The Unhoneymooners

He laughs, giddy. “I know.”

/> “Like, it says a lot that even someone as cute as you can’t pull it off.”

I watch his smile turn into something heated and seductive. “You think I’m cute?”

“In a gross way.”

He laughs at this, and it honestly sends a sharp pang through my chest how much I love that smile, on this face. “Cute in a gross way. Okay.”

“You’re the worst,” I growl, but I’m grinning and don’t pull away when he slides his hand to my hip.

“Maybe so,” he agrees, “but remember what I told you about my penny? How it isn’t so much that the penny itself is lucky, but it reminds me of times when good things happened?” He gestures to the shirt and waggles his eyebrows. “I want you back. Olivia.”

“Ethan,” I whisper, and dart my eyes around, feeling the pressure of everyone’s attention on us, still. This moment is starting to feel like a reconciliation, and as much as my heart and lungs and lady parts are on board for that, I don’t want to roll over the deeper issue here, which is that what he did by ignoring my truth wasn’t okay. “You really hurt me. We had this rare, awesome honesty, and so when you thought I was lying, it was really hard.”

“I know.” He bends so that his lips are right near my ear. “I should have listened to you. I should have listened to my own instincts. I’m going to feel shitty about that for a long time.”

There are two responses in me. One is a joyful Okay then, let’s do this! and the other is a fearful Oh hell no. The first feels breezy and light, the second feels comforting and familiar and safe. As good as it feels to be careful, and to risk boredom and loneliness over heartache, I don’t particularly want comfortable and safe anymore.

“I guess you deserve another chance,” I tell him, only inches away from his kiss. “You do give a great massage.”

His smile comes to rest on mine and the entire restaurant erupts. All around us, people stand from their chairs and I look up, realizing that men in the corner were Dad and Diego in wigs, and the table of women in the back was Mom, Tía María, Ximena, Jules, and Natalia. The woman in the hallway to the bathroom really was Ami, and the restaurant is filled with my family, who are all standing and clapping like I’m the luckiest woman alive. And maybe I am.

Looking over, I see the Hamiltons near the window, standing and clapping, too. I suspect that they didn’t just show up here tonight—that Ami got them here so they could see that what they endured with us in Maui resulted in something enduring between me and Ethan here tonight—but in the end it doesn’t matter.

I don’t think I’ve ever imagined happiness like this.

Luck, fate, determination—whatever it is, I’ll take it. I pull Ethan down to me, feeling the slippery slide of his tank top under my hands and my laugh echoing into our kiss.

epilogue

Two years later

Ethan

“Man, he is out.”

“Is he drooling?”

“He’s a cute sleeper. But deep, wow. I bet people drew on his face in college.”

“Not usually this deep.” A pause. I try to open my eyes but the fog of sleep is still too heavy. “I’m tempted to lick his face to wake him up. Would that be mean?”

“Yes.”

Many have said that my girlfriend and her sister are so similar that even their voices sound the same, but after two years with her, I can distinguish Olive’s easily. Both voices are soft, with an almost imperceptible accent, but Olive’s is huskier, slightly scratchy around the edges, like she doesn’t use it much. Always the listener with most people; the observer.

“Lucas?” It’s Ami’s voice again, wavy and slow, as if coming through water. “Can you carry him off the plane if we need to?”

“Doubtful.”

I am jostled. A hand comes up to my shoulder, sliding up my neck to my cheek. “Ethannnnn. This is your faaaaather. We are laaaaanding.”

It isn’t my father, in fact; it’s Olive, speaking through her fist directly into my ear. I drag myself out of sleep with intense effort, blinking. The seat in front of me comes into blurry focus; the surface of my eyes feel syrupy.

“He lives!” Olive leans over into my field of vision, and grins. “Hi.”

“Hi.” I lift a heavy hand and rub my face, trying to clear the fog.