My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

Because blackjack’s against the dealer. Everyone can win, and everyone can lose. So we find a table, and pretty soon, we’ve all got our pile of chips, a thousand dollars each.

To Emily and Doug, it’s probably pocket change. To Abigail’s family, it’s pocket change. To me, that’s a big investment, and I wonder if I’ll need to call Violet for a little ‘help’ here if we lose.

But the thing is . . . we don’t lose.

I’ve played before, but I get on a lucky streak like I’ve never seen before. I keep playing smartly, not letting my greed get ahead of my head to make the most of my hot streak. When I finally take a moment to count my chip pile after hitting it big with an ace-queen blackjack, I’ve got fifty-seven hundred dollars.

That’s nearly six month’s rent in some places. Hell, it’s a year’s living expenses in others. I could take this windfall and go so many places, virtually anywhere I’d like to experience. Knowing what opportunities this pile can hold, I quit playing and simply watch the others. Abigail loses two hundred from her thousand, while Emily and Doug stay around the break-even point.

I’m glad when they agree that they’ve had enough and are ready to move on to something else.

“So what’s waiting for you when you guys get back?” Emily asks us as she snags another wine.

Abigail doesn’t mirror Emily, though, and grabs a water with lime this time. I’m sure she’s being responsible and thinking about tomorrow when we have early morning wake-up calls to get to work for the rehearsal.

“The flower shop for me,” Abigail shares. “I just made my last loan payment, so now it’s time to see how I can maybe expand. The hope is to one day really write my own ticket. Like how Violet does.”

“Ah, yes, Violet. She’s your cousin, Lorenzo, right?”

I nod agreeably. “Well, widely separated. Italians don’t have a phrase for just how far apart our branches of the family tree are. Everyone is simply family.”

Before anyone can respond, a disembodied voice on the PA system announces, “All right, everyone . . . report to the top deck in ten minutes because we’ve got a good time in store for you.”

The voice is corny, like a 1950s television host, but people do start to move that way. Emily rolls her eyes dramatically as she snarks, “Cheese alert.”

“Shall we?” I ask Abigail, and she beams.

“Let’s do it!”

The top deck of the ship’s been turned into a dance club complete with lights, lasers, and bass-heavy music. I want to dance with Abigail, hold her in my arms and sway with her. Not for sex this time but just to feel her energy.

“All right, cool cats and kittens . . . everyone on the floor. Now’s your chance to win a helicopter tour of the island. How, you ask?” Nobody did, but people are definitely listening to the announcer now. “Our B-yacht-ch nightly dance contest!”

“What do you think?” I ask Abigail.

She bites her lip, looking uncertain. “I’m not really a great dancer. I like to dance, do Zumba with Courtney sometimes when she makes me, but my head-ass connection doesn’t seem to work as well as other women’s. They twerk. I look like I’m having a seizure.”

“I’m sure you look beautiful,” I say encouragingly. “And we danced at Courtney’s wedding. You did well, very well.”

She laughs. “Yeah, that was some slow dance swaying, but never fear, you’ll see what you’ve gotten yourself into.” Even as she puts herself down, she grins as though she can’t wait to show me just how bad of a dancer she is.

We take to the floor, and I grab her hand, twirling her in a circle around me. She prances with nervous eyes locked on me for cues.

The rules are explained, and it’s pretty simple. Keep dancing until one of the judges touches you on the shoulder. If you’re tapped out, there are chairs around the deck where you can sit and cheer for your favorite contestants.

I can already feel my pulse starting to race as I pull Abigail to me. I lead her in a classic square step to see if she can follow a lead, and to my delight, she does remarkably well. I even dip her, and she leans back easily, trusting me to support her like we did at yoga. When she returns to standing upright, her body is aligned with mine fully.

“I want you,” I whisper honestly over the music. “I want you in every way, every day I can have you.”

It’s a big confession from me, a hint that I’m thinking beyond this week. I don’t know what the future holds, I never do, but the idea of spending it without Abigail makes it seem pointless. We could do so many things, show each other so much.