“You did?”
I nodded.
“Well, she would say yes, though. She obviously likes you. She’s not going to put herself first,” Harmony said. “That’s my job.”
“I promise you. She said she’d order room service. I have something really special planned.”
Her mother told her the same thing when we returned to the lounge chairs. “You need to go,” her mom urged. “Believe me, Pretty Girl. You’ll thank me.”
Well. If there was any question as to whether or not this story was about me, that’s been fully resolved now. I wipe my eyes at the reading of those two words on his pages. I breathe deeply, flooded with the onslaught of memories of that whole evening. It was the best and worst night of my life, and I’ve spent the past two years doing everything in my power to forget it ever happened. Leave it to Beckett to write a goddamn transcription of it, immortalizing my mother in the text.
Pretty Girl.
I can feel my heart crumble.
I swallow.
Breathe.
Finally, I close my eyes and let it all in.
The thing is, I was nervous. I was already so head over heels for Beckett, there was always a tiny sliver of me that was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it was more than that. There was also the anticipation of giving myself over to someone new. I’d been burned so many times, hurt and cast aside, never quite good enough for Jason, or Matt, or any of the subsequent internet matches. Not pretty enough, not smart enough. Missing that special something. I was afraid that Beckett and I would cross that line and maybe he’d realize that he, too, could do better.
The pressing issue at hand, though, was my mom. I hated the idea of leaving her alone for our last night in Aruba. She gave me an earful in front of Beckett, but only later when we were alone in our room, as I was—almost begrudgingly—getting dressed, did she say the words that absolved me. “Pretty Girl, I know you think you’re robbing me of something, heading off with Beckett for one night. But, sweetheart, you’ve given up the chance to be alone with him for dinner every single night we’ve been here. Imagine how guilty and selfish that makes me feel! I want you to be happy, love. To have it all. And this man makes you so happy. So, please, I beg you, go have a night with him. Let it take you wherever it’s going to go, no curfew, no worries, nothing. Consider it my gift to you. My blessing on your year to come. Can you do that for me?”
I remembered what she said in the spa about what it meant to her to be a mother. How she yearned to watch me chase my dreams, watch me fall in love, watch me find my happily-ever-after. I hung on every word. “Are you sure?” I asked.
Her smile gave me all the encouragement I needed. “Just be home by nine tomorrow. Our flight leaves at noon, so that should give us enough time to get to the airport.”
“I doubt I’ll stay in his room, but—”
“Hey. You’re a grown woman,” she reminded me. “Don’t put a limit on the joy you’re allowed to have. Live a little.”
She helped me curl my hair and pin it up in a waterfall braid around the crown of my head. She loaned me her good mascara, the expensive stuff from London that she saved for special occasions. She even pulled her cell phone out of her purse and snapped two photos before I headed out for the night: one of me alone in my white dress with the sweetheart neckline and the scalloped hem and a selfie of the two of us, grinning like teenagers before my big date with the most handsome guy in the world.
Then Mom gave me a hug. “Have all the fun,” she said.
“I love you,” I replied.
“Love you more, Pretty Girl,” she replied. “Now, off you go.”
Off I went.
Chapter 25
Harmony met me in the lobby of the hotel. My daytime clothes were stuffed in a small Marriott shopping bag, but she didn’t ask about that. She looked divine. Her hair was curled and had been woven into some intricate pattern and she wore makeup, not that she needed any. Her white dress wasn’t quite a sundress but wasn’t the same style as the slinky cocktail dress she’d worn the night of the wedding crashing. It was somewhere in between, but it accentuated her deep tan and, matched with her white sandals, she looked like a Greek goddess or an angel or something in between.
She followed me into the taxi and when the car made a right out of the resort onto Route 1, Harmony watched out the window as the buildings and shops grew more spaced out. We passed the airport on the left, and then we were in old Aruba. We passed a pink church, a donkey sanctuary, and some low-to-the-ground, white stucco buildings that looked like condominiums. In many spots, the road was just a short stretch of sand from the beach, where she commented on different types of boats and bonfires and other things like that.
“Aw, look at the dogs,” she noted, pointing at a skinnymama trying to manage a litter of three puppies behind a low, chain-link fence. “Are they strays?” she asked our driver.
“Yes, Miss. The government is working on the stray dog population here.”
“Will they harm the animals?” Harmony asked.
“So far, that has not been the case. They seek to trap, neuter, and release them. But it is a growing concern.”
I could see the worry furrow into her brow, but thankfully, before it could set in, the driver took a right and pulled into the Aruba Ocean Villas entrance.
