The hotel’s even more beautiful once I’ve stepped inside.The lobby, lined in creamy marble, has a view straight to the ocean. The tableau is framed by potted palm trees that sway gently as a warm breeze blows through the open-air atrium. I trail behind Ash, past an infinity pool lined with private cabanas and through an archway that leads us to an elevator bank.
When we reach the third floor, Ash leads me to a door at the end of the hallway. There’s a soft beep as she unlocks the door with a smile. “Welcome to your room.”
It’s easily the most stunning hotel room I’ve ever been in. The walls are clad in a light blond wood that makes the space feel like it’s glowing from within. There’s a king-size bed piled high with plush white pillows, its four posts draped in a gauzy fabric that flutters as the breeze wafts in through the open balcony doors. I take a deep breath and inhale the scent I’m already beginning to associate with Halia Falls—fresh basil and mandarin orange—sweet, but with enough sharpness to give the impression of sophistication and finery.
Ash leaves, and my bag is delivered only a few moments later. A bellhop lifts my bright, lime-green BÉIS roller from his cart, and I notice there’s a second bag—a navy Away suitcase—waiting to be delivered to its owner.
A shiver travels up my spine. Jamie had that bag. Of course,thousandsof people have that bag—a fact Jamie and I actually fought over when he bought his. I said a suitcase should stand out from the crowd, be something that’s easy to spot at baggage claim. “Says the woman whose luggage looks like a family of exotic parrots,” Jamie had responded.
For the record, he wasn’t wrong.
I tip the bellhop, and after he leaves, I’m alone. For a briefmoment, I feel a pang of sadness. Probably from seeing that stupid suitcase. If things had gone differently last year, I would have been here with Jamie, having a romantic honeymoon. An image flashes before me of the two of us holding hands on this balcony, him turning to kiss me, laughing as we both stumble inside and fall onto the bed… I quickly blink the fantasy away and remind myself that everything happens for a reason.
Flopping onto the gorgeous bed, I pull out my cell phone to check that today’s scheduled Flowies post has gone live. The reel at the top of the feed is a fast-motion sequence of me sorting through a mountain of clothes in my room back in LA. I hit the volume button and listen to the voice-over.
Have you felt the sudden urge to clean out your closet lately? It might be because of the impending lunar eclipse. This instinct to purge the clutter—both physical and emotional—from your life could be your subconscious preparing for the start of a new celestial cycle. With the upcoming blood moon, it’s time to reflect deeply on what needs to go, release it, and never look back. One thing we’re definitely ditching? Tampons and pads. Check out the caption to learn more about how Flowies period undies are a healthy, comfortable, and sustainable alternative to other period products!
I can admit that Flowies has kind of taken over my life, but honestly, it’s been a much-needed distraction this past year. Throwing myself into brand aesthetics and content calendars and post queues has created this semblance of order and predictability that I’ve never really had before.
I click over to my personal account and impulsively snap a much less curated pic—a selfie of me holding up my passion fruit mai tai—and post it to my feed, tagging the location.
It took a while for me to come back online at all after theshame of my wedding debacle. Before the Wedding-That-Never-Was, my account gave the impression of a body always in motion—streaks of windblown hair covering my smile, silly TikTok dance trends turned laugh-fests, reels shot shakily in one hand while biking down the crowded Venice boardwalk. I scroll down further and a lump in my throat rises as I land on a picture of me kissing Jamie’s cheek outside of Wabi on Rose, fairy lights dangling behind us, casting our faces in shadow.
I never had it in me to totally scrub Jamie from my grid. Maybe I should get rid of these pictures. Make a clean break. Purge these relics of my past and fully embrace this new cycle of life.
I’ll bring it up with Gwendolyn in our next session. She’s my holistic feminist positivity coach (which is LA for therapist).
I scroll a little faster to get past anything from the Jamie Era of my life, which accidentally catapults me into the Sebastian Era. Suddenly, my grid is full of pictures of beaches and mountaintops, hole-in-the-wall bars and indie rock concerts. When the two of us were dating, we were always on an adventure or on our way to one. For a long time, I thought he was my perfect partner. The two of us justmade sense: Syb and Seb, two knuckleheads who could be relied on for a good time, as long as you didn’t expect them to arriveontime.
That kind of freewheeling chaos was exactly what I needed at the time. Before Seb, my last serious relationship had been with my high school boyfriend, Liam, the golden boy pastor’s son. Liam was always on time. Always pressed and polished—and he expected the same perfection from his girlfriend. After Liam, being with Seb felt like a breath of fresh air. Like a judgment-free zone where I could let my wildest impulses run free.
I stare at the cute pic of me and Sebastian licking each other’s cotton candy at Coney Island, and casually tap over to Seb’s profile. Nowthis, I really haven’t scanned in a while. There arethousandsof new pictures—so many you’d never be able to go back far enough to find any of us together. Which isn’t surprising since Seb is a professional photographer. I scroll through pictures of breathtaking landscapes and sun-kissed models, mixed alongside shots of political rallies and war-torn cities. Without thinking much of it, I “like” one of his more recent shots of an erupting volcano. Then I cross to the luggage rack and unzip my suitcase.
I’m fishing around for a bathing suit when my phone pings with an incoming DM.
Hey neighbor
It’s Seb. I freeze, instantly panicking. Why is he DMing the second I liked one of his pics? We haven’t talked inyears! Then again, maybe it’s also been that long since I liked one of his pics.
And come to think of it, why is he calling me “neighbor”? Last I knew, Seb was living in Tokyo.
As if intuiting my confusion, he adds:I’m wrapping up a shoot on The Big Island. You’re on Maui?
That’s when I spot the other phone notification, alerting me that Seb has liked the selfie I posted.
Yes! Just got here today. Staying @ Halia Falls Resort. You been?Seb’s been pretty much everywhere.
No!He types back.But always wanted to. That place is supposed to be incredible. My buddy Tim shot a spread there for AD. Who are you there with?
I freeze. We’ve never talked about it, but I’m sure Seb knows by now that my wedding to Jamie fell through.
Just me! Hanging on the beach solo. Unless you were planning to hop over on a puddle jumper lol
I have no idea why I hit send. I look pathetic, desperate. Am I really so incapable of being alone that I need to recruit an ex-turned-friend to come keep me company? I see that he’s typing something, but nothing appears. Then, a minute later:Sybil, Sybil, Sybilis all he writes.
What what what
Oh nothing. You just haven’t changed at all have you?
