“Do you like it? Teaching?”
“Most days. It’s definitely the most challenging job I’ve ever had,” I qualified. “I end my days equal parts exhausted and rewarded.”
“What’s the most rewarding part?”
I hummed at the question. “Knowing I’m making a difference. I’m not curing cancer or anything, but it’s really gratifying to know that your life serves a purpose.”
Kate nodded, but didn’t ask additional questions. I worried I might have gotten too deep when she’d only been polite in asking about my life. Thankfully, the woman who’d taken our order returned to our table. She set two large, steaming bowls of thick stew in front of us—rice and some kind of white meat.
“How do I say thank you?” I asked Kate.
“Danki,” she supplied. “Or masha danki for thank you very much. The locals are very much into good manners.”
I looked up and made eye contact with our server. “Masha danki.” I tried to not butcher the phrase.
The woman bobbed her head. “Di nada,” she replied before returning to her grill.
Kate handed me a spoon from the table’s metal bucket. “Bon apetit,” she encouraged.
She immediately plunged her spoon into the rich stew and shoveled some of the steaming mixture into her mouth, while I eyeballed the contents of the bowl with caution.
“It’s chicken,” she assured me around her spoon.
“I don’t believe you.”
She held up her hands. “I promise it’s not iguana. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
I dipped my spoon into the bowl, but still hesitated.
“It’s an old slave meal,” Kate told me. “It’s considered a delicacy now, but it harkens back to enslaved populations that had to make meals from leftovers. They cook it in the rind of a Gouda cheese.”
“How do you know so much about the island’s history?” I posed.
Kate shoved the oversized spoon into her mouth. “You pick things up after seven years.”
“Do you think you’ll stay forever?”
“Can’t say. But it’s home for now.”
“What about the States?” I posed. “Do you miss it?”
Her nose wrinkled at the suggestion. “Not really, no. Whenever I go back for a visit, I’m always reminded of why I left.” She gestured around us with her hands. “This has become more my pace of life. I don’t need too many possessions. I’m not attached to an electronic device all day. And my work commute only depends on what beach I want to set up on that day.”
“That does sound nice,” I agreed.
“What do you want to do after we eat?” Kate posed.
“I have no idea what there even is to do,” I admitted.
“I’ve got a buddy with a boat,” she said. “We could ride out to Klein Curacao. It’s like a two-hour boat ride to the softest, whitest sand beaches you’ve ever seen. Or we could check out the north shore at Shete Boka National Park. It’s super wild; there’s beaches all over here, but Shete Boka has these massive craggy limestone bluffs. We could check out some sea turtles nesting or explore underground caverns. When the surf crashes in, it creates these water sprays that look like fireworks.”
All of that sounded amazing and more, but before I could form another thought, I felt something touch the back of my neck. It was cool and a little rough. Tiny pinpricks pressed into my arm. I didn’t need to turn my head to recognize that there was an iguana wrapped around my neck.
A smiling man with sun-baked skin and brilliant white teeth leaned over my shoulder where the iguana’s head had appeared. “Picture with my lizard, miss?”
I didn’t know what to do or say. I couldn’t move. I felt frozen in place, unsure if this animal had teeth with which to chew off my nose.
Kate grunted and shooed at the man and his iguana. “We’re trying to eat here, dude.”
The man promptly hoisted the reptile off my shoulders and muttered his apologies as he slunk away, probably on the hunt for his next unsuspecting tourist.
“See? Sophie’s Choice. You can eat ‘em, or have that happen to you.” Kate continued to dig into her stew, unaffected.
“Does that … happen a lot?” I asked.
“Only if you look like a gullible tourist,” she said between bites. “The way you look, you’re probably gonna have that happen all day long.”
“I’m not the one wearing a terrible Hawaiian shirt,” I declared. “They can probably see you from outer space.”
Kate brushed at imaginary lint on her oversized shirt. “Hey, this is a good look.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
At the conclusion of our meal, Kate returned me to the resort. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to continue exploring the island with her, but the sun had started to hang lower on the horizon, and I hadn’t thought to leave a note at the room to tell Racy where I’d gone. It would have served her right if she worried about me though.
I was in good spirits as I walked through the hotel to return to my room. I envisioned freshening up, having a late dinner with Racy, and maybe getting a few drinks at the Thirsty Coconut to round out day five of vacation. But as I traveled down the hallway that led to my room, my good mood instantly soured.
There was a sock on the door handle.
“Not this again,” I muttered.
The sock had to have been a joke. It had to have been Racy trying to annoy me. There was no way she would dare lock me out again.
Ignoring the article of clothing warning, I used my keycard to unlock the room, but could only get so far. The deadbolt had been activated.
I knocked heavily on the door. “Racy!” I called to her. “This isn’t funny.”
I waited at the doorway, expecting to hear Racy’s laughter filter through the door. The longer I stood in the hallway, the more my anger grew.
I knocked even harder on the solid door until my knuckles began to hurt. “I mean it, Racy! Stop whatever you’re doing and open this door.”
