I get ready, not willing to fully consider it. Once I’m in swimsuit trunks and a tank top, with a healthy layer of sunscreen, I sit on the couch and stare at the clock. One thirty comes and goes, and the root turns to a small sprout of nerves mixed with a tiny leaf of anger. If I have to scour the resort, I’ll find her. If nothing else, I know where she’ll be sleeping tonight . . . right beside me.
At 1:45, the door flies open and she comes running in. “Sorry! Sorry! You would not believe my morning. I’m ready!”
But since she runs right past me and into the bedroom, I find that hard to believe.
Janey follows along at a more reasonable pace, shaking her head. “It really has been a super shitty day, so go easy on her.” She tilts her head, considering. “Actually, maybe go rough? She might be into that. Bam-bam-bam.” She fists one hand as though holding imaginary hair and open-palm smacks the empty air in front of her, painting quite the picture.
As enticing as that sounds, something else she said is of much more immediate concern. “What happened today? What’s wrong?”
Janey shakes her head. “That’s up to her to share. Actually, I’m interested to see if she does, though I don’t know if it’s more meaningful that she forgets all about it when she’s with you or that she wants to tell you things. Guess I’ll ponder that while I slave away on this to-do list so she doesn’t freak the fuck out.” The last part is whispered so Abigail doesn’t hear.
“You’re a good friend, a good partner. You take good care of her,” I say genuinely.
Janey’s shrug is easy. “We take care of each other. On that note.” Her face instantly morphs to one of pure threat. “If you so much as hurt one hair on her head or leave one tiny crack in her heart, I will destroy you. The only thing you’re allowed to do is pound her uterus into her ribs if she asks you to.”
I blink. “Uh . . . is that an American euphemism I don’t know? It sounds painful.”
“Just don’t hurt her,” she summarizes as the door opens and Abigail sprints out again.
“Let’s go!”
She’s wearing purple running shorts and a bright pink tank top. A turquoise swimsuit peeks out under her arms, and her hair is now piled on top of her head. She’s a riot of color and energy that I want to sample, teasing apart her layers of complexity to discover how such a delicacy was born.
But that will have to wait because we are late for our kayak date.
In the lobby, Emily and Doug are waiting on one of the low, white cushioned wicker couches.
“There you are,” Emily clips out in exasperation as she stands. But with a blink, she switches to a friendly smile, confiding, “We were late too, so caught up in each other. Right, Doug?”
He rises too, putting a hand on Emily’s lower back. “Uh, yeah. Brunch was delicious. They made these pancakes with coconut flakes in them. So good.” He groans, patting his flat belly with his other hand.
Emily sighs, and I realize she was trying to rub Abigail’s nose in their newlywed sexy times the way we did. Tit for tat style. But unintentionally, Doug cluelessly didn’t back her move.
“Pancakes with coconut sound delectable. I’ll have to try them.” I make a mental note to do so. I’m always interested to try food, especially food that others find enjoyable. But where most folks simply chew and swallow, deciding whether it tastes good or not, I enjoy figuring out what makes something appetizing.
“Let’s get outside before our reservation is cancelled,” Emily huffs. We dutifully follow her out onto the sand.
“Hey! You guys my two o’clock kayakers?” a man asks. He looks very much like a surfer—blond, shaggy hair that he tosses back with a flick of his head, a deep tan, and a seashell tied on a leather cord around his neck.
“Yep,” Doug answers.
“Awesome, dude. I’m Dylan. I’ll be your guide today for this adventure. First things first. Anybody ever punched a shark in the nose before?”
He says it deadpan, as if that’s an actual life skill we might need in the next few hours.
“I have.” I raise my hand like this is elementary school. All eyes turn to me in shock and I let the moment stretch. “Kidding.”
“Bro!” Dylan drawls out, “You had me goin’ with that. I was ready to hear you tell the tale.” He holds up a fist and I pound it.
Everyone else chuckles.
“Right, so just to be clear, no shark punching except as a last resort.” He’s kidding, I think. “Have any of you kayaked?”
