Malcolm gave Summer free rein with the music in the car, but the boat’s playlist is all Joy. She pairs her phone with the stereo system and selects her ~vacation vibes~ playlist. The first song kicks in with a hypnotic baseline layered with sweet soprano vocalists and a simple drumbeat.

“Can I drive by myself now?” Summer holds her hands together in the prayer position.

“In a second. I promise.” Malcolm heads toward the back of the boat, where two blue coolers and a small table have been set up. He sets out the food he brought—sliced summer fruits, fancy meats and cheese with toothpicks, an assortment of chips and dips, and drinks—into a neat display.

Joy watches him, patiently waiting for a moment to slide in. If Malcolm wanted help, he would have asked. His attention to detail can occasionally be lethal. He’s been known to slap someone’s hand away if they invade his creative space. He’s almost finished when Joy sidles up beside him. She reaches under his arm, swiping a bottle of champagne from the ice bucket.

“Would you like a glass?” He laughs as he asks.

Joy takes a swig from the bottle as an answer. The cool, fizzing bubbles tickle the inside of her mouth.

“Heathen.”

“All the best people are.” Joy blows a playful kiss at him.

He pretends to catch and toss it back at her, smiling the entire time.

“You wound me, sir. My champagne and I don’t have to take that.” Grinning, she saunters back to her seat and on the way she accidentally makes eye contact with Summer. Her usual ray of sunshine expression is a bit cloudier than normal, but she recovers quickly, perking up and bounding off to stand next to Malcolm.

While Summer drives, Joy distracts herself by dancing around the boat. Resisting a good song isn’t in her DNA. Everything fades into the non-rhythmic background—no Summer, no Malcolm (gazing at Summer), and no Fox. It’s just her, the music, and her drink. And her phone. She takes funny pictures, like up-close shots of her forehead, lips tucked in with her cheeks puffed out. More of her pretending to cry at the water so the non-existent dolphins will come back. They’re the assholes of the sea, but hey, at least they like humans.

Malcolm truly spared no expense because the boat’s Wi-Fi must have been set to Speed Racer status. Instead of posting the pictures to her main grid, she adds them to her powershots—uploads that disappear after forty-eight hours—tagging everything ~vacation vibes~ for consistency since she shares her playlist with her followers too.