“Yeah,” said Colum.
The golf club cost in the high six figures to join, but anyone (who’d been recommended by their “home club”) could play. The caveat? You could play only once in your life, unless you became a Miro Miro member. Whitney toured the clubhouse (with Miro Miro’s millennial credo framed on the wall:NO ASSHOLES ALLOWED), and visited a few homes under construction. They were designed simply, elegantly. With brass fixtures, restaurant-quality kitchens, and deep marble tubs, the so-called cottages were exquisite.
Whitney loved the pizza oven on wheels, the fire pit made of swamp kauri logs where members could watch the sunset with cans of beer, and the low-key clubhouse, but wasn’t sure how her clients would do with the preppy golfer vibe. She had never met a Google employee who wore chinos. They were not young men (or women—there had to be women working at Google, Whitney assumed, but she’d never met one) who ironed or owned a pants steamer. Jules would love Miro Miro, though.
After an exquisite lunch of fresh fish tacos and gazpacho, Whitney and Colum boarded the helicopter back to Auckland, then strolled to Colum’s car. He put the convertible top down for the short drive to Whitney’s hotel. Colum said he’dpick her up again in the morning, and gave her a kiss on the cheek before driving away.
Whitney felt giddy as she entered the resort. From the lobby, you could peer through enormous wall-to-ceiling windows to the large lake. Whitney scanned the beach for her family and saw only Roma, who appeared to be sitting on top of a young man whose hands were in her hair. Whitney put her shoulders back, all her newfound serenity gone in an instant. Where the hell was Jules?
“Roma!” cried Whitney, going outside.
Her daughter looked up, and met her gaze steadily, not moving from the young man’s lap. He looked uncomfortable, trying to stand. Roma flipped her hair over her shoulder and nestled back against the boy’s chest.
She was twelve.
Whitney, overcome, marched to their room, where she found Jules and Xavier watching television. “Mom!” said Xavier.
“Hello, darling,” said Jules.
“Roma is making out with some man on the beach!” said Whitney.
Jules looked back at the television.
“Jules!” said Whitney.
“All right,” he said, standing up reluctantly. “I’ll go see…”
“Thank you,” said Whitney, though she suspected he wouldn’t do anything, just stroll to the bar and back and pretend he’d intervened. Neither of them wanted to deal with Roma, who could ruin any vacation, no matter how idyllic. “Thank you, Jules,” she repeated.
Luckily, Roma burst into the room before Jules had to do (or pretend to do) anything. He sat back down. “Hi, sweetie,” he said.
Roma ran into the bathroom in her string bathing suit, sobbing.
Whitney sighed.
“Whitney, could you purchase our daughter a bathing suit with a bottom half?” said Jules.
“I did not buy her thatthong!” said Whitney.
Xavier raised his hands and made a goofy grimace, trying (as always) to smooth things over.
Roma slammed out of the bathroom wearing Whitney’s robe, her arms across her chest. Mascara leaked from her eyes. “What’s the matter?” said Whitney.
“The matter? I’ll tell you what’s the matter! Becauseyouembarrassed me, David said we can’t hang out anymore. He said he wasn’tcomfortablehanging out with me. Because ofyou!”
“Sorry, dear,” said Whitney. Her head was throbbing, and she went toward the bathroom, hoping she had Tylenol in her cosmetics case.
“And he was fromAustralia!” cried Roma. She began crying again. “I hate him!” she said. “And I hate you!”
Whitney went into the bathroom, closed the door, and sat on the toilet seat rubbing her eyes. A bleak feeling rose in her chest. Something bad was coming, she knew. They should change hotels. They should go home. Mothers talked about the hair on the back of their necks standing up when their kid was about to have a meltdown at a party. When a toddler was about to need a nap. Whitney believed in her mother’s intuition.
She pulled out her phone and found another resort closer to the city. She made a reservation for the following day, texted Colum the change in plans, found a restaurant for dinner off-site. Then she splashed water on her face and wentback into the bedroom. Roma was asleep in her room, so Whitney told Jules and Xavier about the change in plans. “We’ll move hotels first thing in the morning,” she said.
No one seemed surprised.
Roma seemed calmer at dinner, picking at her fish and chips. They walked back to the resort and did not argue when Xavier made a bed out of pillows on the floor of the master. Whitney took a Xanax and slept well.
She was so deeply asleep that Jules could barely wake her when the police came.
