I had at an arcade bar the last time Alex visited. And besides, being in the Tuscan countryside with an IV drip of incredible wine isnotgoing to be the same as one awkward dinner in Ohio followed by a sixty-year-old teetotaler’s birthday party.

“They’re going to get along great,” I tell him now, propping my legs up on the balcony railing and adjusting the phone between my face and shoulder.

I hear his turn signal click off, and he sighs. “How can you be sure?”

“Because we love them,” I reason. “And we love each other. So they’ll love each other. And we’ll just all love each other. You and Trey. Me and Sarah.”

He laughs. “I wish you could hear how much your voice changed for that last part. It sounded like you were inhaling helium.”

“Look, I’m still working on forgiving her for dumping you the last time,” I say. “It seems like she’s figured out that was the biggest mistake of her life, though, so I’m giving her a chance.”

“Poppy,” he says. “It wasn’t like that. Things were complicated, but they’re better now.”

“I know, I know,” I say, even though, really, I don’t. He insists there are no hard feelings between them about their last breakup, but whenever I think about what she said—that their relationship was about as exciting as the school library where they’d met—I still see red for a second.

Another wave of nausea hits me, and I groan. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I really need to go to bed so I can be flight-ready tomorrow, but I’m telling you. This trip is going to be amazing.”

“Yeah,” he says stiffly. “I’m sure I’m worrying for nothing.”

Mostly, it turns out that’s true.

We’re staying in a villa. It’s hard to be in a bad mood when you’re staying in a villa, with a gleaming pool and old stone patio, an outdoor kitchen with bougainvillea dripping all over everything in soft pinks and purples.

“Wow, okay,” Sarah says when we walk in. “I’m never missing one of these trips again.”

I flash Alex a look that’s the facial equivalent of a thumbs-up, and he smiles faintly back.

“I know, right?” Trey says. “We should’ve thought to take a group trip sooner.”

“Definitely,” Sarah says, though obviously with her schedule at a high school and Alex’s teaching course load at the university, it’s not like they’ve got much time to jet-set around, even for steeply discounted Tuscan villas.

“There are, like, ten Michelin-starred restaurants within twenty miles of here—and I figured Alex would want to cook one night at least.”

“That’d be amazing,” Alex agrees.

Sure, it’s a little stiff and awkward that first day at the villa, as the four of us meander around between jet-lagged naps in our rooms and quick dips in the pool. Trey shoots some test photos, and I go into town to grab snacks: aged cheeses and meats, fresh bread, and a variety of jams in tiny jars. And wine, plenty of wine.

By the end of the first night sitting outside on the terrace, and drinking the first two bottles of wine, everyone has softened, loosened. Sarah’s become downright chatty, telling stories about her students, about Flannery O’Connor and life in Indiana, and Alex offers quiet, dry asides that make me laugh so hard wine spews out of my nose, twice.

It feels like the four of us are friends, real friends.

When Trey pulls me into his lap and rests his chin on myshoulder, Sarah touches her chest andawws. “You two are so sweet,” she says, looking to Alex. “Aren’t they sweet?”

“And buttery,” Alex says, just barely glancing my way.

“What?” Sarah says. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He shrugs, and she goes on: “I wish Alex liked PDA. We barely evenhugin public.”

“I’m not a big hugger,” Alex says, embarrassed. “I didn’t grow up hugging.”

“Yeah, but it’sme,” Sarah says. “I’m not some girl you met at a bar, babe.”

Now that I think of it, I’m not sure I’ve seen him and Sarah touch. But it’s not like he’s touched me all that much in public either, unless you count dancing in the streets of New Orleans, or that time in Vail (and there was a fair amount of alcohol involved in both).

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