Frozen as I have become to my kitchen chair, I inevitably choose the latter.
“You still there?” he asks.
“Mhm,” I say. It’s barely a whisper.
My chest is so tight, I feel like it might implode on itself. My words are gone; I’ve lost my voice. Silence grows in the space between us. I can’t remember what I came here for. Why did I call him? What was the point of this? My breathing devolves to a shallow series of mini-gasps, like a woman in labor.
“I can’t believe it’s you,” he says finally. His voice feels warm, a hearth framing a fire that’s burned out, only embers glowing in its wake. The sensation that crawls up my arms pulls me back to our trip, back to our time together.
I’m flooded then. A rush of guilt pummels me like a tsunami. It washes me away. Out of this moment. Back to Aruba.
Back to that morning.
I can’t do this.
I hang up the phone, hit the power button to shut it down, cradle my head in my arms, and begin to cry.
Chapter 11
We went our separate ways after checking into our respective rooms. Beckett said he was staying in room 212, and I shared that we were in 401—that way we could dial each other direct from any house phone in the resort. “Just in case you get bored of her,” he told my mom, jutting his chin at me with a wink.
When the glass elevator let us out on the fourth floor, we opened the door to a spacious suite decorated in lively pastel colors boasting a kitchenette and a balcony overlooking a swimming pool so curvy, it almost resembled a lagoon. There was a swim-up bar and tempting chaise lounge chairs everywhere, green and gray iguanas darting from one palm tree to the next, and the sounds of splashing and laughter rising up from the scene below. I’d never been somewhere so gorgeous and tropical.
“It’s paradise,” I said to my mom, who flopped down onto the couch theatrically.
“Agreed, Pretty Girl,” she sighed, smiling. “It’s good here.”
“No,” I said. “Like, it’sexcellent. Definitely the best Christmas gift I’ve ever gotten.”
“Man,” she mused. “I can’t believe Christmas was justyesterday.”
“Right? All that prep and planning, just to have it go by like that,” I agreed, snapping my fingers.
“The universe brought you a good gift,” she continued. “What would you call him? Arizz?”
I giggled. “Sort of. You’d say he’sgotrizz. It’s short for charisma.”
“Right. Well I bet he’s packing about eight inches of rizz in his downstairs, know what I’m saying?”
At this, I exploded into laughter.
“What?” she asked, coyly. “I just want what’s best for you. Also, grandchildren. He looks like a solid sperm rocket.”
“You’re my favorite person in the whole world, Mom,” I said, popping the lock on the sliding glass door to the balcony and pulling it open. “Mmm. Feel that breeze?”
“Perfect place to fall in love with a handsome stranger,” Mom replied. “Now come on. Let’s get into our bathing suits and go get us a paper umbrella drink.”
So we did. We slathered on Hawaiian Tropic and made the room smell like coconuts. I slid on my cutoff jean shorts, and she wrapped herself in a pink and orange sheer sarong that Santa had gifted her for Christmas. Then I brought my book and she brought her AirPods, and we stretched out on chairs in a row that separated the pool from the beach. In the sun, facing the cerulean water, we marveled at a cruise ship floating in the distance. We luxuriated with twin piña coladas, which were readily available and way more over the top than anything we were accustomed to. At some point, Mom fell asleep, so I cranked open the massive beach umbrella between us to create shade so she wouldn’t get burned. I walked onto the stretch of sand just opposite the pool area and waded ankle-deep in the warm, Aruba water. Traversing the hotel’s beachfront, I reached a bank of rocks before turning around to wade in the opposite direction. I looked up at the hotel balconies, trying to figure out which of them belonged to our room—when I spotted Beckett. Rather, Beckett spotted me.
He was seated at a small round table on his balcony with a laptop openin front of him. When I looked up, he waved. I raised a hand and returned the greeting, suddenly very aware of my untanned stomach and the way my two-piece bathing suit sat on my frame. He motioned for me to come closer, so I walked with purpose back across the section with the chairs and past the edge of the swimming pool, narrowly avoiding being hit by a wayward beach ball. In moments, I pulled up alongside the building, close enough to say hello without having to yell.
Beckett closed his laptop and stood up, hanging over the balcony’s edge to look down at me. “Hey,” he said.
I put my hand up to my forehead to shield my eyes from the sun. Squinting, I said, “What are you up to? Writing?”
Beckett nodded. “Trying. It’s really hard to get in the zone when your body just wants to go outside and play.”
“I’ve got to hand it to you. I couldn’t come to a place like this and task myself with work.”
