3. Becca
Becca
“T here’s no way Jack’s not going to propose,” I say, holding up two bikinis to Holly’s critical gaze. “I mean, a romantic getaway to Cozumel? What else could it be?”
Holly sits cross-legged on my bed, surrounded by the explosion of summer clothes I’ve pulled from storage. Her expression is carefully neutral, but I know that look. It’s her “managing Becca’s expectations” face.
“The white one,” she says, pointing to the bikini in my right hand. “And I’m just saying, don’t build it up too much in your head. You know how Jack is.”
I do know how Jack is. After five years together, I’ve become an expert in the fine art of Jack Hanson’s disappointment. But this time feels different.
“His mom confirmed it,” I say, tossing the white bikini into my suitcase. “She called me yesterday to ask about ring preferences. Like, subtly, but not subtly at all.”
Holly raises an eyebrow. “Kay Bishop-Hanson? Subtle?”
“Hanson-Bishop,” I correct automatically. “And okay, she was about as subtle as a sledgehammer. But still!”
I grab my phone and pull up Jack’s photos of Clive’s beachfront villa. The place is stunning—all-white stone and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Caribbean.
“Look at this place,” I say, passing her the phone. “It’s perfect. Like, proposal-on-the-beach perfect.”
Holly scrolls through the photos, then stops on one, her eyes widening. “Whoa. Is that Clive?”
The photo shows Jack’s stepfather standing on the deck of a yacht, the wind ruffling his salt-and-pepper hair, his blue eyes startlingly bright against his tanned skin. He’s smiling—a rare occurrence in the few times I’ve met him.
“Yeah,” I say, reaching for the phone. “Jack’s stepdad.”
Holly holds the phone away from me. “You never mentioned Jack’s stepdad looks like he walked straight out of a luxury watch commercial. He’s gorgeous.”
“He’s also, like, a million years old.” I lie through my teeth. The man is freaking god.
“He can’t be more than forty-five,” Holly counters, still studying the photo. “And he’s in better shape than most guys our age.”
I snatch the phone back. “Clive’s also Jack’s stepdad—actually his ex-stepdad now. The divorce just finalized.”
“Speaking of which,” Holly says, reaching for the champagne bottle we opened an hour ago, “are you sure it won’t be weird? Vacationing with your boyfriend’s mom and her ex-husband right after their divorce?”
I hadn’t thought about it that way. In my head, this trip has been solely about Jack and me—our future, our engagement, our happily ever after. The final box to check in my life plan. I’ve spent so long waiting for this moment that I haven’t considered the potential awkwardness of the situation.
“Kay says they’re on good terms,” I say, folding a sundress with more care than it needs. “And it’s Clive’s villa, so he’d be there anyway. They’re doing this one last family thing before everything changes.”
Holly refills her glass. “If you say so. Just seems like a powder keg to me.”
“It’ll be fine,” I insist, though a slight flutter of anxiety ripples through my stomach. “Jack says Clive’s barely around anyway. Always working, even on vacation.”
“What does he do again?”
“Clive owns some global security company. Very hush-hush. Jack says he’s worth billions.”
Holly whistles. “And Jack doesn’t work for him?”
I busy myself with reorganizing my toiletry bag. “Jack does, actually. In a semi-entry-level position.”
“For his stepdad’s company? After how many years?”
I shoot her a look. “Jack has his own path. He doesn’t want special treatment.”
Holly raises her hands in surrender. “Of course. Very admirable.”
We fall silent as I continue packing. The truth is Jack’s relationship with Clive has always been strained. The few times I’ve seen them together, the tension was palpable – Clive’s quiet disappointment, Jack’s defensive posturing. I’ve tried to understand and be supportive, but sometimes I wonder if Jack’s resentment stems from something deeper than stepson-stepfather friction.
“Have you thought about what happens after?” Holly asks, breaking into my thoughts.
“After what?”
“After he proposes. After the wedding. Have you talked about where you’ll live? Do you want kids? If he’ll finally introduce you to his college friends?”
I zip my suitcase with more force than necessary. “One thing at a time, Hol.”
“I’m just saying?—”
“I know what you’re saying.” I sit beside her on the bed. “But this is what I want. Jack is what I want.”
Holly studies my face, then sighs and squeezes my hand. “I know, Becs. I just want you to be happy.”
“I will be. Starting Saturday, when we land in paradise, and Jack finally puts a ring on it.” I force a bright smile. “Now help me pick shoes. I need the perfect pair for when he gets down on one knee.”
