palms of my hands. “I promise I won’t ruin your birthday.”
She smiled the way a mother would when she didn’t believe a word that came out of her kid’s mouth but didn’t want to say so.
“You know what?” she said. “Let’s just turn around and head back to New York, okay? It was so sweet that you wanted to surprise me but maybe it wasn’t the greatest idea after all. And now that I think about it, I’d rather be in New York for my birthday.”
“Liar.”
“Like you know what’s going through my mind.”
“But we’re here.”
“No biggie.” She forced a smile. “We’ll go back.”
But it seemed pretty obvious to me that she was offering to sacrifice her birthday trip to get me back onto safer ground.
“No.”
“ Karin .”
“If I were you, I’d definitely want to spend my birthday under a palm tree with a Blue Devil in my hand, not pretending I was at sleepaway camp—even if there was a cute guy involved.”
Her eyes rolled up, mock thinking, and she held flattened palms toward the ceiling, pretending to weigh the two options against each other. “Hmm . . . palm tree and Blue Devil . . . hot guy in cold New York.” Her hands went up and down until finally the palm tree won. “Okay, but no crazy talk.”
“I promise.”
She insisted on calling her hotel to change the reservation from a single to a double instead of waiting until we got there. That was another thing that surprised me about her: She could be just as fussy about details as she could be spontaneous and toss them all to the wind.
Half an hour later we pulled up in front of the Marriott hotel in downtown Miami. The hotel was a tower that stood straight and tall beside Biscayne Bay like an uptight tourist too zipped up to undress and get into the water. We checked into our room on the twenty-first floor. Jasmine chose the double bed nearer the bathroom and I got the one by the window. When I opened the drapes I was surprised to see that we had lucked out and gotten a sweeping view of the bay instead of the city. Sailboats drifted on sparkling blue water as if it wasn’t a frigid day back in New York.
When I turned around, Jasmine had already thrown open her suitcase and put on a black string bikini. A tiny diamond sparkled at the edge of her belly button, and every inch of her perfect skin was smooth as a peach. I was putting on my bathing suit—a two-piece that didn’t qualify as a bikini compared to what Jasmine was wearing—when I felt something hit me. I looked up: Jasmine has tossed over her spare bikini, gold with metal hoops at the hips holding meager front to meager back.
“Thanks, but this is so not me,” I said.
“Put it on or we’re heading back to New York.”
I stripped off my blue spandex and pulled on Jasmine’s bathing suit, which more or less fit.
Jasmine surveyed me with a smile. “You are one hundred percent Miami, like you were born here!”
I found my sunglasses buried under my nightgown, put them on, and opened my arms. “Ta da! Ready to hit the beach?”
“Just be yourself, okay? Don’t try to be happy and fun. That’s my department.”
“Then why am I wearing this?”
“Looking the part is half the battle, that’s why.”
We rode the elevator down to the lobby and found our way to the nearest public beach. It was cooler near the water, and crowded. We spread out our hotel towels, dug in our hotel beach umbrella, lay down—and that was it. Hours melted away. It was lovely. Jasmine either read or talked in bursts—“I like working in the bookstore but I’m not much of a reader; I’d rather watch TV”. . . “My ex used to take food right off my plate; talk about annoying”. . . “Billy’s perfect except for one thing: He’s got no money”—as I listened and otherwise let my mind detour to thoughts I couldn’t share with her.
I would plan something special for tomorrow, her birthday; make a reservation at a nice restaurant and order a cake. I would ask
She smiled the way a mother would when she didn’t believe a word that came out of her kid’s mouth but didn’t want to say so.
“You know what?” she said. “Let’s just turn around and head back to New York, okay? It was so sweet that you wanted to surprise me but maybe it wasn’t the greatest idea after all. And now that I think about it, I’d rather be in New York for my birthday.”
“Liar.”
“Like you know what’s going through my mind.”
“But we’re here.”
“No biggie.” She forced a smile. “We’ll go back.”
But it seemed pretty obvious to me that she was offering to sacrifice her birthday trip to get me back onto safer ground.
“No.”
“ Karin .”
“If I were you, I’d definitely want to spend my birthday under a palm tree with a Blue Devil in my hand, not pretending I was at sleepaway camp—even if there was a cute guy involved.”
Her eyes rolled up, mock thinking, and she held flattened palms toward the ceiling, pretending to weigh the two options against each other. “Hmm . . . palm tree and Blue Devil . . . hot guy in cold New York.” Her hands went up and down until finally the palm tree won. “Okay, but no crazy talk.”
“I promise.”
She insisted on calling her hotel to change the reservation from a single to a double instead of waiting until we got there. That was another thing that surprised me about her: She could be just as fussy about details as she could be spontaneous and toss them all to the wind.
Half an hour later we pulled up in front of the Marriott hotel in downtown Miami. The hotel was a tower that stood straight and tall beside Biscayne Bay like an uptight tourist too zipped up to undress and get into the water. We checked into our room on the twenty-first floor. Jasmine chose the double bed nearer the bathroom and I got the one by the window. When I opened the drapes I was surprised to see that we had lucked out and gotten a sweeping view of the bay instead of the city. Sailboats drifted on sparkling blue water as if it wasn’t a frigid day back in New York.
When I turned around, Jasmine had already thrown open her suitcase and put on a black string bikini. A tiny diamond sparkled at the edge of her belly button, and every inch of her perfect skin was smooth as a peach. I was putting on my bathing suit—a two-piece that didn’t qualify as a bikini compared to what Jasmine was wearing—when I felt something hit me. I looked up: Jasmine has tossed over her spare bikini, gold with metal hoops at the hips holding meager front to meager back.
“Thanks, but this is so not me,” I said.
“Put it on or we’re heading back to New York.”
I stripped off my blue spandex and pulled on Jasmine’s bathing suit, which more or less fit.
Jasmine surveyed me with a smile. “You are one hundred percent Miami, like you were born here!”
I found my sunglasses buried under my nightgown, put them on, and opened my arms. “Ta da! Ready to hit the beach?”
“Just be yourself, okay? Don’t try to be happy and fun. That’s my department.”
“Then why am I wearing this?”
“Looking the part is half the battle, that’s why.”
We rode the elevator down to the lobby and found our way to the nearest public beach. It was cooler near the water, and crowded. We spread out our hotel towels, dug in our hotel beach umbrella, lay down—and that was it. Hours melted away. It was lovely. Jasmine either read or talked in bursts—“I like working in the bookstore but I’m not much of a reader; I’d rather watch TV”. . . “My ex used to take food right off my plate; talk about annoying”. . . “Billy’s perfect except for one thing: He’s got no money”—as I listened and otherwise let my mind detour to thoughts I couldn’t share with her.
I would plan something special for tomorrow, her birthday; make a reservation at a nice restaurant and order a cake. I would ask
Similar Books
