Chapter 8 #2
It’s awkward at first, and Abigail and I wobble, in danger of tipping over. But we steady ourselves, finding a stability as we row through the calm, clear water.
It feels right, working as a team toward a common goal. As we go, Dylan tells us about the island and the resort and how he came to be here.
“Was surfing in Cali, man. Righteous waves there. But there was a girl—there’s always a girl, ya know?
She took my heart when she took my dick.
” He shakes his head sadly, doing an advanced maneuver with his oar that has him spinning a slow three-sixty in the water.
“I wanted to run away, and I saw an ad online for resort help. Thought for sure it was click bait or that I’d get here and they’d steal my kidneys.
” He laughs. “But it’s been great. Two years and counting!
” He finishes with a smile, but then it falls.
“Shit. Those two are definitely part of the other fifty percent.”
At my blank look, Dylan explains. “Newlyweds? Fifty percent divorce rate? You can tell sometimes.”
I cringe. That’s awful, but looking over to where Dylan is slicing through the water toward Emily and Doug, I can see why he’d say that. They are struggling just to work together. In fact, they’re almost entirely working against each other and as a result are stuck in place and starting to argue.
Happy honeymoon, indeed.
Dylan is almost to their side when their rocking gets outrageous, and not in the good way like ‘if the boats a’rocking, don’t come a’knocking’, but rather like they are going to capsize.
One way, then the other as they try to correct for balance.
It’s too much by a significant amount and their weight isn’t evenly distributed.
And with a whoosh, they keel over. Emily’s scream turns to bubbles that pop loudly, but Dylan has made it to them now and reaches his paddle out for Emily to grab on to. Doug surfaces almost immediately, a grin on his face as he whips his hair out of his face.
That grin dissolves when he hears Emily sputtering, “Oh, my God! Look what you did! Dougie!”
“It’s fine, Em. We’ll climb back in and keep going. The island is right there.” He points to our destination, but Emily isn’t having it. She glares at him, eyes flashing fire, and he rolls his eyes. “Sorry, babe.”
Apology begrudgingly handed over, they start to work together to get back in their kayak with Dylan’s help. Eventually, they’re in place once again and Dylan reviews the timing of the paddle stroke.
“Synchronicity, man. It’s everything. As in water, as in life.”
Somehow, this lesson sticks, and we all make it to the private island without further incident.
We’re all set until Abigail and I climb out of the kayak. Though we’re in the shallows right up by the shore, the process of stepping out somehow eludes Abigail and she trips, falling face first into the water.
Emily barks out a laugh instantly. I drop down to grab Abigail. “Cazzo! Are you okay?”
She comes up sputtering much like Emily did, but instead of whining and screeching, Abigail is laughing .
. . wildly. Swiping water and hair out of her face, she huffs out around braying and unladylike laughs, “Only I could manage to kayak just fine but then totally flop on the dismount.” She lays back in the water, a mermaid framed by a turquoise halo.
“Come on in, the water’s great!” she jokes, still half-choking on whatever water she swallowed.
Emily harrumphs and sobers. I think she took twisted delight in Abigail’s fall and is disappointed at Abi’s good-natured tendencies.
I pull Abigail up out of the water, pressing our bodies together. Intending to help, I push her hair back and trace my hands over her shoulders and down her arms, checking for injuries. “I’m fine. Nothing hurt but my pride,” she reassures me.
I lift a brow and growl, “Maybe I just want to touch your wet body.”
She blushes the sexiest shade of pink, and it’s not from the sun but from the fire we create together.
“So, this is where I make myself scare for an hour or so and you’re free to do whatever.
There are cabanas over there” —Dylan points to a few huts with white curtains pulled along the sides— “or sand basically everywhere.” He puts his hand to his mouth, talking around the backside of it as though telling us a secret, “Pro tip, sand in sensitive areas is abrasive and more for the movies than real life.”
“There are floats and snorkels if you wanna swim, a trail loop if you want to hike through the trees, and if you hold a hand up, the bartender will bring you beer or a glass of wine.” He pats his chest, indicating that he’s the bartender too.
With that, he jogs away as if the sand beneath his bare feet is his natural habitat.
“So, what do you want to do?” Emily asks us.
Doug clears his throat. “Babe.”
Whatever drama Abigail is having with Emily, I’m not looking to cockblock my fellow man. This is his actual honeymoon, and I don’t want to ruin it by tagging along. Plus, that plays into my desire to get Abigail alone too.
