1000 PM Mia
She didn’t feel much like dancing. And from the looks of it, things were winding down.
Alison Liu was at a table by herself, her cast propped up on a chair as she fanned herself with a stained white napkin; Nina Guzman sat at another empty table, her elbows resting on her knees.
Talk was spreading that the after-party had started, and as she poured herself a glass of water, Mia watched Satya Patel and Rachel Steinbaum take off on two of the beach cruisers, their wheels wobbling as they pedaled into the night.
She walked across the dance floor and onto the beach, where she found an empty lounge chair a few feet beyond the stretch of the lights.
Waves lapped along the shore. Mia took off her shoes and set her toes in the wet sand.
Sipping from her water, she looked out across the bay.
She was wiping her eyes with her shoulder when her phone began to ring.
“How bald are we talking?” Sasha said.
“Balding. I think.”
“And her ears are big?”
“Very. And they stick straight out from her head.”
“Well, that’s something, at least.”
Mia tried laughing. It sounded strange and strangled.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you,” Sasha said. “We had quite a day.”
“How’s Hawaii?”
“How do you think it is? It’s Hawaii.”
Mia dug her toes deeper into the sand as she listened to Sasha talk.
They were staying at the Mauna Lani, on a bed so soft that some mornings they canceled whatever they had planned for the day and stayed there until noon.
That hadn’t happened yesterday, though, because yesterday they had woken up at four o’clock in the morning to take a van to the top of an active volcano, where they watched the sunrise, and then rode mountain bikes down to the base, where another van was waiting to take them back to the hotel.
Sasha had brought four books and had already made it through three of them; she was worried what was going to happen when she made it through the fourth, because the only books Theo had brought with him were some tome on real estate finance he had to read for work and Outliers by Malcom Gladwell.
There was a famous actor staying at the hotel—the guy who used to star in The X-Files, and whose name Sasha couldn’t remember—and every day he hung out in a cabana tucked away in the corner of the pool area.
He wore a white shirt that he never took off and dark sunglasses, and around lunchtime he always ordered a plate of ahi sashimi and a hibiscus iced tea.
“David Duchovny,” Mia said. “His name is David Duchovny.”
“Yes! I don’t know why I couldn’t think of it.” Sasha laughed. She said, “See, this is why I wish you were here with me,” with enough sincerity that, for a moment, Mia believed her.
But then she slipped back into her story.
She told Mia how when they went snorkeling they saw a manta ray and schools of blue fish and two different kinds of dolphins.
They—the dolphins—got within ten feet of her, and as Sasha watched them gliding through the water, their sleek bodies all glittery in the sunlight, she’d thought, This might be the happiest moment of my life.
“Do you think that’s weird?” Sasha asked.
“That dolphins made you that happy?”
“I was happier than I was on my actual wedding day. Like, much happier. Have you ever seen a dolphin up close?”
“Not that I can recall.”
“They look like people. I mean, not really—they look like dolphins. But also, they look like people.” Sasha let that sink in. “It’s sort of hard to describe if you haven’t experienced it.”
How was a person supposed to respond to that?
“Well,” Mia said, “I’m glad you’re having such a good time.”
“How’s Courtney’s wedding?”
“Oh, you know. Just like all the rest of them. Last night she gave everyone sombreros to wear.”
“That feels racist.”
“I thought the same thing. Also, I think they were made out of single-use plastic.”
“Well, that’s even worse.”
The emcee announced the last dance, his voice tinny on the distant speakers.
Mia said, “Oh, by the way, Marco and Emily are engaged.”
Sasha didn’t immediately respond, and Mia appreciated the silence. She listened a little more to the waves. But then a few more seconds passed, and she looked at her phone to make sure the call was still connected.
“Sorry,” Sasha said, “I think you cut out there for a second. You said something about Marco?”
“Just that he and Emily are engaged.”
“Oh God. Mia.”
“Yes?”
“Nothing. I guess—well, how are you doing?”
“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine? We broke up almost four years ago.”
“Right. And he lives in DC.”
“Exactly.”
“So, you win.”
“I win.”
For a while Sasha was quiet, though this time it was clear to Mia it was because she had nothing to add, not because the connection had mysteriously cut out somewhere over the Pacific.
Mia wanted her to say something, anything.
