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"Although," Kate muses, "I suspect that an episode of my own would involve a lot of comfort-eating, thus thwarting my desire to get as snatched as you are."

"You could arrange one of those happy breakdowns," I suggest. "Put it in the contract between you and your brain."

"Oh yes," she agrees. "Great idea. 'Dear brain, please refer to clause Three C, pertaining to getting my titties to sit as nice as Flo's in a teeny-weeny string bikini.'"

"This isn't tiny," I squeal, thrusting a hand over my admittedly very bare chest. "This is a family holiday!"

"A family holiday in Greece, where the locals look like gods. Play your cards right and you should have a fantastic two weeks looking like that, baby."

I arch an eyebrow. "Sex hasn't been on my mind for quite some time," I remind her.

"More's the pity," she shoots back. I don't dignify that with a response. "By the way," she adds, lowering her voice and leaning in, "how are we feeling about&" She nods her head in the direction of Jamie, who's now got not only Mum but also Dad and my brother Alex eating out of the palm of his hand. He's always telling some anecdote about the rich and famous that he works with, name-dropping and embellishing. I'm sure half of the stories of what allegedly happens out there on the boats aren't even true. I roll my eyes, pausing mid-derision, just in time to see Jamie crick his neck, flexing it to one side and rubbing the taut, bronzed skin of his left side. He's so performative.

"What?" I say, playing dumb. Kate has sworn she'll never tell Laurie what she knows about last Christmas, or confront Jamie about it, either, and I trust her to honor her word. I simply want to forget about it all. Jamie is around a lot, because a couple of years ago he lost both his parents in a car accident, and so Mum and Dad have unofficially made him their fourth child. I do actually have a heart, so he gets leeway for such painful trauma because, god, I can't even imagine something that devastating happening. I feel for him over that. I do&But he was still awful to me, and is awful to most women, as far as I can tell, so I know I'm better off keeping my distance.

"Okay," Kate says slowly. "I see what game we're playing..."

"There's no game," I tell her, too quickly, and even I know I sound defensive.

"Sure," she retorts.

"There's not!" I say, right as Laurie reappears from wherever he's been, asking, "There's not what?"

He plops down on the sand between Kate's legs, and she kisses the top of his head. They've been married just over a year and are disgustingly in love. Kate tells him to mind his own business, and I close my eyes to luxuriate in the heat and shut everybody else out. It's not often that I'm thankful for Laurie's interruption, but right now I am. As I inhale and exhale, letting the tiniest of sea breezes tickle my skin, I can hear the waves gently lapping against the shore. It's like a real-life Spotify playlist of "relaxation noises." Hope has issued a stern text warning me to fully enjoy everything this vacation has to offer, because she's a bit like a smoker who has given up, and thus becomes evangelical about everybody else giving up: She's embraced the YOLO lifestyle and has made it her mission to get me to do so,

Ahhh. Sun. Sea. Sand between my toes. A moment to reflect and recommit to relaxing. And then Laurie says, "Shall we eat?" 

Of course ten minutes of silence from him is asking too much. 

"I'm bloody starving. And did anyone think to bring down a speaker? We need to up the holiday vibe, now the whole crew is here!" 

"I hadn't known we were waiting for anybody else to join the crew," I say without opening my eyes, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. I practically hear Laurie shrug and, peeking through one eye, see him already on his feet again, heading toward the hamper to start setting out the food. 

"Flo, don't be ridiculous. It was all on the family e-mail chain," he yells over his shoulder. 

I open my other eye, surprised. "There's a family e-mail chain?" I say to Kate. 

She pulls a face. "Babe," she replies, looking over her sunglasses dramatically, "if you're not getting those e-mails, trust me: You're better off out of it. I love your mother as much as my own, but since she retired..."