Chapter 8
ANNA
I’m seated at The Agave, the hotel restaurant we ate at on our first night during our previous visit, watching the evening light soften across the open-air patio’s terracotta tiles, waves breaking on the beach only yards away.
Warm breezes carry hints of grilled seafood from the kitchen while I sip on a Banana Monkey, a blended cocktail of coconut crème, crème de cacao, coffee liqueur, and bananas.
It’s the drink Zoe would have ordered. We practically lived on them before.
It’s also my third since Holly and I arrived this afternoon.
That’s what it takes. Three drinks to maintain the act of Carefree Anna, the gal who tells herself she doesn’t need or want the stability and companionship Holly has.
I swap my fork with the knife, then swap them back. I unfold and refold the napkin in my lap. Holly is ten minutes late. She’s never late to anything.
I look at Zoe on my right, elegantly reflecting the restaurant’s soft lighting from her spot on the place setting.
I can almost imagine her seated beside me in a Ralph Lauren wrap sundress, her skin sun-kissed from an afternoon on the beach, her hair wavy from the salty air, and that trademark smile that instantly put everyone at ease.
“What if she doesn’t come, Zoe?” I sigh and swap the utensils for the millionth time.
A waiter walks by and smiles at me, prompting a memory to surface that’s as real as if it was happening now. Zoe had flirted shamelessly with our waiter. But it was Holly’s reaction, giggling like a schoolgirl and egging Zoe on, that stood out the most.
I lean toward Zoe and whisper, “He’s not as cute as the one we had before.” A beat later, “And I doubt Holly would be as amused this time.”
Holly and I roomed together throughout college.
In those four years, I saw many sides to her.
But I’d never seen her as carefree as she was on that first trip.
I loved Holly before we started traveling together, but I adored her even more once we took that trip.
Vacation Holly was completely different from Regular Holly.
She allowed herself to relax. She allowed herself to stop worrying about everything.
Well, as much as Holly could allow herself to relax and stop worrying.
I try to remember on which of our trips Vacation Holly started becoming more like she is today. Paris, maybe? Now I can’t help wondering if any of that old, relaxed Holly is still there.
A woman with brunette hair wearing a linen sheath dress enters the restaurant and I sit upright, breath caught only to deflate with disappointment when, yet again, I realize it isn’t Holly.
The busser, a young kid who looks like he’s fresh out of high school, refills my water for the second time.
Our waitress, a woman with a soft middle, sturdy hands, and kind eyes, approaches for the third time.
Her gaze roams from Holly’s empty seat with an uneasy swing past Zoe before settling on me.
“Still waiting on your friend, senorita?”
“Still waiting,” I say, glum.
“Another drink?” she hopefully offers with a look of pity.
She believes I’m being stood up. Except, who shows up to a date with an urn?
Maybe I am being stood up. My gaze slides toward the entrance again.
The Agave is busy and she probably wants me and Zoe to vacate so she has a table that orders more than one drink.
I glance around at the restaurant that hasn’t changed much since our last visit.
To think, with every Monkey we drank, every guy we flirted with, and tube of sunscreen we went through, Zoe knew she’d eventually die young from the same disease that stole her high school years.
How do you live with that knowledge and not tell your closest friends?
The waitress taps her pen on a notepad, ready to take my order.
“No, thank you.” I’m too sad to have another without someone to share it with.
“I’ll check on you in a bit then,” she says with an air of impatience before bustling across the floor to visit another table.
During her absence, I take advantage of the contemporary décor and lighting.
I snap a few selfies with Zoe. The photos aren’t my best, and I’m looking a little worse for wear.
My eyes are red and swollen with dark circles.
I look as sad as I feel, and deliberate posting between my business and personal accounts, especially since Jalsa texted that our insight numbers have gone down over the last several posts.
She wants to discuss strategy when I return.
She also asked if I plan to continue sharing personal photos to my business account.
I may be confident in my business decisions, but I’m taking a chance here.
I could isolate some clients, turn others away.
But I could also gain more, as well as engage more with my existing followers.
Because even I know life isn’t always about glamor and gloss and gourmet breakfast trays floating in infinity pools.
Admittedly, the photo I shared earlier on the plane drinking champagne, wearing designer clothes while seated in first class and toasting the camera to a new trip didn’t align with what I’d promised myself I’d post to prove the haters wrong.
