She tilts her head and assesses me, then unclasps one of her many layered gold necklaces and fastens it around my neck. “There,” she says, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “Perfect.”
“Thank you.” I finger the necklace, convincing myself to be grateful for her generosity instead of nettled by her need to fix me.
“You girls aren’t the only ones who are gonna find boyfriends on this trip,” Rhonda announces to all of us with a wink.
“Mom, that’s gross. You’re, like, a million years old,” Brittani protests.
“She is not!” Wendy says. “And anyway, she looks amazing for her age.”
“Thank you, honey,” Rhonda says. She leans in and whispers, “I’m actually ten years younger than John. So is Summer’s dad.”
“Yeah, but these guys date girls that are, like, our age, obviously.” Brittani rolls her eyes. “And even Summer’s dad’s wife is, like, ten years younger than he is. And he’s not even rich.”
“Who do you think taught Summer everything she knows?” Rhonda retorts.
I cringe.
“I’m not saying I have to date someone John’s age,” she goes on slyly. “I’m gonna find me a ninety-nine-year-old in a wheelchair!”
Everyone titters. “Rhonda, you’re so funny,” Amythest says.
But Rhonda continues, proud of her logic. “I’m serious! Guys that old can’t get it up anymore anyway, and girls your age need too much. The oldest men just want someone to cut up their steak and laugh at their jokes till they die. And then you get their estate.”
“Or a tenth of it, once you split it with their ex-wives and children,” I chime in.
But Rhonda is dead serious. “At ninety-nine, it’s a small time you have to work to get the reward.” Clearly she has given this some thought.
Amythest nods. “Smart.”
I can almost see my sister rolling her eyes. But I have to laugh. Every one of Rhonda’s marriages has been shorter and more profitable than the last, and finally her daughter has catapulted her into a world of wealth she never dreamed of. Summer has grown up to become exactly who Rhonda hoped she would be. Which, I guess, makes Rhonda a terribly successful mother.
At that moment, Summer herself appears at the top of the stairs, looking appropriately like a shiny trophy in a tight gold Hervé Leger dress that pushes her boobs nearly to her chin. John is close behind her in a navy linen button-down and slacks, his hand on the small of her back, the combination of her jeweled flat sandals and the doubtless lifts in his polished Italian leather conspiring to make them the same height.
Emmanuelle dings a glass, and a hush falls as we turn to face them, like some kind of bridal couple. Summer beams as John raises his glass, and we all do the same. “A toast to Summer. Thank you all for joining us for her birthday voyage.”
We all drink to Summer; then Emmanuelle dings her glass again. “We invite you downstairs. Jacques prepare très bon dinner for you.”
Emmanuelle wears the same black A-line dress as the rest of the female crew, but it fits her lithe body like a glove, revealing curves the day-crew uniform concealed. Summer and John follow her swaying hips down the stairs, and we trail behind.
The table is set with an array of crystal and goldware, adorned with white candles and roses. Jazz music plays softly, and the chandelier over the table sparkles in the low light.
John stands behind a chair at the head of the table, with Summer to his right. Brittani flounces over and plops into a chair across from Summer, and Julie quickly appears behind her, deftly helping her back to standing by her elbow as Brittani makes a face behind her back.
“Rhonda.” John gestures to the seat vacated by Brittani. He proceeds to arrange the remainder of us around the table. I’m seated next to Rhonda, across from Summer and Brittani, while Wendy fidgets on my other side. I can tell she’s agitated that she’s not closer to Summer and John. I’d like nothing more than to give her my seat if I could, but that’s obviously out of the question.
As we take our seats, John beckons to Emmanuelle and speaks to her in a low voice. Summer’s eyes slide from Emmanuelle’s tanned shoulders to her slender waist as she laughs and quickly responds to John. I can’t make out the words, but they’re speaking French, and Emmanuelle is clearly pleased he shares her mother tongue.
Summer catches my eye across the table. “Je suis ravi de boire le vin,” she announces, directed at me but loud enough for the entire table to hear.
“Moi aussi,” I say. I’m not sure what wine she means, but it seems the right response in the moment.
Emmanuelle turns, caught off guard, and Summer gives her an icy smile.
Hugo appears with a bottle of red, some fancy French name I’m sure we’re meant to be impressed by, and Emmanuelle evaporates.
“Belle, you’re gonna love this mozzarella,” Summer gushes as beautifully plated, lush caprese salads are placed before us. “The chef made it fresh.”
I cut a bite, thrown by her sudden warmth toward me. “You know how I feel about cheese.” The mozzarella is somehow both rich and light at the same time, and melts in my mouth, leaving me immediately craving another forkful.
“Thank you so much for inviting us on this wonderful trip,” Wendy pipes up. “I’m so thrilled to be here to celebrate your birthday with you.”
Everyone nods and murmurs agreement.
“Tonight,” John says, his eyes landing on each of us in turn, “you will all give a toast to Summer, tell us how you met. Rhonda, you start.”
Rhonda laughs. “Well, I think we all know how I met Summer. She came out of my hoo-ha!”
Record scratch. Then everyone titters politely. “Please, stand,” John says, amused.
Rhonda stands, swaying ever so slightly. “Um, well, my beautiful Summer was born right around this time twenty-seven years ago—you’re young enough we can still say your age, right?”
“Until I’m thirty; then it’s twenty-nine for life,” Summer quips. I wonder when my best friend became such a cliché. But then, I wonder a lot of things about her these days.
“It was a hot night in Texas, so it was just me and my friend Charlene. That was back in the days before people really did epidurals, at least out in the country where we were, so they gave me some Tylenol, but that was it. It was a hard night, but the moment I saw her, it was all worth it. I could tell how beautiful she was from the very beginning, and she’s only gotten more beautiful every year.”
This is the most earnest I have ever seen Rhonda—she is actually starting to tear up, which makes the rest of us misty-eyed as well. “You’ll always be my little girl, and you know I’d do anything for you. I’m so glad you’ve found such a nice man to take care of you. I always knew you would. Thank you for sharing this trip with your little mama. I love you.”
We all raise our glasses, and Summer gives her mom a hug. “I love you, too, Mom.”
They both wipe away tears and sit as Brittani stands and looks around. This should be good. “My big sister. She’s always been the smart one.” No one says anything. “Shit, don’t everybody protest at once.” She guffaws. “For real, though, good thing I could borrow from her book reports. My teachers always thought it was weird that my book reports were so good but I couldn’t actually talk about the book in class. I’m kidding. I would never steal her book reports.”