Chapter 9
9
Ginny is sprawled on their stomach, drooling on the pillow, when Elsie wakes up. The sight makes her heart soar. She grabs her phone from the nightstand and snaps a picture.
A little red bubble on her screen tells her she has four new messages. They’re all in the family group chat. Both parents, plus Claire and Danielle—everyone but her brothers, as usual—saying they’re glad she made it and to have a good week. She texts back thanks and a heart emoji, unable to leave them on read even though she hopes they don’t respond so she can relax.
It’s so early it should be unbearable, but the sun set at six last night, and they’d used that as an excuse to go to bed soon thereafter, the full day of travel having taken everything out of them. This morning, instead of tired, Elsie feels refreshed. Awake. Present.
Ginny, though, has never been a morning person. Elsie ducks under her side of the mosquito netting and leaves her best friend sleeping soundly.
The sand under Elsie’s feet is yet to be warmed by the sun as she walks toward the open-air restaurant where they’d had dinner last night. It’s a little way up the beach, through a copse of palm trees so she can’t fully see it from the bungalows. That’s right, Elsie is just casually walking through palm trees on the way to breakfast. She had no idea there were so many different types. There are the ones she expects, tall and skinny, all trunk with clusters of coconuts under big pokey-looking leaves at the top. But between the restaurant and bungalows are trees with stubby trunks leading to huge leaves that fan out in an upside-down triangle. They’re basically a privacy fence. The rest of the resort is on the other side of the restaurant, around the bend of the beach. It makes the bungalows feel totally secluded. Like their own little world. Elsie can’t think of anything better: a private world, just her and Ginny. They’ve always joked about starting a queer commune together, away from everything and everyone, and Ginny doesn’t seem to mind that Elsie has no practical skills that would be helpful in that situation.
The restaurant is fully open, like their bungalow, except there’s not even an option to close doors. The building is only half closed in, the other two sides open toward the ocean, a football field away. The buffet lines both walls, with a chef at a custom omelet station in the corner. Big fans spin lazily on the ceiling.
This early, there aren’t many other guests—a couple in one corner and a lone traveler at the buffet. A worker greets Elsie in Spanish as she approaches. SHARA , a pin on her chest reads, she/her pronouns listed below her name. Elsie remembers enough of high school Spanish to return the greeting and ask the worker how she is. Beyond that, Elsie has to switch to English.
“Can I take stuff back to where I’m staying?” she asks. “In one of the bungalows?”
“If you’re in the deluxe bungalows, we deliver your meals to you,” Shara says.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It is my job, mi amiga,” Shara says. “There’s a phone in your room you can use to order, rather than coming to the restaurant.”
Who knew they could order room service? Or bungalow service, as the case may be. Deck service, Elsie decides, because that’s where they’re going to eat it, sky above them and water below.
She orders, for her and Ginny both, still half in disbelief that they’ll be delivering this. For all the things Derrick did wrong, he picked a hell of a resort.
“Go back to your love,” Shara says. “Food will be there soon.”
Elsie doesn’t correct her. She’s loved Ginny for most of her life. Just because it’s in a different way than Shara meant doesn’t mean Ginny isn’t her love. She gets iced coffee before she leaves, both because she refuses to leave the restaurant empty-handed and because she needs the caffeine as quickly as possible.
Ginny is still out when she gets back.
Elsie’s chronically cold hands are worse from carrying the coffees, their sides wet, condensation collected on her fingertips. She puts said extra-cold hands to good use, one on Ginny’s cheek and the other slid to the back of their neck.
Ginny jerks, giving her a confused squint as they wake. “Jesus, Els.”
Elsie giggles and ignores the way their voice, thick and raspy with sleep, sends a shiver through her.
“What time is it?”
“Time to wake up,” Elsie says. “Breakfast is on its way.”
Ginny grunts.
“Breakfast is on its way, and I want you to get up.”
At that, Ginny sighs and throws back the covers. Elsie beams. This whole getting-anything-she-wants thing is pretty great.
Ginny stretches, and their white ribbed tank top rides up to show skin above their thin plaid boxers. Elsie’s stomach clenches, but she ignores that, too. She can’t have anything she wants.
Once the food arrives, they eat on the deck, Ginny still wearing what they slept in. The sun is already bright enough that they both wear sunglasses. Elsie’s lenses make the blue of the water go even more turquoise.
