Page 74 of Plus One

“So does his name, genius,” Richard muttered.

All the men, even Carlos, laughed. Maurice didn’t.

Tommie threw an arm over Maurice’s shoulder. “Come on, man, we’re supposed to be having fun. It’s my bachelor party!”

Maurice shoved him off and moved away. “I’m partied out.”

“I bet you are.” Tommie made kissing noises, and Maurice wanted to throw him over the side of the boat.

“Leave him alone,” Mr. Turner said.

“What’s with you today?” Tommie nudged him, smiling like the fool that he was. “Missing your lady?”

“I don’t have a lady…”

“Shall we ask Monie?”

“Leave Monique out of this.” The teasing was hitting a little differently today, making his chest constrict.

“Leave Monique out of this,” Tommie imitated, sounding nasally and childish.

“Man, forget you.” He wanted to swim back to shore and find her. Maybe she’d let him tag along with whatever adventure she was having today. He’d be content to stand in her shadow if that was all she’d allow. “You’re lame.”

“Oh, you can’t handle it, huh? When I told you about Lanie, sure, you were supportive, but you also talked mad noise. It’s called reciprocity.”

Tommie was right. He felt silly, like a teenager, for being so swept up so fast. But he also wanted this shift in his life more and more with each beat of his heart.

But he was scared shitless.

They floated in the ocean, exposed to the sun and trying to catch fish that they had no use for. Maurice didn’t understand the concept of sport fishing. Who had idle time like that?

After a while, Tommie got their attention. “Let’s play a game! Every man tells his love story. How you met. How you knew.”

“Oh, hell no,” Taurion said, still smoking and sipping at the bow.

“Hell yes. My wedding. My boat. My rules.”

Maurice looked at his phone again, at Monique’s face bathed in amber and silver light.

Mr. Turner chuckled. “I’ll go first.” He reeled in his line. “Met my Seraphina in 1964 at a diner. It was my first week. I was barely nineteen and had just moved to Baltimore. Went from my daddy’s fields in South Carolina to the big city for school.”

He cast his line. “Sera had been there for hours, reading, writing. The prettiest thing I’d ever seen. I was so curious about what she was working on but too tongue-tied to go over there and ask. MayRose put a broom in my hand and pointed me toward the dining room.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Richard rolled his eyes. “He spilled coffee all over her work.”

“Yessir. And she looked at me like I’d committed murder. And I looked at her like she’d hung the moon.”

Richard rolled his eyes and huffed. “Come on, Pops, you always tell this story.”

“If it wasn’t for this story, boy, you wouldn’t be here.”

Maurice hadn’t thought about a love story for his parents—not when he knew next to nothing about his father. He wondered whether Monique’s parents had a story of instant connection.

Romantic love wasn’t viable where he’d grown up. Or maybe he couldn’t recognize it.

“I cleaned up and rewrote the whole thing by hand,” Mr. Turner continued. “Took me three hours. She married me anyway.”

“That’s it?” Maurice asked.