“That—and you never talk about girls you like! I talk about men, like, all the time.”
“Oh, I know you do.”
She didn’t take offense to my mocking tone. “See! Even more reason why you should point out girls to me you wanna bang. It’ll be payback for all the times I’ve done that to you.”
I shook my head. “Let’s just get moving before I change my mind about tonight.”
A man stood outside of the club entrance, checking wrist bracelets that indicated we were paying guests at the resort. He held the door for us and we walked inside. I noticed right away the distinctive scent of s fog machine, slightly sweet and musky. It had been dark outside, but it was even darker inside the club. The only light came from a kind of laser light show in the center of the dance floor, a backlit bar, and the DJ booth. I started to fan myself with my hand. If the air conditioning was on, you couldn’t tell. It might have been even more humid inside than outside.
If the resort had seemed deserted earlier, it was only because everyone was in this building. The dance floor was crowded with dancing couples and groups of single-sex friends—maybe bachelor or bachelorette parties. Male and female dancers performed on top of elevated platforms, hovering above the dance floor like isolated islands.
“This is wild!” Racy announced. “It’s too bad we’re only just coming here our last night.”
Nothing about this environment appealed to me, but for my friend’s sake, I kept my opinion to myself. It was too loud to really have a conversation, anyway.
“I need a drink!” Racy yelled over the electronic dance music.
I nodded my agreement. “What do you want?” I offered.
“Surprise me!”
I wiggled through the crowds to get to the equally busy bar. The resort may have provided free alcohol to its guests, but I needed to compete with the other club attendees to even make it to the bar. I eventually captured the attention of one of the club’s overworked bartenders long enough to order a drink for Racy and myself.
I leaned over the top of the bar and shouted our drink orders to be heard over the club’s loud, pulsing music. As the bartender left to make our drinks, I couldn’t help but wistfully observe that I could have gotten served much quicker and easier if we’d gone to the Thirsty Coconut. Plus, I might have been able to see Kate one more time. There was little chance of bumping into her at the discotheque. I was hardly an expert on her likes and dislikes, but the dance club seemed far from her scene.
I fought the crowds to return back to where I’d left Racy. My friend didn’t look in my direction, but accepted the fruity drink that I pressed into her hands. Her attention was focused on something across the club.
“That girl from the Thirsty Coconut is working overtime,” she observed.
I followed the trajectory of her stare to one of the floating go-go dancer platforms. Tory—the attractive hostess-waitress we’d seen a few times—stood on platform heels in a crop top and tiny shorts.
“I still can’t believe you wanted to come out tonight,” Racy marveled.
I chewed on an ice cube from my drink. “I’m not always a stick in the mud,” I told her.
Racy smiled brightly. “Maybe I’m finally starting to rub off on you.
I itched at the band-aid stretched across my kneecap. The shallow cut from before had stopped bleeding, but a bruise was sure to form in the coming days. I wouldn’t have to worry about my legs for long though. Once I was back in Boston, my knees would be confined to jeans and leggings.
Racy continued to gawk, unblinking, in Tory’s direction while her mouth sought out the lip of her drink.
“It’s rude to stare,” I called her out.
Racy’s body began to sway in time with the music. “She wouldn’t be up there if we weren’t supposed to look.”
“Well it’s making me uncomfortable,” I opined.
“Beautiful, dancing women make you uncomfortable?” she laughed.
“Yes. Definitely.”
“How do you manage to be around me then?” She grinned broadly and wiggled her hips from side to side.
I didn’t suppress an eye roll. “I have no idea.”
“There’s still time, you know.”
“For what?”
“I was supposed to get you laid this trip,” she noted. “I’ve been a terrible friend.”
“That’s not your job,” I dismissed her.
“I know, but I feel like I let you down.”
I considered telling her about Kate—she’d given me permission to talk to her about those kinds of things—but I passed on the opportunity.
I had reached the bottom of my drink, but the bar area looked even busier than before. The last thing I wanted to do was fight my way back to the bar to get another watered-down beverage. I could feel a small trickle of moisture down the center of my spine. I was sweaty and sticky, and I hadn’t even danced.
“I think I’m gonna head back to the room,” I announced.
“Really? Are you feeling okay?”
I nodded. “It’s just a little hot in here.” I fanned my face with my hands. “I need some fresh air.”
“Do you want me to come with?”
“No. Stay. Have fun. Just remember we’ve got an early morning.”
“Okay, Mom,” she joked.
We shared a quick hug before I shimmed my way to the club’s entrance. Once outside, cool, salty air greeted my exit. The path back to the room was dimly lit, blanketing the sidewalk and surrounding area with a low, romantic glow. The moon was a sliver of a crescent shape in the sky. The ocean—not far away—crashed against the rocky shoreline. The night was quiet; other vacationers were at the club, the tiki bar, or were already in bed, like I probably should have been.
There had been moments on this vacation when I’d lamented being on a gorgeous tropical getaway with my straight best friend instead of a love interest. As I strolled back to the room on my final night in Curaçao, those feelings of longing and regret began to resurface.
