Is this what the verge of rock bottom looks like? Mojitos clearly aren't a solution to my problem. A wife is. The churning sensation canvassing my stomach confirms my decision. How am I going to maneuver past the resort’s ridiculous policy? Should I give up?
My phone, resting underneath the pillow next to me—Olivia’s side—vibrates, and I untangle it from the sheets. When the screen brightens, Seattle’s chaos returns. Sixty-three missed calls. Fourteen voice messages. I scroll down and groan. One hundred and nine new text messages. Nothing from Olivia. She better not have the audacity. Mother called twice. Most of the messages are from Hazel and Riley in our group chat. Mostly Hazel.
I hear the video chat chime and, against my better judgment, I answer.
“I cannot believe you still went on your honeymoon.” Hazel’s voice is trembling; beads of sweat linger on her forehead. Why does she look like the one who got left at the altar? “How about if you come home right now, Finn and I won’tkillyou? Riley’s here to back me up.” The screen shifts to Riley leaning against the kitchen countertop, looking flawless per usual, appearing light years calmer and more put together than me and Hazel combined. Her bright-yellow sundress pops nicely against her deep-mahogany skin tone. Meanwhile, I look like a bus ran me over, and my sister is ridiculous in her army-green T-shirt with ripped sleeves, shorts, and a pair of exercise gloves. Scrubs suit her better. It feels like years have gone by, not days, since the wedding. Seeing familiar faces relaxes me.
“I’mfine,” I insist and pace around the room. “The only reason I answered your call is because your twin energy is vice-gripping my spine.”
“Sorry for being a concerned sister?” Our pouting faces are identical. “Tell me what’s going on.”
After I inform her and Riley of my current situation, Hazel drops down on her rowing machine seat. “I don’t understand. Why lie? Leaving someone at the altar says more about the other person, not you. Why don’t you reschedule with the Blakemans?”
Easy for her to say. She’s the only sibling that doesn’t work for the family business. “BecauseI’ve already rescheduled twice. We can’t afford to miss this deal. I’mthisclose. I can fix this.”
“God, you sound like Mom. Nothing needs to be fixed. Our family name is cursed!” Hazel growls in frustration and tosses the phone. “Babe,pleasetalk some sense into her.”
Now, I’m looking at Riley’s face. Distinct whooshing sounds increase in the background.
“I don’t know why you don’t listen to your sister!” she yells. Immediately, I identify Riley’s fake tone. The slight upward curl in her lips is another sign. We might not talk regularly or have a typical best friendship, but we've stood by each other since we were kids. A judgment-free zone. Seconds later, her voice lowers. “Hazel has been on that rowing machine nonstop since the wedding, and I’m genuinely concerned she’s going to snap. Seeing her lose her shit might be worth an early flight home.”
A hollow laugh escapes my mouth. Hazel is supposed to be the calm twin. “She wouldn’t hurt a fly. Worst case, she’ll return to being a recluse in the forest.”
“Don’t tell me that. I just got her back and don’t want to lose her again.”
Riley’s slight frown reminds me of the reason why Hazel retreated to a cabin in the woods in the first place. Heartbreak. Humiliation in front of hundreds of people, and there I was blaming her for dating a wannabe Victoria Secret model in the first place. Maybe our family name is cursed after all.
“At least she’s hot as hell when she’s all worked up like this.” Riley’s words grab my attention. “Last night, she tied me up for the first time and—”
“Oh my god. Stop!” I cut her off. The downside of your sister and childhood friend dating.
“Sorry. Forgot.” She clears her throat. “One second, please. I told Hazel I’d yell at you.”
She slams the sliding door on her way outside. “You’re such a selfish bitch!”
My brow slants upward.Seriously? Brava on the acting.
The phone screen rotates, and her voice returns to her normal soothing tone. “How are you, really?”
I think for a moment, taking in the view of the crowded beach. “Honestly, I don’t know. But I need this deal locked in.” A win. That’s what I need. My voice shakes. “I have to do this, Riley. I—”
“No explanation required. I’m here to support the mission. If I were in your shoes, I’d be doing the same thing. I’ll handle Hazel. She’s going through it, but she’ll be fine.”
“Leaving now would be more of a pain in the ass than staying. I’ll devise a plan soon.”
“Of course you will; you’re a Jones. While you’re away from all this noise, think about whatyouwant in life, and when you come home, we’ll be here to help. Take all the time you need. Your fancy wine business isn’t going anywhere.”
I dispel a breath. Something shiny catches my eye, and I halt at the foot of the bed. “Olivia will regret leaving me when she hears about my success. I don’tneedanyone.”
There’s a stretch of silence between us. I peer down at the kissing swan display resting on the bamboo bench. Around it sits shimmering embroidered lettering outlined in gold:Welcome, Mrs. and Mrs. Jones. Option three. Setting up our honeymoon package feels like it was yesterday, not fifteen months ago. The display is more stunning than the brochure photo, and back then, I was certain Olivia would’ve adored them. Back when she appreciated my intrinsic efforts. Something that had transformed into exasperated sighs and petty bickering over the years. She had never seemed to understand how I only wanted us to have a successful marriage, unlike my parents’. If only I had listened more, if only I had moved a few meetings here and there, maybe Olivia and I would still be together—no. I clench one of the swan beaks in my fist and drop it on the floor. She didn’t love me enough to care about our future—our legacy—as much as I did. That’s on her.
Remembering I’m on the phone, I check the screen, and Riley meets my watery gaze. “Oh, Basil, I wish I could hug you.”
I fight the sob in my throat, and my voice goes soft. “Me too.”
* * *
A showerand a short nap later, I reach a conclusion. I’ll go to the front desk and tell them about my wife’s canceled flight and see if they’ll accept an electronic signature. That’s when Riley will step in if need be. That will hopefully buy me time. My phone buzzes again. I peek at the screen, and my heart jolts at the name.Oh no. And I thought I was sick before.