My phone buzzes with a text. It’s from Kay:
Pack something stunning for Saturday night. Big plans!!
I show Holly, my excitement bubbling over. “See? Saturday night. That’s when it’s happening.”
Holly doesn’t look convinced, but she smiles anyway. “Then we better find you the perfect outfit.”
As we dig through my closet, I try to quiet the small voice of doubt whispering beneath my certainty. This time will be different. It has to be.
“What about this?” Holly holds a flowy white maxi dress with delicate lace detailing across the bodice.
“Too bridal,” I say, then laugh. “Save that for after the proposal.”
“Fair enough.” She tosses it aside and continues rummaging through my closet. “This red one is killer. You’d look like a walking heart attack.”
The dress in question is one I bought on impulse during a post-breakup shopping spree with Holly last year. Jack and I had one of our “breaks” – three weeks where he decided he needed space to “figure things out.” I returned from that shopping trip with the red dress and a newfound determination to be the kind of girlfriend he couldn’t walk away from.
He called the next day, and the dress has hung unworn in my closet ever since.
“Maybe,” I say, running my fingers over the silky material. “But isn’t red a bit... much?”
“That’s the point,” Holly says, pressing the dress against me. “You want him to look at you and think, ‘I need to lock this down immediately, or some other guy will.’”
I chew my lip, considering. “Kay said we’re having dinner at some fancy restaurant on the beach. Clive’s booking it.”
“Even better. Rich stepdad with connections means photographers, possibly. You want to look amazing in those engagement photos.”
My heart flutters at the thought. I picture it so clearly: Jack on one knee, me in this stunning red dress, the sunset painting us gold, the ocean a perfect backdrop. It would make a gorgeous save-the-date card.
“Okay,” I decide. “The red dress it is.”
Holly grins triumphantly and lays it carefully in my suitcase. “So, who is going on this trip? Just you, Jack, Kay, and Clive?”
“As far as I know. Kay mentioned inviting her new ‘friend’ Gerald, but I think that fell through.”
“Gerald? The hedge fund guy?”
I nod, searching for my favorite pair of sandals under the bed. “Yeah, they met at some charity gala last month. He’s on the board of that hospital where she volunteers.”
“Volunteers,” Holly repeats with air quotes. “You mean shows up for photo ops.”
“Holly,” I warn, though I can’t help smiling. Kay’s charitable endeavors are transparently self-serving, but I’ve learned to keep such observations to myself. Future mother-in-law and all that.
“Sorry, sorry,” Holly says, not looking sorry. “So just the four of you, then. That’s... intimate.”
The way she says “intimate” makes me pause in my packing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Holly shrugs too casually. “Nothing. Just that it’s a lot of togetherness with people who might have complicated feelings about each other right now.”
“It’ll be fine,” I say, waving her off. “Clive’s always been perfectly polite to me. He’s just... intense.”
“Intense, how?”
I consider this as I fold a floral sundress. “Clive watches everything. Like he’s calculating something in his head. And when he speaks, everyone listens.”
“Sounds hot,” Holly teases.
“Stop it!” I throw a bikini top at her, which she catches with a laugh. “He’s just different from Jack. More serious.”
“Different, how?”
I hesitate, not wanting to say anything that might sound disloyal to Jack. “Just... professional, I guess. He built that company from nothing. Jack says he’s ruthless in business.”
“But what’s he like with you?” Holly presses.
The question catches me off guard. What is Clive like with me? We’ve only interacted at family gatherings—Christmas dinners and the occasional birthday celebration. He’s always been courteous, asking thoughtful questions about my event planning business and remembering details from our last conversation in a way that surprised me.
“He’s... nice,” I say finally. “Attentive. He actually listens when I talk about work, unlike—” I stop myself.
“Unlike Jack?” Holly finishes, raising an eyebrow.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” She sighs. “Becca, I love you, but sometimes I worry you’re settling.”
“I’m not settling,” I say automatically. “Jack and I have history. We understand each other.”
“Do you, though? Because from where I’m sitting, it seems like you understand Jack, but I’m not sure he understands you.”
I zip my cosmetics bag with more force than necessary. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it? When was the last time he asked about your big event at the Plaza? Or remembered your mom’s birthday? Or didn’t bail on dinner with your friends at the last minute?”
I feel my cheeks flush. “Jack’s been busy with work.”