I should have been on vacation with a girlfriend. I should have had a girlfriend. We would have a place together. Maybe we’d be married and she’d be on my school’s medical plan. We’d spend holidays with her family because she got along with hers and mine was so terrible. We’d talk about having kids, but would choose instead to foster or adopt. We’d have a Sunday brunch spot—some place with bottomless mimosas.
I lay down in a freestanding hammock a few feet from the paved walkway. The creak of rope and metal joints joined the chorus of chirping crickets. I closed my eyes and sighed loudly into the night. What was I doing with my life? Was this as good as it got? Staying late at school and coming home to make dinner for one? Talking about my day to my pet fish before going to sleep and starting the routine all over again?
My private lamentation was interrupted by a too-familiar voice: “Don’t tell me your bad friend locked you out again.”
I opened my eyes to see Kate standing over me, her mouth turned toward the sky.
“Do you just get to wander around the resort even though you’re not a guest?”
“I don’t see why not. It’s not like I’m causing trouble. And I pay for my drinks at the bar.” Kate shrugged. “What are you doing out here?”
I didn’t want to admit that I’d left Racy at the discotheque—I didn’t want to appear boring or repressed—so I made light of my presence.
“I wanted some time to myself. Enjoy my last night on the island.”
The smile dropped from Kate’s face. “Last night?” she echoed. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“What for?” I countered.
She hummed. “I dunno. I would have baked a cake or something.”
I squinted at her face through the darkness, trying to ascertain the seriousness of her statement. “You bake?”
“Nope.”
She stood on the sidewalk with her hands deep in the pockets of her oversized shorts. Everything about her outfit was too bi
g—her shorts, the boat shoes in which her feet swam, and that horrible Hawaiian shirt. I hated the boxy surf tops she wore. I knew the slender, muscled torso that hid beneath those ugly patterned shirts. The shirt was too big for her narrow frame. I didn’t consider myself fashionable by any stretch of the imagination, but I at least knew sizes. The arms were too wide, the collar too tall, the torso too long and too boyish. It was all too much.
“Why do you wear those shirts?” I blurted out.
“It’s illegal to go topless in Curaçao.”
I rolled my eyes despite the darkness. “You know what I mean. Those shirts are for obnoxious tourists.”
“I’ve got a buddy at the resort’s gift shop. I get a great deal.”
“They’re horrible,” I opined.
A slow, curious smile curled at the corners of her mouth. “What would you prefer me in?”
I thinned my lips and closed my mouth tight. That bikini I saw you in on the first day. Or nothing at all.
“Never mind,” I clipped. “Forget I said anything.”
“What are you wearing?”
I tugged at the bottom of the one-piece romper. The bottom half had ridden up. Although I was in shorts, and she’d seen me wearing much less, I still felt exposed.
“It’s a romper.”
Her mouth quirked. “Aren’t those for babies?”
“No. They make them for adults. And they’re actually cool,” I huffed.
“Don’t mind me; I don’t know what I’m talking about. I haven’t looked at a fashion magazine in a decade.”
Kate tilted her head toward the night sky and loudly exhaled. The gesture reminded me of living in colder weather where you might breathe out deeply to see the condensation of your breath. I doubted Curaçao ever got colder than 60 degrees.
“It’s a nice night,” she observed.
“Mmhm,” I agreed.
Kate gestured to my hammock. “Mind if I join you?” she posed.
“It’s a free country.”
I paused at my reflexive response as she climbed into the hammock and wiggled in beside me. I had no idea if Curaçao was a free country. And what did that phrase even mean in the first place?
“What are you thinking about?” she asked as she continued to move her shoulders this way and that as if seeking a more comfortable position.
“Representative democracies.”
I heard her snort. “You could have just said ‘nothing’ like a normal person.”
“I guess I’m not normal.”
If it had been Racy and not Kate who had made the quip, I would have felt attacked. Nothing provoked my ire more than people remarking on my lack of normality. Yet I knew that Kate hadn’t meant anything by it. She herself, by definition, was far from so-called normalcy.
I marveled at the quiet of the night. Missing was the constant white noise of traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian. Instead, only the gentle lapping of water kissing the sandy beach and the rhythmic creaking of the hammock’s ropes reached my ears. A salty breeze came in from off the ocean. My eyes shut of their own volition and remained closed while we swayed together on the giant hammock.
“This is kind of perfect,” I thought aloud.
I mentally cringed once I’d voiced my opinion. I hoped she wouldn’t misinterpret my audible musing as meaning I thought laying with her on this hammock was perfect.
Luckily, she didn’t consider my observation to have multiple meanings. “Curaçao is amazing,” she concurred. “You should really think about moving here.”
“Hah,” I barked out.
“I’m serious. What’s Boston got that’s keeping you from all of this?”
“I’ve got responsibilities. A job. Friends,” I reasoned. “I can’t just pick up my life and run away to a tropical island. I can’t be like—.”
I stopped myself, realizing what the next word was going to be.
“It’s okay. You can say it,” Kate assured me. “You can’t be like me.”
There was not a hint of malice in her tone.