Emily raises her hand this time. “Doug and I did once on a romantic weekend getaway.” She makes what should be a no-big-deal answer sound like they’re taking trips for candlelit sex on the regular. But I focus on Abigail’s head shake that she’s never been in a kayak. That’s a tidbit of information I actually want to know.
“Let me go over the basics, then, and once everyone’s as comfy as a crab, we’ll get in the water. Pop a squat in the sand and we’ll get started,” Dylan instructs us.
We all move to sit, but Dylan throws himself into a backflip, spinning through the air and landing on the soft sand in a seated position. “Nailed it!” he exclaims with a fist pump. He sounds surprised, but surely, he’s not hurling himself through the air if he wasn’t certain he would land safely?
“Ladies, if you’ll sit between your guys’ legs. No need to be shy, we all know this is your honeymoon,” Dylan teases. “Get all up in there.”
I open my legs, and Abigail scoots back into the cradle of them, her back to my chest. I wrap my arms around her belly, pulling her in tighter. Her sweet gasp of shock is sexy, and the way she slightly shifts, rubbing her ass against my cock, is surprising and hot as hell.
“Mia rosa,” I growl into her ear.
Dylan smirks, and I wonder how accustomed he is to seeing newlyweds maul each other under the guise of a kayak lesson.
True to his word, he goes over the basics of kayaking with us. There’s a lot about timing and paddle position and even more about working together as a team. “As in marriage, as in the kayak,” he intones sagely.
And then, despite our utter lack of confidence, we’re in the water.
Dylan takes the lead since he knows the way to the private island, with Abigail and me in one kayak and Emily and Doug in another.
It’s awkward at first, and Abigail and I wobble, in danger of tipping over. But we steady ourselves, finding a stability as we row through the calm, clear water.
It feels right, working as a team toward a common goal. As we go, Dylan tells us about the island and the resort and how he came to be here.
“Was surfing in Cali, man. Righteous waves there. But there was a girl—there’s always a girl, ya know? She took my heart when she took my dick.” He shakes his head sadly, doing an advanced maneuver with his oar that has him spinning a slow three-sixty in the water. “I wanted to run away, and I saw an ad online for resort help. Thought for sure it was click bait or that I’d get here and they’d steal my kidneys.” He laughs. “But it’s been great. Two years and counting!” He finishes with a smile, but then it falls. “Shit. Those two are definitely part of the other fifty percent.”
At my blank look, Dylan explains. “Newlyweds? Fifty percent divorce rate? You can tell sometimes.”
I cringe. That’s awful, but looking over to where Dylan is slicing through the water toward Emily and Doug, I can see why he’d say that. They are struggling just to work together. In fact, they’re almost entirely working against each other and as a result are stuck in place and starting to argue.
Happy honeymoon, indeed.
Dylan is almost to their side when their rocking gets outrageous, and not in the good way like ‘if the boats a’rocking, don’t come a’knocking’, but rather like they are going to capsize. One way, then the other as they try to correct for balance. It’s too much by a significant amount and their weight isn’t evenly distributed.
And with a whoosh, they keel over. Emily’s scream turns to bubbles that pop loudly, but Dylan
has made it to them now and reaches his paddle out for Emily to grab on to. Doug surfaces almost immediately, a grin on his face as he whips his hair out of his face.
That grin dissolves when he hears Emily sputtering, “Oh, my God! Look what you did! Dougie!”
“It’s fine, Em. We’ll climb back in and keep going. The island is right there.” He points to our destination, but Emily isn’t having it. She glares at him, eyes flashing fire, and he rolls his eyes. “Sorry, babe.”
Apology begrudgingly handed over, they start to work together to get back in their kayak with Dylan’s help. Eventually, they’re in place once again and Dylan reviews the timing of the paddle stroke.
“Synchronicity, man. It’s everything. As in water, as in life.”
Somehow, this lesson sticks, and we all make it to the private island without further incident.
We’re all set until Abigail and I climb out of the kayak. Though we’re in the shallows right up by the shore, the process of stepping out somehow eludes Abigail and she trips, falling face first into the water.
