DRIFT countdown – 5 days.


Start here.

***

 

Alissa and I curled like cats on the top deck of Connor’s well kept boat, The Lochness, each clutching a travel mug full of cheap sangria. The sunshine was devastating, and I could already feel the hair on the back of my neck start to prickle with sweat. Before us, looking out off the stern, the wide mouth of the bay yawned open, a few candy colored houses dotted amid the vibrant greenery. A large fish arched suddenly out of the deep blue waves and flashed in the light, but besides that, the world was still save the ever present churning of the ocean, and the calm thrumming motor chugging patiently along, pulling us farther out to sea.

Alissa turned towards me, her dark hair spilling out onto the scrubbed white veneer of the deck. She held out her plastic mug and I tapped mine against hers. We sipped in unison.

“God, this is worse then I remember it being,” Alissa remarked, looking down at her mug. “When did we come up with this recipe?”

“Sophomore year, I think?”

“College,” she grumbled, and I smiled, taking another swig.

“I think we have enough money at this point to afford something better than Franzia,” she added.

“It’s more nostalgic with Franzia,” I replied, “Now shut up and drink.”

She took another swig.

“It’s better with a second pass,” Alissa admitted. I nodded, watching the shores recede into the background.

We lay silently for a few long minutes, drinking our lukewarm sangria. Alissa stretched her long bare legs out on the deck and took off her floral beach cover up to reveal her well-worn striped bikini, bought three years ago for a girly vacation to Cancun.

“I’m getting married,” I remarked idly, just to see if I liked the taste of the words. I could feel Connor ever present in the back of my head, just a few steps away in the pilothouse of his beloved cruiser. Alissa rolled onto her stomach and elbowed me in the arm.

“If you go Bridezilla, I will tell Connor explicit details about every relationship you’ve ever had,” Alissa replied.

I laughed.

“And when you get married, I’ll tell your wife about our weekend in Jersey Shore.”

“Touché, Parcell,” Alissa pouted.

“I won’t be Parcell much longer,” I smiled.

“You’ll always be Parcell to me,” she replied.

I laughed.

“Have you started working on your maid-of-honor speech yet?” I asked. She grimaced.

“Jesus, Sarah, you’ve been engaged for a week and a half,” Alissa said grumpily. She pressed her arm against mine. “I get to keep you for a little bit longer.”

“Lis, you’ll always have me,” I said, brushing a lock of her hair off of her back.

She took a swig of her drink, but didn’t reply.

 

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