The volume of my banging drew curious looks from people who passed me as they traversed the long hallway on their way to dinner. I momentarily paused in my fury to smile—but more like grimace—at my fellow vacationers.
After too long, I finally heard the sound of heavy footsteps and the metallic clang of locks being shifted and moved.
Racy’s face appeared through a narrow sliver between the door and doorframe. She’d barely opened the door, but I could see the towel wrapped around her midsection and her suspiciously tussled hair. “I’ve got company.”
“You can’t do this to me again,” I complained.
“I’m not.” She thrust her hand through the space between the door and the doorframe. It took me a moment to realize her credit card dangled between us. “Get another room for the night. My treat.”
I growled in frustration, but snatched the plastic card from her proffered hand.
“I’m getting the Presidential Suite,” I warned.
“I wouldn’t expect anything else,” she said, only seconds before shutting the door in my face.
I tapped Racy’s credit card on the reception desk while I waited for the woman behind the counter to find me an available room. I had been bluffing about maxing out Racy’s credit card; just the idea of paying for a second hotel room made me uncomfortable. I could foresee insisting on paying her back even though she was the one putting me out.
A sharp whistle had me turning around. Kate waved at me from the other side of the lobby. In her orange Hawaiian moo-moo, she looked like an inflatable person one would see at a used car lot.
“Damn it,” I quietly cursed.
I spun back around to face the reception desk.
“Any luck?” I implored the hotel employee.
“Just another second,” she guaranteed. “The system is being a little slow today.”
I heard the unmistakable clip-clop of flip-flops on the marble tile floor.
“Whatcha doing?” Kate asked, coming up behind me.
“Nothin
g.” I couldn’t admit to her that Racy had booted me a second time.
“Am I gonna see you at the Coconut later?”
“I don’t think so,” I said over my shoulder. “I’m pretty beat. I’ll probably have an early night.”
“Ms. Sawyer, I’m afraid all of our standard rooms are sold out,” the receptionist informed me, mistaking me for the name printed on the credit card. “All we have left are deluxe suites.”
Kate continued to badger me. “Why are you getting another hotel room?”
I whirled my head in her direction. “Can you please go?”
Her smile turned upside down. “Your friend locked you out again, didn’t she?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re homeless.”
“That’s being a little overdramatic,” I said.
“You shouldn’t waste your money on another hotel room. You can stay with me.”
“That’s very kind, but I’m not going to put you out again.” I turned back toward the front desk receptionist. “What’s the price on the deluxe suite?”
“We have a two-night minimum, and the suites are $400 a night.”
I didn’t need to react; Kate accomplished that for the both of us: ”Jesus. Come on,” she said, clutching my wrist and tugging me away. “I’m making the decision for you. You’re bunking with me tonight.”
+ + +
The routine was starting to feel familiar, her handing me the bike helmet and me climbing onto the seat behind her. I didn’t feel uncomfortable with my arms around her waist, which I told myself was for my own safety, nothing else. My legs even felt more stable after climbing off the back of her moped. Either I was getting accustomed to riding on the scooter or she’d taken the turns slower than usual for me.
My comfort rapidly dissolved when Kate opened her front door and turned on her house lights.
“There’s a chicken in your house,” I said.
Kate flipped her sandals onto the shoe pile by the doorway. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”
A live chicken, with feathers and everything, stood in the center of Kate’s kitchen. Our entrance must have startled it; it stood motionless for a moment before it began to strut around, paying us no attention.
I stood just beyond the threshold. “Explain?”
Kate dropped her helmet and the bike’s keys onto her kitchen table. “Do you have any pets?”
“A goldfish.”
“Some people have pet fish, others have pet chicken. Her name is Dog, but she doesn’t really come when I call her, so it probably doesn’t matter.”
“Why is your chicken named Dog?” I asked.
“Why are you named Mercy?”
“Because that’s what my hyper-Evangelical parents decided to name me,” I said stiffly.
I took a cautious step into the house, keeping my eyes on the chicken the entire time. First iguanas, now this. It was like a veritable zoo.
Kate observed my hesitance. “She won’t bite,” she assured me. “Chickens don’t have teeth.”
“She has a beak,” I protested.
“You’re higher on the food chain, Mercy.”
Kate grabbed the same t-shirt and boxer shorts I’d slept in a few nights before. I didn’t bother asking if she’d had the chance to launder them. I was a grateful houseguest, not an overbearing parent.
Without being told, I slipped away to the bathroom and got dressed by the light that crept in from the cracks around the water closet door.
When I exited, Kate was just finishing making the bed even though I’d only be messing it up shortly.
“I’ll take the couch again,” she announced.
“That’s not a couch,” I denied. “That’s a loveseat.”
“Semantics,” she shrugged.
“We’re both adults. Some more than others,” I couldn’t help adding. “We should be able to handle sleeping in the same bed.”
“The couch is really okay,” she insisted. “I’ve slept on worse.”
“Is there a reason you don’t want to sleep with me?” I flushed at my word choice. “I mean, sleep in the same bed?”
Kate’s features turned serious. “Mercy. I have to tell you something.”
“Oh, God. I snore, don’t I?” I worried.
