Kat
I wasn’t completely expecting Jason to be here, but I’m still disappointed he’s not. Or, at least, he hasn’t been here for the past few days, so I’ve been lying on this chaise, looking nonchalantly that way and this way.
I’m not such a nonchalant person, it turns out, because once I finally push my legs over and walk to the beachside bar, Miguel, the young man who’s been bringing me my afternoon cocktail, asks when the person I was waiting for would be arriving.
“I’m not—I’m, um, alone,” I say. Making my voice light, I add, “I’m having some much-needed quiet time.”
Miguel—sweet, sweet Miguel—stammers and apologizes.
“I misunderstood, Ms. Aviva. For some reason,” he says, “I thought—”
I wave away his apology. Sweet Miguel isn’t crazy. I’ve basically been jerking my head around every time I hear the sound of people entering the hotel’s private beach. I shouldn’t quit my day job to be a covert CIA agent.
Still, no Jason.
I didn’t come here for Jason. Well, not just for Jason, but I’m curious about what happened to him. I came back to see if he stuck to his word and if he stayed in this “forever country,” as he always called the Riviera Maya region of Mexico.
He said—this was seven years ago now—he would never leave Tulum once we got here, and I understand now why he wanted to come. It’s beautiful here—in certain areas of the beach, the only sound is breaking waves and wind. The Caribbean Sea is every shade of turquoise.
I think of all the plans we made. Spending weekends on Cozumel, an island off the mainland. He said we’d stay out of the city, stopping only long enough to rent two scooters and then ride the circumference of the island to its undeveloped east side.
Where everything would finally be okay.
The months we were together were easily the most extraordinary of my life.
After everything blew up in our faces, though, I packed my bags and left Jason and plans for Mexico behind me, focusing on my safe life of deadlines and bills, awful spin classes, and too much wine. All I kept of our plans for tucked away in my heart.
Before he said it had to be Mexico, I asked him to come to DC with me.
“If you like it there, you could—or, you know, we could—stay for a while,” I told him. “We could come to Tulum once or twice a year for retreats and workshops. I mean, I don’t want to be working on Capitol Hill forever. I have, I don’t know, maybe five years left at most. Any longer and I’ll keel over dead, probably.”
Of course, I had more years of work in me than I realized. When I told Jason I only had five years left, I didn’t count on the promotions I received and the campaigns I got to run. I didn’t count on being given the lead to craft and lobby for the congressman’s signature legislation.
I didn’t count on years after the law had been passed, that it would be threatened again and again.
Of course, I didn’t expect that. Not after all the years we gave to passing it. I didn’t expect it to be gutted completely, not after I had given over my entire twenties to it.
But it was declawed, and I’m gutted. Effectively, everything the law was supposed to do has been undercut. It’s a nothing law now—it does nothing, it helps no one, and I didn’t count on how much that would hurt and how personally I would take it.
And, of course, I didn’t count on Barrett. I didn’t count on meeting him one random Thursday night at the Black Cat, and then I didn’t count on him moving in with me two months later.
I for sure didn’t expect to be his boss three months after that. Then, of course, I was surprised by the exquisite, piercing pain and humiliation of watching my relationship disintegrate in front of my colleagues, the congressman, and our entire close-knit staff.
And six months ago, when I thought the dust had settled, I should have known something was up when the voices hushed when I opened my office door and walked into the room where everyone but the congressman sat. Barrett is getting married to Melinda, a press secretary who works for a congresswoman two offices down. A girl, incidentally, I hired as an intern four years ago.
Of course.
And so it goes.
The happy couple should have said their vows this very afternoon. Melinda and Bare together forever starting this weekend.
Then I got the cryptic message.
Now or never.
I gave myself the week off and booked a ticket to the last place I ever thought I’d go: Tulum.
And if all my instincts are correct, at some point, Jason should appear.
“Uno mass,” I say to Miguel, making my American accent as thick as possible.
Miguel laughs at me gamely and takes his time making my third margarita. He slides it to me.
I incline my head. “Grassy-ass, sir.” And I wave over my shoulder back to my chaise.
I misjudge the distance and nearly fall back into the chair. My drink splashes.
“Shit,” I mutter, moving the glass into my left hand and licking the right one.
“I bet it tastes salty,” a voice says. A voice I’d know anywhere. The voice that haunts me.
Jason.
I can hear his smile.
I look up, and there he is, staring down at me, dripping from the sea like the most fucking gorgeous demigod you’ve ever seen.