“You’ve been here all of three hours. Just wait until twilight, dawn, or when you’re near a fruit tree. That’s what they love. Lure you with the beauty of nature and then bam! Stick their little gross oscillating teeth into your flesh and drive you mad with itching. These mosquitos aren’t like Washington mosquitos. Like most insects in Hawaii, they’re huge. Monsters, really.”
“Arbitrary excuses.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I’m heading out. Should I…text you when I’m on my way back?”
“Sure. Probably a good idea to have each other’s contact information since we’re dating.”
We exchanged numbers and I took the extra key card on the counter. But who was I kidding about not working on vacation? I planned on checking Jira for updated scrum boards, roadmaps, and repositories for DevOps the second I had extra time.
I guessed that the golf carts weren’t actually meant to cater guests to and from the many hotel buildings but were actually meant for use on the golf course. No matter, the walk back to the main building and the lobby of my actual hotel section was pleasant. This layout was a little confusing—this entire gigantic acreage was owned by one hotel chain, but had three different types of hotels/subnames, all separate, the next more elaborate than the last. Queen’s Land (the least expensive but still pricey), King’s Land (where the wedding party was staying and very nice), and the Homestead (sounded the cheapest but was the most expensive with entire villas to rent).
The walk was pleasant, full of fresh air and scenery of clear blue sky, sparkling ocean, gigantic palms and coconut trees, and endless flowering shrubs. Hot, but beautiful. An ocean breeze cut through the heat, making the walk across the golf course bearable.
April was the first of our small group to spot me walking through one of the hotel’s many restaurants. She greeted me with a hug and then patted my face like my mother often did as if gesturing, Poor baby.
I knew what that meant; we all did. “I’m good. Seriously. Let’s just focus on you and the stressed-out groom.”
“Why is he even stressed? I should be the one stressed.”
“As you’ve said: As long as the dress arrives safely and you get plenty of sleep, it’ll be perfect.”
“Then I guess half of perfection can be counted on thus far. Honestly…are you…” April eyed Sejal.
“She’s your bridesmaid. I get it.”
“She’s not awful, you know?”
I didn’t comment. Having to tell someone a person wasn’t awful was often an indictment in itself.
“She had a difficult time after the breakup.”
Because I hadn’t? Sejal’s words of how inadequate I was lingered around my aura like a dark cloud sending jolts of lightning. Unlike Sejal, I didn’t expel all my heartache and issues and emotions into our friend group. It was easy to conclude that she’d suffered more, or that I, as she’d told me so many times, was part robot and emotions weren’t in my vocabulary.
Of course, Sejal was wrong. Even if I’d expressed myself, she would’ve been quick to either dismiss me or say something along the lines of, “Where were these feelings before?”
I knew what she’d said about me. Everyone did. She’d told April and Maya, and they’d told Sam and Aamar, who’d then mentioned it to me. She’d cried for weeks over how much time she’d dedicated to us, how hard she’d worked on me, how I was never enough, how I’d never treated her like a queen on a pedestal, and how I was a hapless, hopeless, emotionless workaholic better suited for glaring at coding than being present in any relationship.
The transparency Sejal had maintained through the entire breakup and afterward, and the lack of rebuttal from me, made the entire situation one-sided and in her favor. It had almost created a rift between the guys and the women, until Sam and Aamar reminded April and Maya how I was the least destructive, least toxic person ever. Not to mention quiet as hell. I didn’t think our breakup was anything to shout about, to discuss, to cause tension, or to get people to pity me or stand on my side. Even when Sejal had done it. Even when it appeared that she’d succeeded in turning everyone against me, including family.
As usual, I didn’t make a remark on the ongoing conversation revolving around us. Instead, I said, “This is all about you and Sam. We’re going to have a great time.”
She beamed and nodded, as if she needed confirmation that I wasn’t going to—what—make a scene? “Oh! I heard you brought a special friend.” This, she said loudly, a call to arms for others to descend on the topic.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Maya asked.
“How could you keep that to yourself?” Aamar said.
“A new relationship,” I replied. “Please don’t make this a big deal. She…keeps to herself.”
Sejal eyed me as she sipped her drink from across the veranda dinner table. Sejal could see through my BS, but I hoped my “robotic emotions” worked in my favor.
“She’s really nice,” Aamar told Maya.
“And cute,” April said, shaking her shoulders. Sam had obviously told her, because there were no pictures of Bane to show. “Why didn’t she join us?”
“I thought this was just for us,” I replied, glaring at Sejal instead of the new boyfriend at her side.
Tension slowly built between us. She wanted to say something, wanted to start something. As she opened her mouth, I grinned at Sam and April and made a toast.
Despite my ex sitting across from me with piercing incredulity at my suddenly having a girlfriend, we enjoyed food, drinks, desserts, and views while catching up late into the torch fire–lit evening. About two hours later, April stood with a lingering graze across Sam’s shoulders, mischief in her eyes. Maya and Sejal joined her and off they went for a bachelorette party. Sejal kissed her boyfriend, and he went on his own (despite being invited by Sam), while Sam, Aamar, and I headed for the bachelor party.
This island didn’t have any cities, much less a big nightlife scene. But there was a shitload of drinking.
I’d gotten back late. My friends must’ve mistaken our late twenties for our early college days when we could drink until 3 a.m. and be okay the next day. After many fumbling attempts with the key card, I crept into a very dark villa. I flipped on the kitchen light, noticing that both bedroom doors were closed. Pillows and blankets had been set on the couch.
I crashed. If the guys were expecting me to keep this up all trip long, they might as well leave me poolside with a lemonade. My throat ached and my head was on its way to pounding.
My eyes clasped shut, dreams may or may not have come, but the next thing I knew, the shrill sound of a blender and clanking pans and silverware had me awake and clutching the blanket over my head. This must be the generous, albeit early-riser, sister. She eventually went on her way, and I fell back asleep, waking up to nothing. No alarm, no texts, no calls, no impending meetings, just a clean, sunlight-filled room.
I looked up at the wide bamboo fan blades that matched the wicker furniture. My head felt like someone had tried to crush it and failed. In spite of a mild hangover, this finally felt like a vacation. For the first time in a long time. Not days off to visit family or nearby places or tightly packed itineraries through scenic destinations, but a vacation. Rest. Relaxation.
My mind drifted toward three things: family, work, and the urgent need to piss.
