Yesterday, Yates, Vance, and I spent our entire day on the water, and some of the time in it. We had a couple malfunctions, but nothing we couldn’t manage if they happened again during the race. In between practice sessions, we watched our competitors, studied them, and tried to pick up on how they moved as a team. For the most part, the three of us are always a cohesive unit, and by comparison, the Kingston Regatta is small. Where some races have hundreds of boats, this one keeps it simple at fifty. In order to enter, you have to have won or placed in the top three in a qualifying race or won previously. Now the time has come, and we’re ready to win. The route is long, starting off in Kingston and taking us around Jamestown and Prudence Island.
We’re in the straightaway, heading toward the finish line. There are five of us, neck-in-neck, with none of us able to take a substantial lead. Yates and Vance are busting their asses. Our arms are burning, we’re soaked from head to toe, and the sun the weather report promised us, disappeared behind a thicket of clouds, casting a dreary gray cover over us.
I’m trying not to pay attention to the boats on either side of me as I battle the wind. I need to keep my boat pointed in the right direction and depend on Yates and Vance to tell me if I’m too close. While I have a three-man crew, most of the ones I saw today and in practice yesterday, had a five-man team. I’ve always trusted Vance and Yates and can’t imagine adding two more. We can get the job done just fine. If we were participating in a bigger event, like the one that leaves from Newport and sails to Bermuda, I’d have to reconsider.
A massive gust of wind rolls over us. The boat tilts, almost putting the head of the sail into the next boat. I curse at how close the driver has put his boat to mine, but there isn’t anything I can do about that.
“Pull starboard,” Yates yells to Vance, who shifts his sail.
“Stupid mother fucker,” Vance hollers across the way, complete with a flip off. Normally, I might chastise him, but not today. The guy is too close.
Yates pulls on the sail again and catches the gust of wind just right. It propels us forward, giving us an advantage. I can see the finish line up ahead and the cheers of the spectators are starting to echo toward us. This is encouraging and we use this to our advantage.
We’re in the last stretch. It’s us and the boat on my port side, who seems determined to beat us since Vance told him to fuck off. I get it, I would want to as well.
Except he doesn’t and we’re the first to cross the finish line. As soon as we do, Vance and Yates ease off the mainsheet to slow us down. They come to me and we celebrate!It’s an hour later by the time I reach my family. My mom is the first to greet me, followed by Mark. My stepmother kisses both my cheeks because she thinks she’s French after spending a week in Paris and my father shakes my hand. By the look in his eyes, he’s going to give a long list of things I should’ve done to secure a stronger victory. Crossing the finish line first isn’t enough when it comes to Sheldon Richmond.
Before I can react, arms are around my neck and lips are pressed to mine. They’re familiar, but not the ones I crave. I step out of the hold and look into the eyes of Alyssa. She smiles and instantly my stepmom is by her side.
“You must come to the yacht tonight to celebrate,” she says in a fake accent. “You know, this would be a good time to announce your engagement.”
My mouth drops open as I look from Drizella to Alyssa, who is waggling her left hand at me. Sitting there, on her third finger is a giant rock that looks like it could cut glass. I glance at my mother, who looks murderous.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I don’t direct my question to Brandy or Alyssa, either one of them can answer.
Alyssa steps forward and slips her arm around mine. “Honey, I didn’t realize you hadn’t told your family we got engaged.” She shrugs and acts sheepishly.
Just as I’m about to rip into her, her father appears. His hand lands on my shoulder and jostles me around. “There he is, my future son-in-law.”
Fuck my life.
“Come on, let’s go talk to the news. They want an interview.”
I’m whisked away from my family and pulled toward the small press area. Technically, I should’ve gone there first, but I wanted to see London. As much as I want to shake Alyssa from my arm, I can’t. Not in front of all these people. Following her father, I keep my eyes on the ground and cringe each time she says hi to someone or they congratulate us. I keep hearing, “Next summer in the vineyard,” knowing full well she’s planning something that is never ever going to fucking happen.