She wanted Sasha to read through her ridiculous performance and to say that she would fly home immediately because Mia needed her.
But that wasn’t going to happen. Because Sasha was on her honeymoon with Theo Wingate, and Mia was sitting alone on a chair in Cancún.
Richie and Adam were off somewhere in the darkness, and Alison Liu was fanning her cast, and Courtney Paulson was making a list of every single thing that had gone wrong today that tomorrow she would set her mind on forgetting.
Mia took a deep breath, which Sasha misinterpreted as impatience.
She said, “I think that’s the right attitude.”
“I should probably get back to this wedding.”
“Right. Of course. How about we get dinner when I’m back?”
“I’d love that.”
“Does the twenty-third work?”
“It should.”
“Great—oh no. Shit. Sorry. I forgot that we’ve got a new artist coming into the gallery that night, and Barbara wants me to wine and dine her.”
“I’m free that entire week.”
“The rest of the week is bad for me. Ugh. We might need to push it to the beginning of July. That’s so obnoxious.”
“Do you want to just text me some dates that work for you?”
“Great. I’ll do that. Aloha!”
“I thought that meant hello.”
“It can also mean good-bye.”
Mia hung up as the last song was ending and dropped her phone in her lap.
After the song had finished, the emcee instructed people to move to the beach, and to keep their eyes on the sky.
From the chair Mia watched them, a group of scattered silhouettes spilling onto the sand with too much night swirling between them.
One of the figures peeled away and began walking toward her.
A minute later, she saw that it was Adam.
“I was looking for you,” he said.
“Well, here I am.”
His coat was off, bunched up in his left hand. He sat down next to her on the chaise. “What are you doing?”
“Watching the waves, I guess. Getting ready for the big surprise.”
“There’s a big surprise?”
“It’s fireworks.”
“Oh. Fireworks. I guess that’s big-ish.”
Adam took off his shoes.
“Why aren’t you at the after-party?” Mia asked. “I hear they have quesadillas.”
“I’m tired of Mexican food. And I don’t think I’m in any state to ride a bike.” He leaned against her, setting his head into the pocket between her neck and shoulder. “I think you were right about Richie,” he said.
He smelled like tequila and cigarettes. Mia ran her hands through his hair.
“What’s that mean?”
“It means that it’s over. It means I don’t think I can do it anymore and that I’m probably going to be sleeping on your couch.”
“My couch will be thrilled to have you.”
For a long time they were both quiet. Mia considered telling him about Marco and Emily, about how, before she came to the wedding, there was a part of her—absurd, it seemed now—that had imagined this might be an opportunity to reclaim something she had let slip away.
She considered telling him about the feeling she had been having lately, a sense that she was swimming harder and harder against an increasingly hostile tide, and no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t seem to get any closer to the shore.
She considered telling him how the shore seemed to be drifting farther and farther away.
Instead she said, “Sasha went snorkeling with dolphins. I just talked to her.”
“I’m trying to picture that.”
“She said it was the happiest she’s ever been.”
“That’s insane. Sasha has lived a very happy life. Her parents bought her a brand-new Jetta when she turned sixteen.”
“I thought the same thing.”
He shifted against her, pushing his body closer to hers.
“What happened between you and Richie?” she asked.
Adam sighed. His breath was warm against her skin.
“He was mean to Nina Guzman.”
“In all fairness, I’ve also been mean to Nina Guzman.”
“That’s not the only reason.” He sighed again. “I don’t know. Maybe I outgrew him.”
“Are you okay with that?”
“Honestly? No. Not really.”
Mia heard a crackling sound, followed by a high whistle and a series of short pops. When she looked up, she saw two names, glowing gold against the stars.
“Oh no,” Adam said.
“What?”
“They fucked it up. Look.”
Mia looked back at the names. Courtney was fine, but there was something wrong with Geoff, and it took her a few moments before she realized what Adam meant. Whoever designed the fireworks had spelled the name with a J.
“Courtney is going to murder the entire staff,” Adam said. “It’s going to be a bloodbath.”
At first Mia laughed, but soon her laughter fell away and she surprised herself by crying, crying so hard, and so ferociously, and without any inclination to stop herself.
So that’s it, she thought, as Adam lifted his head to look up at her.
Things would change little by little, until they didn’t recognize each other at all.