“Thank you so much for inviting us along today,” I start.
“It is more than generous to share your time and this beautiful place with us.” I look deeply into Abigail’s eyes, begging her to understand my intention to get her alone as I tell Emily and Doug, “I am sure you had plans for your afternoon here, so please do not let us interrupt them. We’ll go over to the far cabana and let you have your privacy. ”
“Thanks, man!” Doug holds up his hand for a high-five, which I give him. “We’ll go this way then.” He pushes at Emily’s lower back, guiding her toward the cabana furthest away from the one I indicated.
“Doug!” Emily argues, but I turn away, not caring about anything more than the next hour with Abigail.
I take her hand, which is warm from the sun and the work we did to paddle here, and lead her down the sand. “Walk with me.”
The waves lap at the sand and our feet. “It’s so beautiful,” Abigail whispers as though she’s hesitant to disturb the scene.
I don’t see the water, the sand, the sun, or even the flowers. All I see is her. “Yes, you are. The most beautiful thing I’ve seen.”
She blushes, her cheeks pinkening even more than the glow of the sun.
Her ducked chin doesn’t last for long, though, as she looks back up at me.
“Why do you keep saying stuff like that? I mean, I get it when Emily is around, and it’s definitely driving her crazy—thanks for that—but when it’s just you and me, you don’t have to—"
“Speak the truth?” I finish for her.
She makes a face—one of confusion and doubt.
“Abigail, I think you are an amazing woman, sexy and smart, with sunshine and wildness in your soul. My guess is that you’ve been smothered, people not understanding your spirit and trying to make you fit their narrow views for their own comfort.
” She tilts her head, not agreeing but also not disagreeing with my assessment.
“But if they don’t support you in your truth, they do not deserve you.
Like this Emily.” I look back over my shoulder, seeing an empty beach behind us.
“I think she doesn’t hate you. She simply doesn’t understand, and that makes her question everything, especially herself. "
"And that's my fault?” she argues, bowing up to defend herself.
I stop our progress down the beach, spinning her so that we face one another.
“Of course it’s not. My point is that I see you fighting this cage, and I’m saying .
. . don’t. Why bother? You will never be happy if you allow someone to trap you inside it.
Own your beauty, own your wings, own the destiny you have created for yourself without apology. ”
Her chest is rising and falling rapidly, her eyes wild and sparking. “Pretty words. They make it sound so easy. Just do whatever you want and if it pisses people off, that’s on them?”
She’s angry but I don’t understand why. I’m trying to compliment her, but she hasn’t taken it as such.
“No, but you should not have to live small because someone else can’t fathom your boldness.
” She settles slightly, sensing that I meant no harm, so I keep going.
“At home, in Positano, it was assumed that I would go to university, perhaps get a business degree. I would work and marry, have children, and grow old in the same place I was young. It is what my family has always done.”
“But you didn’t want that.” It’s not a question. She understands what I’m telling her now. “You wanted more.”
I nod. “Yes. Much more. I wanted to travel, to learn, to experience the world. And maybe I could’ve been happy making my family happy, but that wasn’t my destiny.
I could’ve compromised, but I still would not have been truly fulfilled.
So I left because it’s what I wanted. What I needed.
It is my truth, and now, they see. They understand and respect that I do not pretend. I’m me. Truly.”
She smiles sadly. “But you are pretending. This whole thing is pretend.”
“Is it?” I dare to ask. “It may have begun that way, but I assure you that what I’m feeling is very real. You interest me more than anything or anyone has in a long time.”
I can see her beautiful mind turning that over, examining and analyzing it. For all her untamed wildness, Abigail is not reckless. “But if you feel differently tomorrow, you’ll simply move on because that’s who you are. And I wouldn’t want to cage you.”
I understand. She is who she is, and I am who I am. While we both have a streak of adventure, we want very different things, and we’re tempting pain to pretend otherwise.
“Ah, an impasse then.”
We walk along silently after that, pointing out shells here and there and watching the water race to the sand time and time again. After a while, I hear a sharp whistle and then Dylan’s voice carries on the wind.
“Time’s up, guys! Let’s check out the flamingos!”
We return down the beach to find a pink-faced Emily and a breathless Doug standing with Dylan, who has a knowing smirk. It seems they made use of their hour of privacy with a different sort of intimacy and some make-up sex.
