to say that—”
“But it happened Monday morning,” I argue. “Michael wasn’t even here on Monday.”
“He came in late Sunday night,” Billy corrects me gruffly.
“But how would you have known that?” I ask Afton. “How did you even have time to—”
“When he wasn’t at dinner on Sunday, and I heard that maybe he wasn’t going to come this year, I texted him,” Afton says stiffly. “And he texted back, and said he was coming, after all; he was actually on the plane, heading over. And so then we were texting back and forth . . .”
“He’s who you were texting all night,” I murmur.
She nods. “He gave me his number last year. We had a little . . . thing, at last year’s awards dinner.”
“Thing?” This time it’s Michael’s mother, aka Jenny, asking the questions. “What thing?”
Afton ducks her head, blushing. “A kiss,” she says, at the same time that Michael says, “It was just a kiss.”
“No.” I press my hands to my head because it feels like my brain is going to explode. “It still couldn’t have been you, Afton. You went with Abby to hula class that morning.”
“But when we got there, we ran into the Wongs,” Afton explains. “I left Abby with Jenny and Peter and Josie, and Michael and I . . .” Her face colors even more. “We went back to the room.”
“And you put on Mom’s new robe.”
“Hey!” Peter glares at me, his hands planted on his hips. “Not all Asians look the same, you know.”
“It was dark in there!” I protest. I swallow. “I didn’t actually see Billy’s face. I just assumed it was him. He’s the only guy Mom really talks to.”
“What did you see them doing in there?” asks Josie.
Shit.
“Hey, I have an idea,” comes a familiar voice from next to the door. Nick. He’s been standing there, listening to the entire exchange. I want to think it’s his form of being my moral support and not just sheer curiosity. “Why don’t you kids all come with me?” he asks. “This is grown-up talk, and it’s kind of gross. Who wants to play a game in my room on my PS4?”
Mom and Jenny nod at him gratefully. He nods back. For once, his video game addiction is going to come in very useful. Abby, Josie, and Peter all follow him out without another word.
I turn to Afton. In that little break with Nick and the kids, the facts have settled in my brain, and the facts are these: Afton has screwed up everything. She even said so in the restroom last night during the awards dinner. But I hadn’t known that I was supposed to take her literally. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I fume. “For, like, two days you let me think that it was Mom hooking up with Billy? How could you let me think that?”
“I tried to tell you!” she cries, her hands clenching into fists. “But you were so mad, and you kept talking and talking, and I couldn’t get a word in, and then Mom came in, and then the stuff with Michael happened . . . I was going to tell you. Just as soon as I could get a moment to think about what I’d say.”
I sink into my chair. “You should have told me.”
“But wait,” interjects Marjorie. She finishes the last of her glass of orange juice. “Didn’t you tell us, Billy, that Michael has a serious girlfriend?”
All eyes go back to Michael. He doesn’t say anything. He just puts his hands into the pockets of his shorts and sighs. “I don’t have a good excuse. I messed up. In my defense, though, your sister—”
“My sister is not crazy,” I spit out.
“Your sister is . . . kind of irresistible,” he says.
I can see his point. If Afton decided that Michael was going to be her rebound—the first cute guy she saw—and went after him with her typical Afton-like tenacity, Michael didn’t stand much of a chance. My sister is a force to be reckoned with.
Still, though. Douchebag.
The waitress arrives with various plates of food. She already looks stressed out, what with half the group moving to a different table, inside, and now the kids are gone, but their food’s here. Then Billy says, “Look, we’d like to move, too, if that’s okay. We have some things we’d like to discuss with our son.”
“Sure,” the waitress says, in a voice that conveys how very weary she is with all these freaking tourists. “Just pick