But neither is what I’m about to do, so whatevs.
Aside from brightening the picture, I upload a photo I just took of me and Zoe, unedited and unfiltered.
This is me and my friend, Zoe, I type in the caption. She died two months ago after a five-year on-and-off battle with leukemia. We met in college and after we graduated, we went on one grand trip a year. She was my best friend and I miss her terribly.
I won’t get into the reasons why, but she asked me and a mutual friend to scatter her ashes over the six destinations we traveled to in our twenties.
Zoe’s written us letters to read as we go, and I’m learning things about our beloved friend I never knew; things I don’t understand why Zoe kept from us.
That’s why I’m on this trip. And, well… it’s been really hard. You think you know somebody only to learn you don’t. And it’s too late to change that because they’re gone. #grieving #bff #goodbyezoe
I hesitate when I finish, my finger hovering over the share button.
I’m laying myself bare. But at the same time, I’m aching to understand, to make sense of all this.
Holly is the one I want to talk to, but she isn’t here now, and she refused to talk earlier.
It doesn’t feel right posting this, but it feels worse holding it in.
At least online, people respond. They see me.
I tap the link, watch the photo upload, and put down the phone. When I look up, Holly is walking into the restaurant.
“You came,” I exclaim, my soul lighting up. I fight the urge to stand and throw my arms around her.
Her cool gaze slides from Zoe to me when she reaches the table. “What are you thinking, Anna? You can’t have Zoe’s urn on the table.”
My head snaps back at her sharp tone. No hello, no you look nice, not even an I didn’t want to come.
I deflate into the seat like a kid being scolded by the principal, mortified I might burst into tears in the middle of the restaurant. How could Holly think we wouldn’t have Zoe with us all the time?
“I couldn’t leave her alone in the room. She’s the reason we’re here,” I say.
“At least put her on the chair,” Holly says through gritted teeth, sitting down. Her gaze pings about the restaurant. She leans forward, her voice hushed. “People are looking.”
“No, they’re not.” I glance around only to realize they are. Couples at both sets of tables beside ours are whispering as they peer at us and not-so-discreetly point at Zoe. “All right, fine. Sorry, Zoe.” I put her on the chair, not wanting to create a scene.
“Have you ordered?” Holly lays a napkin over her lap.
“Not yet. I was waiting for you.”
She buries her face in the menu. I chew on my bottom lip, worried this is how the whole trip will go. Zoe would be disappointed to see us right now. There has to be something I can do to set us on the right path toward mending our friendship.
I peek at the drinks menu. “Should we order the tropical rum punch like we did last time?” The cocktail is served in a large glass that’s shaped like a punch bowl with rum-soaked fruit and is meant to be shared.
Maybe if I can get Holly to remember how much fun we had, she’ll loosen up.
“Life’s too short for boring drinks, bitches,” Zoe said on our last trip here, and I feel the glimmer of a faint smile.
“No thanks. I’ll stick with wine,” Holly says without lifting her eyes from the menu.
Wine. Of course. This Holly would never stoop to anything frothy and frivolous.
I should have wine, too.
I flip the menu over to read the wine selection. “What are you going to get? We’ll order a bottle.”
I hear the intake of air and look up. Holly is staring at the menu but it’s obvious she’s not seeing what’s written on it. Her knuckles are white from clenching the plastic. Before I have the chance to ask what’s wrong, she slams the menu onto the table and glares at me. “Did you know?”
“Know what?” I blink, unsure what she’s driving at.
Her eyes narrow. “On the plane you said you didn’t know Zoe had cancer before, but I can’t help thinking you did.”
“You think I lied?” My nostrils flare with astonishment. Then I remember who I’m talking to. Of course she believes I lied. Holly hasn’t trusted me in a long time. Why would that suddenly change after one flight where Holly reached across our seats to grasp my hand as we quietly grieved together?
The silence is full between us as I take a few deep breaths to calm down. I really don’t want to fight with her. It’s counterproductive to what Zoe and I both want: for Holly to forgive me and for us to renew our friendship.
“I wouldn’t keep that from you. Zoe and I were close near the end, but she never told me anything with the promise to keep it from you. And she never said anything about being sick when she was younger.”