Never Getting Back Together

SEVEN

"Gary, what is even happening right now?" I almost trip over my flip-flops as I rush across the patio to where he's laying an oversized beach towel across a lawn chair. Heat radiates off the concrete, making sweat bead across my hairline.

Gary tilts his head to the side, staring at me like he has no idea what I'm talking about. Someone in the neighborhood fires up a lawnmower. The ch, ch, ch of a sprinkler comes from next door.

"Betty told me I could use the pool whenever I wanted," he says. "If this is a bad time, though, I can come back later."

I'm at a loss for what to say. Gary's typically near-translucent skin is green. He's always oblivious, especially considering he's in charge of the neighborhood watch. Gary's the kind of guy who wears sweater vests and khaki cargo shorts year-round. And he's been rocking black-framed glasses since way before they were cool, and I'm sure he'll continue to do so long afterward.

"It's not that. You can swim if you want to. But..." I make a sweeping motion, gesturing at his skin. "Gary, why are you green?"

"Oh, is that what you're on about?" Gary chuckles like I'm being mellow-dramatic. "It's sunscreen, obviously."

"Sunscreen?" I blink at him. Who would willingly buy sunblock that turns them into the Jolly Green Giant? I mean, I know this is Gary we're talking about, but come on.

"I'm surprised you haven't heard of it. It's the latest thing." Gary plants his hands on his hips, making his moss-colored belly protrude. Since his hair looks like it was styled using a Flowbee, I doubt he's in the know on current trends.

"You should really consider picking some up," Gary continues. "It makes it so you can see every spot you miss while lathering up. You can never be too careful. Thousands of people die every year from melanoma, you know." He blinks. Even his eyelids are a brilliant shade of emerald.

"Well, you've certainly got yourself covered."

Gary's got a reputation for being a hypochondriac. Not that I'm one to judge. I was convinced I had just about every terminal illness in existence when we were trying to figure out what was making me sick. But Gary took it to a new level last year when he had a stomach ache and started telling the whole town he had PCOS. Betty had to explain to him that only people with ovaries can get polycystic ovary syndrome.

"If you do decide to pick some up, talk to that young man of yours. He helped me find this. Isn't it fun?" Gary holds his arms out like he's Edward freaking Cullen, walking into a sunny meadow. But I'm barely paying attention because this situation suddenly makes a lot more sense. I can't believe I didn't realize it before. Gary transforming into Gamora's twin the week Ty happens to come back to town couldn't be a coincidence.

I breathe in the smell of freshly mown grass and try to keep a handle on the irritation flickering through me. "When you say, 'that young man,' do you mean Ty?"

"Of course. Mr. Rossi and his two friends came up to me when I was in Winchester's, perusing the sunblock. I was going to go with my usual SPF 100, but he stopped me in the nick of time. He said he got this one off the special shelves in back." Gary grabs a bottle of sunscreen out of his beach bag and hands it to me. "It was the same price as all the other brands but with double the protection. Talk about a no-brainer."

I read the label, turning the bottle over in my hands. "Gary, this doesn't say anything about the lotion turning your skin green. Didn't that seem a little suspicious to you?"

Gary scoffs. "Well, they can't make it too obvious. Otherwise, everyone would be buying it. They'd sell out."

I hand the sunscreen back to him. "I may not be a business guru, but isn't selling a product everybody wants kind of the goal?"

"Young lady," Gary laughs, "you clearly know nothing about running a business. Selling out of your product isn't a good thing. It's all about supply and demand."

I wasn't aware someone could sound so ridiculous and condescending at the same time, but Gary knocked it out of the park. The term 'mansplainer' flashes in my mind in big, neon letters.

"Well, you just got punked. That is regular ole sunblock three idiots put dye in. Have fun washing it off."

"Dye? Don't be absurd." Gary gives me a patronizing pat on the arm.

"Alrighty then." I spin around on my heel and stomp back toward the pool house. "Enjoy your swim, Gary." I toss a wave over my shoulder without turning around.

The men in this town are seriously going to be the death of me.