An awkward silence hung in the air. I remained quiet until the silence became unbearable.
“I should probably head back to my room,” I announced.
“Why? It’s early.”
“I’ve still got to pack.”
She hummed. “That’s right. What time is your flight?” she asked.
“11:30 a.m. But we have to be there three hours early because it’s an international flight, and it will probably take the hotel shuttle about half an hour to get to the airport,” I continued to calculate, “so we should probably be in the hotel lobby and checked out by 8:00 a.m. at the latest.”
“Sure that’ll give you enough time?”
I turned my head to appraise her. It was dark, but the moonlight was bright enough to see the teasing smile on her lips.
“You don’t seem like the running-through-the-airport-to-catch-your-flight kind of girl,” she quipped.
“I like to be prepared,” I defended myself. “Life is stressful enough without doing something like that to yourself.”
“So that’s it?” she breathed.
“I guess so.”
I successfully sat up in the hammock without dumping either of us on the ground. Kate held the swinging rope swing steady while I climbed out and found solid ground.
“Are you headed home now?” I couldn’t help but ask.
Kate brushed her hands together, wiping away stubborn sand. “Eh, I’ll probably grab a beer at the Coconut before I tuck in for the night. You could join me?” she offered.
I chewed on my lower lip as I thought about the suitcase on my bed. The closer I got to the end of my vacation, the harder it was becoming to shut off the reasonable part of my brain.
“I really have to pack.”
She nodded her understanding. “It was nice meeting you, Mercy.”
“It was nice meeting you, too.”
I wrapped my arms around my torso to give them something to do. Did we hug? Kiss? Shake hands? What was proper etiquette for two women who had kind of, sort of, had sex?
I didn’t have time to decide on an appropriate gesture before Kate began walking backwards along the concrete walkway. “Have a good night,” she called. “If you ever decide to run away to a tropical island, you should look me up.”
With a smile and a small wave, she turned on her heel and continued to walk towards the darkness and out of sight.
+ + +
The next morning, Racy and I stood in front of the resort’s open lobby on the sidewalk with our packed suitcases beside us.
“So what do you think? Good vacation?” she asked.
“Mmhm,” I hummed.
“You should listen to me more often,” she remarked.
I raised an eyebrow. “Like when you try to set me up on random dates?”
“That didn’t turn out so badly,” she dismissed.
“Yeah, for you!” I exclaimed. “Are you going to keep in contact with your Curaçao boyfriend?”
Racy waved a dismissive hand. “No. But there’s nothing wrong with a vacation fling. It’s harmless. You would know that if you’d put yourself out there once in a while.”
I bit my tongue. I could have told her what had happened with Kate, but there was no point. If anything, it would only have given her ammunition with which to tease me when we got back to Boston.
A white van with tinted windows pulled through the half moon driveway. Unlike our ride from the airport, this vehicle had the resort’s logo screen-printed on its side panel.
“I don’t want to go back!” Racy whined.
“Back to reality,” I sighed.
“Are you straight back to school?” she asked.
“I’ve got a staff meeting on the 30th, but I don’t actually start school again until after New Years.”
Racy unexpectedly squealed. “Let’s stay a few more days! You can video chat into your meeting, and then we can go back to the beach.”
“Ugh.
Don’t tempt me.”
“I’m serious, Mercy. It wouldn’t be that much to change our flights and get a room for a few more days.”
“I already spent too much on this trip. I really couldn’t afford more days.”
“I’ll take care of it. My treat,” Racy insisted. “You’d actually be doing me a favor.”
“You know I can’t do that. Besides, I really should be there in person for the meeting, and I have to get my classroom ready. I’ve got bulletin boards to make and new name tags for the new semester, and I should probably move the desks around so my students have a different seating arrangement.”
Racy held up her hands. “Stop. You’ve giving me anxiety.”
I breathed out deeply. “I really wish I could stay a few more days, but I really shouldn’t.”
“I get it. I need to get back, too.”
A short man with a clipboard grabbed our luggage and tossed it into the back of the shuttle van.
I looked once more around the front of the resort before climbing into the hotel shuttle. Kate hadn’t said she’d see me off in the morning, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little disappointed she hadn’t been in the hotel lobby.
It was a ridiculous emotion. She didn’t owe me anything. There was no obligation on either side—it had only been a little vacation fun. And now it was time to get back to the real world.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A loud sigh escaped my lungs as I hovered near the coffee pot in the teacher’s lounge of Woodrow Wilson Middle School. Instead of bottomless mimosas from the resort’s all-you-can eat buffet, I was back to drinking bland coffee out of a stained ceramic coffee mug.
My return to Boston had been unremarkable. Racy and my flight had touched down the previous day, we’d spent a good chunk of time waiting in the customs line at Logan Airport, and now I was back at work for a teacher’s in-service meeting before the new semester officially started on January 2nd.
“Is it June yet?”
The question belonged to Mya Sorenson, a fellow teacher who taught second grade. She walked through the doorway of the teacher’s lounge, looking as unimpressed as me to be back to school. “Why do I always feel more exhausted after winter break than when it started?” she complained.
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