My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

At 1:45, the door flies open and she comes running in. “Sorry! Sorry! You would not believe my morning. I’m ready!”

But since she runs right past me and into the bedroom, I find that hard to believe.

Janey follows along at a more reasonable pace, shaking her head. “It really has been a super shitty day, so go easy on her.” She tilts her head, considering. “Actually, maybe go rough? She might be into that. Bam-bam-bam.” She fists one hand as though holding imaginary hair and open-palm smacks the empty air in front of her, painting quite the picture.

As enticing as that sounds, something else she said is of much more immediate concern. “What happened today? What’s wrong?”

Janey shakes her head. “That’s up to her to share. Actually, I’m interested to see if she does, though I don’t know if it’s more meaningful that she forgets all about it when she’s with you or that she wants to tell you things. Guess I’ll ponder that while I slave away on this to-do list so she doesn’t freak the fuck out.” The last part is whispered so Abigail doesn’t hear.

“You’re a good friend, a good partner. You take good care of her,” I say genuinely.

Janey’s shrug is easy. “We take care of each other. On that note.” Her face instantly morphs to one of pure threat. “If you so much as hurt one hair on her head or leave one tiny crack in her heart, I will destroy you. The only thing you’re allowed to do is pound her uterus into her ribs if she asks you to.”

I blink. “Uh . . . is that an American euphemism I don’t know? It sounds painful.”

“Just don’t hurt her,” she summarizes as the door opens and Abigail sprints out again.

“Let’s go!”

She’s wearing purple running shorts and a bright pink tank top. A turquoise swimsuit peeks out under her arms, and her hair is now piled on top of her head. She’s a riot of color and energy that I want to sample, teasing apart her layers of complexity to discover how such a delicacy was born.

But that will have to wait because we are late for our kayak date.In the lobby, Emily and Doug are waiting on one of the low, white cushioned wicker couches.

“There you are,” Emily clips out in exasperation as she stands. But with a blink, she switches to a friendly smile, confiding, “We were late too, so caught up in each other. Right, Doug?”

He rises too, putting a hand on Emily’s lower back. “Uh, yeah. Brunch was delicious. They made these pancakes with coconut flakes in them. So good.” He groans, patting his flat belly with his other hand.

Emily sighs, and I realize she was trying to rub Abigail’s nose in their newlywed sexy times the way we did. Tit for tat style. But unintentionally, Doug cluelessly didn’t back her move.

“Pancakes with coconut sound delectable. I’ll have to try them.” I make a mental note to do so. I’m always interested to try food, especially food that others find enjoyable. But where most folks simply chew and swallow, deciding whether it tastes good or not, I enjoy figuring out what makes something appetizing.

“Let’s get outside before our reservation is cancelled,” Emily huffs. We dutifully follow her out onto the sand.

“Hey! You guys my two o’clock kayakers?” a man asks. He looks very much like a surfer—blond, shaggy hair that he tosses back with a flick of his head, a deep tan, and a seashell tied on a leather cord around his neck.

“Yep,” Doug answers.

“Awesome, dude. I’m Dylan. I’ll be your guide today for this adventure. First things first. Anybody ever punched a shark in the nose before?”

He says it deadpan, as if that’s an actual life skill we might need in the next few hours.

“I have.” I raise my hand like this is elementary school. All eyes turn to me in shock and I let the moment stretch. “Kidding.”

“Bro!” Dylan drawls out, “You had me goin’ with that. I was ready to hear you tell the tale.” He holds up a fist and I pound it.

Everyone else chuckles.

“Right, so just to be clear, no shark punching except as a last resort.” He’s kidding, I think. “Have any of you kayaked?”

Emily raises her hand this time. “Doug and I did once on a romantic weekend getaway.” She makes what should be a no-big-deal answer sound like they’re taking trips for candlelit sex on the regular. But I focus on Abigail’s head shake that she’s never been in a kayak. That’s a tidbit of information I actually want to know.

“Let me go over the basics, then, and once everyone’s as comfy as a crab, we’ll get in the water. Pop a squat in the sand and we’ll get started,” Dylan instructs us.

We all move to sit, but Dylan throws himself into a backflip, spinning through the air and landing on the soft sand in a seated position. “Nailed it!” he exclaims with a fist pump. He sounds surprised, but surely, he’s not hurling himself through the air if he wasn’t certain he would land safely?