Emily barks out a laugh instantly. I drop down to grab Abigail. “Cazzo! Are you okay?”
She comes up sputtering much like Emily did, but instead of whining and screeching, Abigail is laughing . . . wildly. Swiping water and hair out of her face, she huffs out around braying and unladylike laughs, “Only I could manage to kayak just fine but then totally flop on the dismount.” She lays back in the water, a mermaid framed by a turquoise halo. “Come on in, the water’s great!” she jokes, still half-choking on whatever water she swallowed.
Emily harrumphs and sobers. I think she took twisted delight in Abigail’s fall and is disappointed at Abi’s good-natured tendencies.
I pull Abigail up out of the water, pressing our bodies together. Intending to help, I push her hair back and trace my hands over her shoulders and down her arms, checking for injuries. “I’m fine. Nothing hurt but my pride,” she reassures me.
I lift a brow and growl, “Maybe I just want to touch your wet body.”
She blushes the sexiest shade of pink, and it’s not from the sun but from the fire we create together.
“So, this is where I make myself scare for an hour or so and you’re free to do whatever. There are cabanas over there” —Dylan points to a few huts with white curtains pulled along the sides— “or sand basically everywhere.” He puts his hand to his mouth, talking around the backside of it as though telling us a secret, “Pro tip, sand in sensitive areas is abrasive and more for the movies than real life.”
“There are floats and snorkels if you wanna swim, a trail loop if you want to hike through the trees, and if you hold a hand up, the bartender will bring you beer or a glass of wine.” He pats his chest, indicating that he’s the bartender too.
With that, he jogs away as if the sand beneath his bare feet is his natural habitat.
“So, what do you want to do?” Emily asks us.
Doug clears his throat. “Babe.”
Whatever drama Abigail is having with Emily, I’m not looking to cockblock my fellow man. This is his actual honeymoon, and I don’t want to ruin it by tagging along. Plus, that plays into my desire to get Abigail alone too.
“Thank you so much for inviting us along today,” I start. “It is more than generous to share your time and this beautiful place with us.” I look deeply into Abigail’s eyes, begging her to understand my intention to get her alone as I tell Emily and Doug, “I am sure you had plans for your afternoon here, so please do not let us interrupt them. We’ll go over to the far cabana and let you have your privacy.”
“Thanks, man!” Doug holds up his hand for a high-five, which I give him. “We’ll go this way then.” He pushes at Emily’s lower back, guiding her toward the cabana furthest away from the one I indicated.
“Doug!” Emily argues, but I turn away, not caring about anything more than the next hour with Abigail.
I take her hand, which is warm from the sun and the work we did to paddle here, and lead her down the sand. “Walk with me.”
The waves lap at the sand and our feet. “It’s so beautiful,” Abigail whispers as though she’s hesitant to disturb the scene.
I don’t see the water, the sand, the sun, or even the flowers. All I see is her. “Yes, you are. The most beautiful thing I’ve seen.”
She blushes, her cheeks pinkening even more than the glow of the sun. Her ducked chin doesn’t last for long, though, as she looks back up at me. “Why do you keep saying stuff like that? I mean, I get it when Emily is around, and it’s definitely driving her crazy—thanks for that—but when it’s just you and me, you don’t have to—"
“Speak the truth?” I finish for her.
She makes a face—one of confusion and doubt.
“Abigail, I think you are an amazing woman, sexy and smart, with sunshine and wildness in your soul. My guess is that you’ve been smothered, people not understanding your spirit and trying to make you fit their narrow views for their own comfort.” She tilts her head, not agreeing but also not disagreeing with my assessment. “But if they don’t support you in your truth, they do not deserve you. Like this Emily.” I look back over my shoulder, seeing an empty beach behind us. “I think she doesn’t hate you. She simply doesn’t understand, and that makes her question everything, especially herself."
"And that's my fault?” she argues, bowing up to defend herself.