“No. I’m gay.”
I didn’t miss a beat. “I know.”
“You do?”
I nodded. “I didn’t think that haircut was an unfortunate accident.”
Kate raked her fingers through her aforementioned hair. “Oh. Uh, well, good. I-I only wanted you to know because I don’t want you thinking I’m taking advantage of your situation,” she continued her awkward explanation. “I imagine some straight girls might be uncomfortable sharing a bed with a lesbian.”
“I appreciate your concern, but who said I was straight?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Huh?”
“Did I stutter?”
“You’re gay?” she blinked. “All this time?”
“Are you upset that you didn’t convert me?” I mused.
“No,” she was quick to dismiss. “I guess I thought I had better gaydar.”
“Do you normally get some kind of notice when another lesbian arrives on the island?” I continued to tease.
“When did you know about me?” she asked.
“I suppose I assumed from the beginning,” I admitted. “Your haircut is a bit of a giveaway.”
“Well now we definitely can’t sleep in the same bed.”
“Why not?”
“You might be tempted to ravish me.” She flashed what she probably thought was a charming smile. It was mildly charming, I could admit, but the chicken strutting around the room kept me from falling entirely head over heels.
I snorted at the suggestion. “I think I can resist you for one night.”
Kate arched an eyebrow. “I dunno about that. I haven’t been trying to flirt with you; I thought I’d be barking up the wrong tree.”
Her hand disappeared beneath the bottom hem of her tank top as she scratched at her abdomen. The action caused her shirt to ride up, exposing a thin ribbon of bare skin and the hint of a hipbone.
I realized—too late—that I’d been staring. I lifted my eyes from her midsection to her face, but the knowing smirk on her face told me I’d been caught.
“Uh, where does Dog usually sleep?” I asked, desperate for a distraction.
“Wherever she wants to. I can put her outside if you’d prefer.”
“That’s not necessary. I really don’t want to interrupt your routine,” I dismissed.
Her lips quirked into a smile. “So I should sleep in my underwear like I usually do?”
My face grew warm from the suggestion, although my lingering sunburn probably hid it well.
Kate waved her arms. “I’m teasing, I’m teasing. Geez, you should have told me you were gay sooner. Think of how much fun I could have been having making you blush.”
Apparently my sunburn wasn’t that good at hiding my embarrassment.
“We should get to bed,” I groused.
“Last chance,” she warned. “I’m seriously okay taking the couch.”
“Get. Into. Bed,” I ordered.
Kate bobbed her head like a curtailed bow. “Yes, ma’am.”
I climbed under the sheets while Kate turned the lights off and the room plunged into darkness. A faint amount of moonlight spilled in through the ocean-facing windows, providing just enough light for Kate to make her way to the bed without stubbing her toes. It was a tight fit on the mattress. Our shoulders nearly touched as we lay side-by-side. It made me wonder how often these sleepovers occurred.
“Thank you. Again,” I said into the darkness.
Kate rolled onto her side to face me, her knees knocking into the side of my thigh. “You’re very welcome. I’m sorry your friend is such an asshole.”
My reflex was to defend Racy. “She’s not so bad.”
“I don’t know. If someone did that to me, I don’t kn
ow how much longer I’d consider them a friend.”
“We have a long history. I can forgive a slight like this.”
“Two slights,” she unnecessarily reminded me. “Why are you so ready to forgive? Do you have a crush on her or something?”
The unexpected question forced a louder-than-usual laugh from my lungs. “God, no. She’s most definitely not my type.”
“She’s attractive enough,” Kate observed.
I rolled onto my side as well. A strange feeling stirred in my stomach; it felt a lot like jealousy. “Oh, really? Do you have a crush?”
Kate snorted, but apparently didn’t consider my question worthy of a more verbal response. In lieu of continuing our conversation, she rolled over onto her other side, giving me an unobstructed view of her back.
The abrupt end to our conversation left me feeling unsettled. Did Kate really find Racy attractive? Would she rather be sharing a bed with my friend instead of me? Old, familiar feelings of insufficiently clanked around inside my head.
“Good night,” I barked.
“Night,” she returned.
Instead of closing my eyes in search of sleep, I squinted through the darkness at the shape of Kate’s silhouette. She’d changed out of her board shorts and tropical tent for a more form-fitting tank top and boxer shorts. Despite the smaller shirt size, the tank top had slipped off her angular shoulder, leaving the tan shoulder bare. I reached out and ghosted my fingers above her skin, not actually touching her, leaving the smallest of gaps between my fingertips and her shoulder. I could practically feel the heat radiating from her body.
I leaned toward her, my arms at my side, and I pressed my mouth to her exposed shoulder. It wasn’t quite a kiss—just my lips against her skin. Her shoulder blade rippled beneath my slightly parted lips.
She didn’t roll over, but I heard her question slice through the darkness: “What are you doing?”
It was an excellent question. What was I doing? I was on vacation in a foreign country, in a near-stranger’s house, sleeping in her bed.
I had no sufficient answer for her question or the ones ricocheting in my head, so I pressed my lips next against the nape of her neck.
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