“All right, lovebirds, let’s go see some lovebirds!” Dylan shouts excitedly. I suspect Dylan does everything with energy and vigor, attacking life’s opportunities with abandon.
“Yeah, I can’t wait,” Emily says. “That can be one more thing to check off the bucket list.” She giggles like a lovesick school girl, leaning into Doug.
It’s the first time I’ve seen them behave truly as newlyweds in love, and I’m jealous that in each other, they’ve found someone willing to tackle life with them.
Maybe I never will.
Or more likely, I will have meaningless relationships wherever I roam, always looking for that special spark that might make me consider putting down roots.
We follow Dylan on a short hike around the shore until we come upon a small flock of pink-hued birds.
“The flamingos!” Dylan explains needlessly. “Here, I brought a little food for them so that you can get up close and personal.”
He hands each of us a small bag, explaining how to pour the dried, pulverized shrimp bits into our hands and let the birds peck to get it.
“Are you sure it won’t eat my hand?” Emily worries aloud.
“Do you have any lotion on?” Dylan asks, and Emily’s eyes widen as she looks at the birds uncertainly.
“No?”
“Then you’re fine. They just don’t like vanilla bean.” He says it so seriously, which for him must be a difficult task, that I think he’s serious. Right up until the moment he laughs. “Just fucking with you. Unless you’re covered in shrimp, they won’t bite.”
Still not entirely sure, Emily is slow to feed them, letting Doug take the lead. Abigail and I slowly approach a pair as well. But it goes well, the birds accustomed to visitors and happy to be fed treats.
“Cotton candy, sweet to go, let me see that . . . SUSHI ROLL!” Dylan loudly sings a song I don’t know, but a green blur flies past me before I can even think about asking, and the flamingos go wild in a cacophony of honks and screeches, with their wings flapping.
“What the?” Emily shrieks loudly.
“Oh, shit, bro! Sorry! I was aiming for the ’mingo! They like to pick at the ’weed.” Dylan answers, laughing deep and heartily.
The green blur was apparently seaweed, because it’s now splattered on Emily’s chest and belly like Shrek came all over her.
“Ah . . . ew . . .” She continues to make garbled noises, picking at the stringy bits of seaweed to remove them.
“Here, let me help,” Doug says, laughing as he wipes at her hip. But the seaweed smears, leaving a haze of brown on her skin.
“Get in the water,” I suggest.
Emily glares and snaps, “Does this suit look like it’s water appropriate?”
Honestly, it doesn’t. It’s white and so teeny-tiny that I could guess the diameter of her nipples, though if it got wet, I probably wouldn’t have to guess because they’d be visible.
The bottom is a thong G-string style but so skinny it’s almost like she has the thong part in the front.
Why would they make swimsuits that you can’t swim in?
A tiny part of my brain is glad that when she fell in the water earlier, she was fully covered by her life vest and shorts.
In contrast, Abigail looks sexy and sleek in her suit. It’s a triangle bikini, nothing fancy, but the teal color is perfect on her and the ties at her hips and back make me want to tease them loose with my teeth.
Since Emily’s question seems mostly rhetorical, no one answers, but Doug continues helping her clean off as he tries to talk her down like she’s a wounded wildebeest on the verge of going amok. “No worries, babe. We’ll soak in the tub when we get back like we talked about, okay?”
It’s enough to stop her bitching at Dylan, who does seem genuinely apologetic about the whole thing even if he does occasionally start chuckling again for ‘no reason’.
And though we feed the flamingos the rest of the shrimp treats, the mood is soured, so we get back in our kayaks to head to the resort.
“Thank you for inviting us,” Abigail tells Emily politely. Even the manners frustrate me because I know Abi wasn’t happy about going today. But she’s doing what’s expected, what’s right.
“Of course!” Emily says, equally as fake. “What about tomorrow? You wanna—”
“No,” I interrupt, giving zero fucks to rudeness. “We’re busy tomorrow. All day.”
Abigail looks at me in surprise, maybe because of my tone or maybe because she’s wondering what I have planned this time. The truth is . . . I’m busy. I have to work tomorrow, cooking for a small portion of the bridal party.
“Oh, sure. I understand. Another day then.” Emily isn’t going to stop going after Abigail, and though I wish Abigail would just tell Emily to go to hell because she doesn’t care what she thinks, Abigail isn’t prepared to do that. Yet.