My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

Turning away from the sea, I go back inside the spacious suite. Casa Del Mario, not the best name, in my opinion, but I don’t get asked my opinion on such things. But what this resort lacks in proper naming, it more than makes up for in architecture and design. The sweeping white sandstone and stucco are a sight to behold. And this suite is interesting, though that has more to do with the two women sitting on the couches inside than the décor.

They started by whispering, trying to keep me from hearing their conversation, but the breeze swirling from the balcony has carried their words right back to my ears.

Now, they’re not even trying to be quiet.

“What the fuck, Abs? This is our big shot, an opportunity that comes once in a lifetime, our chance to seize everything we’ve ever wanted, and you’re letting it all slip away!” Janey hisses.

She is fiery. Though I’ve never met her before, I like Janey instantly. Her hair is short, her eyes are bright, and her skin is like cappuccino. She could easily rest on her beauty, but she seems to be the yin to Abigail’s yang.

“Do not paraphrase Eminem to me and make it sound like you’re some lyrical genius. I know this is all fucked up, but I didn’t know what else to do!” Abigail’s response is equally passionate, and the two women lock eyes in a visual battle for dominance.

I’m not surprised when Janey drops her eyes first. Abigail, for all her bubbly free-spiritedness, is still a powerhouse.

“Okay, Lorenzo, let’s do this. You start. What are you doing here?” Abigail demands.

Not one accustomed to being ordered around, I give her only the bare minimum, knowing how it will set her off and waiting with hunger for the fireworks I know are coming. “Cooking.”

Her growl is intended to be badass. It’s adorable, like a tiny kitten thinking itself a fierce tiger. “For the Johnson-Kennedy wedding?”

There’s something fearful in her tone now, and though I typically enjoy pushing buttons and boundaries, I find myself wanting to ease her concerns.

“Yes. They had a dinner at Avanti, and the bride quite enjoyed my fettuccine alfredo. They invited me, through Meredith, to come to the festivities this week and cook for a few of the meals, including a few options for the wedding itself. Seeing as I have never been to Aruba, it seemed like an adventure I would enjoy and an opportunity to learn a new cuisine from a local chef.”

I do not answer people’s inquiries that fully, ever. But once I began telling her how I ended up here, her direct gaze never left mine, and I find myself wanting to keep sharing more just to keep her attention.

Now, though, the room is quiet, and I can almost hear her brilliant mind putting things together.

“The dinner at Avanti must’ve been the centerpieces I prepared. I only knew they were for a dinner, not the venue. So it does sound like a bit of a coincidence for us both to end up here, I guess,” Abigail gives me.

“Or fate putting me in place so that I could step in with your other situation,” I correct, knowing that the quirk of my lips will be enough to set her off-kilter once again. I like her flip-flops from rash to reasonable, finding them exciting. But though I seek out adventure and enjoy danger, Abigail is a danger I’m not sure I can afford.

She flops back on the couch morosely, her head shaking back and forth as she rolls her eyes toward the vaulted ceiling. “I cannot believe I said that. Do you have any idea what I’ve done?” she asks.

Perhaps she’s asking the ceiling, or maybe me and Janey? Maybe even herself? I’m not quite sure.

Janey jumps in before I can. “Tell me again. Who the hell is this Emily character and why do we give a single fuck what she thinks? Screw her and the broom she flew in on.”

Abigail rolls her head toward Janey as though she hasn’t the energy to even lift her head. “It’s stupid. I know that. I do. But you weren’t there. It was constant through school. Anything I would show interest in, there was Emily doing it too. Until she was literally doing my boyfriend.”

Janey gasps indignantly.

“Oh, mio Dio,” I whisper. “Seriously?” Whoever this stupido was, he had clearly not understood what it would mean to hold Abigail in his heart. How could someone cheat on her with that . . . Emily?

“She was just a catty bitch, but we’ve always run in the same crowd, you know? So she never went away and would keep picking and poking . . . at me, at my family. And when she was all fake sorry that I’m alone, I could feel her glee at my failure, and I wanted to shove it in her face that I’m not a failure.” She sounds so sad, and surprise at the layers to this woman works its way through the steel surface of my heart. For all her strength and shine, she is battered and bruised just like the rest of us.