“So, what do you want to do today?” Elsie asks, then pops a bite of pancake, perfectly soaked through with butter and syrup, into her mouth. There’s a plate with a more traditional Santa Lupita breakfast on the table, too, but Elsie can’t turn down pancakes.
“Whatever you want,” Ginny says.
“I can’t even remember everything the concierge or receptionist or whoever they were—they said so much stuff. Like, did you know I could have ordered this from here?”
“There’s a QR code on the bedside table that has a list of amenities and activities and whatever.”
Elsie starts to get up to go scan it, then plops her butt back in the chair, smirking at Ginny. “Go scan it for me, please.”
Ginny doesn’t even sigh, just does as they’re told. This is such a fun game.
Geez, this list of activities. Elsie scrolls down the page; it takes multiple thumb swipes to reach the end. There’s snorkeling and scuba diving and parasailing and windsurfing and horseback riding. Various tours—about the colonial history of the island, or of a cacao or banana farm. A bike tour. There are botanical gardens and local marketplaces and golf courses. They could hike to any of six waterfalls. Go zip-lining or whale-watching or swimming with great whites.
For the less adventurous, there’s the spa, with manicures and pedicures and facials and four different types of massages.
The resort has three restaurants and two nightclubs. Elsie isn’t about to go to a pool when there’s a staircase leading directly into the ocean off her deck, but if she wanted to, there’s a water slide for kids and a swim-up bar for adults. They could rent Jet Skis or kayaks or paddleboards, go wakeboarding and waterskiing and cliff diving.
“What do you want to do?” Ginny asks.
“C’mon, Gin, I wanna do half the fucking list.”
Ginny plucks their phone back from Elsie, who watches from across the table as they highlight the whole page, copy it, and paste it in a note.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Ginny says. “I’ll read these out loud and you tell me if you’re interested or not.”
“Okay, well, I can tell you right now I’m not interested in diving with great white sharks.”
“Great. One down,” Ginny says, thumb hitting the backspace button until that activity disappears.
The first attempt through the list, they barely narrow it down. Almost everything sounds incredible.
“This is a bit more manageable,” Ginny says, though Elsie can see they still have to scroll a long way to get from the top to the bottom. “From this list, what do you definitely want to do?”
How is Elsie supposed to pick what she most wants to do? Snorkeling, whale-watching, zip-lining, a day at the spa. She wants to do it all.
“Well, what looks good to you?” she asks.
Ginny levels her with a stare.
“Okay, yes, I get it, whatever I want to do, but I want to take your opinions into consideration, too.”
Ginny shakes their head. “I have no opinions,” they say. “I’m getting a free vacation with my best friend in the fucking Caribbean. That’s plenty for me.”
“I’m not just gonna make you do whatever I want, though,” Elsie says. “Like, I know you’re not wild about heights, so parasailing is probably out, right? Or at least I’m not going to make you do it without asking.”
“I’d do it for you,” Ginny says. Elsie’s breath catches for a second before they wink. “Only if you say you want to, though. We’re not doing a single thing unless you speak up about it.”
“Not doing a single thing in Santa Lupita still sounds like a pretty great vacation.”
“That’s exactly why I’m not complaining.”
Okay, fine. Elsie can do this.
Ginny reads the list again, and Elsie is more discerning this time around. They’ve got limited time and amazing accommodations, so she doesn’t particularly want to leave too often. Plus, she’s with her favorite person, so group tours don’t exactly grab her attention.
It turns out that while there are a lot of activities Elsie is interested in, there are only a few she definitely wants to do: see a waterfall, snorkel, horseback-ride, and get a massage. She makes Ginny add do nothing at the top of the list, and it’s complete.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Elsie sticks out her tongue at Ginny.
“Now you just gotta choose one for today.”
Nothing sounds pretty excellent—Elsie brought a thriller that’s supposed to be great, and the over-water hammock connected to their deck looks like a perfect spot to read—but she’s too excited to spend the day relaxing. Still, having to make a choice paralyzes her. Getting whatever she wants sounded fun when it was just about making Ginny do ridiculous voices, or ask a flight attendant embarrassing questions, or wait on her so she can be lazy. Is she going to have to make every choice this whole vacation?
“Just one thing for today,” Ginny says. Gentle. “We don’t have to do it all right now. We’ve got time.”
Five more days, four more nights.
Elsie makes a decision.