I stop our progress down the beach, spinning her so that we face one another. “Of course it’s not. My point is that I see you fighting this cage, and I’m saying . . . don’t. Why bother? You will never be happy if you allow someone to trap you inside it. Own your beauty, own your wings, own the destiny you have created for yourself without apology.”
Her chest is rising and falling rapidly, her eyes wild and sparking. “Pretty words. They make it sound so easy. Just do whatever you want and if it pisses people off, that’s on them?”
She’s angry but I don’t understand why. I’m trying to compliment her, but she hasn’t taken it as such. “No, but you should not have to live small because someone else can’t fathom your boldness.” She settles slightly, sensing that I meant no harm, so I keep going. “At home, in Positano, it was assumed that I would go to university, perhaps get a business degree. I would work and marry, have children, and grow old in the same place I was young. It is what my family has always done.”
“But you didn’t want that.” It’s not a question. She understands what I’m telling her now. “You wanted more.”
I nod. “Yes. Much more. I wanted to travel, to learn, to experience the world. And maybe I could’ve been happy making my family happy, but that wasn’t my destiny. I could’ve compromised, but I still would not have been truly fulfilled. So I left because it’s what I wanted. What I needed. It is my truth, and now, they see. They understand and respect that I do not pretend. I’m me. Truly.”
She smiles sadly. “But you are pretending. This whole thing is pretend.”
“Is it?” I dare to ask. “It may have begun that way, but I assure you that what I’m feeling is very real. You interest me more than anything or anyone has in a long time.”
I can see her beautiful mind turning that over, examining and analyzing it. For all her untamed wildness, Abigail is not reckless. “But if you feel differently tomorrow, you’ll simply move on because that’s who you are. And I wouldn’t want to cage you.”
I understand. She is who she is, and I am who I am. While we both have a streak of adventure, we want very different things, and we’re tempting pain to pretend otherwise.
“Ah, an impasse then.”
We walk along silently after that, pointing out shells here and there and watching the water race to the sand time and time again. After a while, I hear a sharp whistle and then Dylan’s voice carries on the wind.
“Time’s up, guys! Let’s check out the flamingos!”
We return down the beach to find a pink-faced Emily and a breathless Doug standing with Dyl
an, who has a knowing smirk. It seems they made use of their hour of privacy with a different sort of intimacy and some make-up sex.
“All right, lovebirds, let’s go see some lovebirds!” Dylan shouts excitedly. I suspect Dylan does everything with energy and vigor, attacking life’s opportunities with abandon.
“Yeah, I can’t wait,” Emily says. “That can be one more thing to check off the bucket list.” She giggles like a lovesick school girl, leaning into Doug. It’s the first time I’ve seen them behave truly as newlyweds in love, and I’m jealous that in each other, they’ve found someone willing to tackle life with them.
Maybe I never will.
Or more likely, I will have meaningless relationships wherever I roam, always looking for that special spark that might make me consider putting down roots.
We follow Dylan on a short hike around the shore until we come upon a small flock of pink-hued birds.
“The flamingos!” Dylan explains needlessly. “Here, I brought a little food for them so that you can get up close and personal.”
He hands each of us a small bag, explaining how to pour the dried, pulverized shrimp bits into our hands and let the birds peck to get it.
“Are you sure it won’t eat my hand?” Emily worries aloud.
“Do you have any lotion on?” Dylan asks, and Emily’s eyes widen as she looks at the birds uncertainly.
“No?”
“Then you’re fine. They just don’t like vanilla bean.” He says it so seriously, which for him must be a difficult task, that I think he’s serious. Right up until the moment he laughs. “Just fucking with you. Unless you’re covered in shrimp, they won’t bite.”
Still not entirely sure, Emily is slow to feed them, letting Doug take the lead. Abigail and I slowly approach a pair as well. But it goes well, the birds accustomed to visitors and happy to be fed treats.
“Cotton candy, sweet to go, let me see that . . . SUSHI ROLL!” Dylan loudly sings a song I don’t know, but a green blur flies past me before I can even think about asking, and the flamingos go wild in a cacophony of honks and screeches, with their wings flapping.
My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon Page 12