“For five years?” Holly’s voice softens. “Becs, I’m not trying to rain on your parade. I just want you to be sure this is what you want, not what you think you should want.”
The distinction makes me uncomfortable. I’ve always been good at knowing what I should do. It’s been my guiding principle through school, career, and relationships: the right college, job, and boyfriend from the right family. I’ve checked every box meticulously.
“I love him,” I say, and I mean it. I think.
Holly squeezes my hand. “I know you do. Just promise me you’ll keep your eyes open this weekend.”
“For what?”
“For whether this is your happily ever after or just the next box you’re desperate to check.”
I’m saved from responding by my phone buzzing with another text. This time it’s from Jack:
Don’t overpack. We’re not staying the whole week.
My stomach drops. “What does that mean?”
Holly leans over to read the message. “Maybe he has to get back for work?”
“He didn’t mention that before.” I text back quickly:
Why not? I thought we were staying until Friday?
The three dots appear, disappear, then appear again. Finally:
Plans changed. Mom wants to be back for some charity thing on Tuesday. I’ll explain later.
I stare at the phone, disappointment settling heavily in my chest. Four days instead of seven. My perfect proposal beach vacation, cut short.
“See?” Holly says gently. “This is what I mean. He changes plans without consulting you, and you just accept it.”
“It’s not his fault,” I say automatically. “It’s Kay’s charity event.”
“And he couldn’t tell her you two would stay on your own? Or at least discuss it with you first?”
I don’t have a good answer for that. The truth is that Jack rarely stands up to his mother, and he seldom consults me on decisions. It’s just how things are between us – the comfortable pattern we’ve fallen into. I make accommodations; he makes decisions.
“It’s still going to be amazing,” I say, trying to recapture my excitement. “Four days in paradise is better than no days, right?”
Holly shakes her head but doesn’t push it. “Right. So the red dress is for Saturday, and the white bikini is for the beach... what about shoes?”
We spent the next hour finishing my packing, and the conversation mercifully shifts to lighter topics. By the time Holly leaves, I feel more settled, my suitcase packed, and my expectations...well, managed. Sort of.
I feed my cat, Mr. Darcy, before crawling into bed. He jumps up beside me, purring as he kneads my comforter with his paws.
“What do you think, Darcy?” I scratch behind his ears. “Is this finally it?”
He blinks at me slowly, which I interpret as feline approval.
My phone buzzes again. I expect it’s Jack who may explain more about the shortened trip, but it’s an unknown number. I open the text.
Rebecca, it’s Clive Bishop. Kay gave me your number. Wanted to check if you have any dietary restrictions for the trip. The chef is preparing menus.
I stare at the text, surprised. In five years of dating Jack, his stepfather has never contacted me directly.
Hi, Mr. Bishop. I’m allergic to salmon, but that’s it. Thank you for asking! I hesitate, then add: Thank you for hosting us at your villa.
The response comes quickly:
Call me Clive, please. And you’re welcome. Looking forward to having you there.
Something about his formal politeness makes me smile. I can almost hear his deep voice through the text.
Another message appears:
Also, if there’s anything special you’d like to do while in Cozumel, let me know. I know some places off the usual tourist path.
I consider this. Jack hasn’t mentioned any plans beyond lounging by the pool. And if we’re only staying four days now...
I’d love some recommendations. I’ve never been to Mexico before.
First time? We’ll make it memorable.
I find myself staring at those words longer than necessary. There’s nothing suggestive about them, yet something in my stomach flutters. I decide it’s probably just excitement about the trip.
Thank you. Looking forward to it.
Goodnight, Rebecca.
“Rebecca,” I say aloud to Darcy. “Not Becca.”
Everyone calls me Becca. My parents, my friends, definitely Jack. Only my grandmother ever used my full name, and she’s been gone for years.
I set my phone aside and turn off the light, but sleep doesn’t come easily. My mind cycles through Holly’s warnings, Jack’s shortened trip, and, oddly, Clive’s text messages. The consideration in them—asking about dietary needs and offering recommendations—strikes me as unusually thoughtful.
Jack hasn’t even asked what I want to do in Cozumel.
I push the thought away. This trip isn’t about sightseeing. It’s about our engagement. Our future.
By the time I drift off, I’ve convinced myself again that everything will be perfect. Jack will propose, I’ll say yes, and the next box in my carefully planned life will be checked.
But as I slip into dreams, it’s not Jack’s face I see, but blue eyes watching me with an intensity that follows me into sleep.