I woke up in Clark’s arms. Last night was a hazy, pleasant memory, but now I was here with him. I kissed him and we cuddled, until the growling of my stomach ruined it. Patting my midriff, Clark gave me an amused smile.

“Is that your way of saying I should order us breakfast in bed?”

No sooner had I smiled then was he on our room’s phone, ordering two stacks of blueberry pancakes. When he hung up, grinning, I asked him “How did you know?”

With a theatrical sigh, Clark kissed me then asked “Do I really have to say it again?” So we only laughed and cuddled some more, until our food arrived. We gobbled down the pancakes in record time; I was hungrier than I’d even thought. Then we got changed, although this time I made sure to pack my bathing suit and things myself, just in case.

Clark brought me back to the lobby, where he talked to the front desk attendants and returned with snorkeling gear. “We’re going to look for Nemo,” he said with an eager grin.

I cast an incredulous look at him. “Just on the beaches here?”

He nodded, and I continued “And have you snorkeled before?” When he shook his head, I giggled and took his hand. “Good, then I won’t be the only one who sucks at this.”

And yet, as it turned out, the whole snorkeling thing wasn’t all that difficult. Swimming by the shallow beaches, we saw incredible sights—fish that were every color of the rainbow, the reef and coral that looked like it had been plucked from the background of a cartoon.

I loved the quiet of it, under the water, how all you could see were the bright flashes of colorful life. I loved how, just when I began to lose myself in it, the breathtaking sea life all around me, Clark squeezed my hand, as if to remind me that he was here, spellbound by it all too.

By the time we were finished, we lay out in the warm soft sand and curled up into each other. We were pretty much left to ourselves on this far-off beach, or so I thought. As Clark was about to kiss me, his phone rang. Clark froze. The phone rang again, and he dashed to where we had left our bags. He lifted his phone to his ear and began talking animatedly. I wandered back in the water and swam around. The water was nice and cool, just the right temperature, and there was a faint smell of flowers in the air. I wasn’t worried. Whatever it was, Clark would be back soon enough.

When he returned, however, his face was dark.

“What is it?” I asked, stepping onto the shore, but he wouldn’t meet my gaze.

“A work emergency,” he said to his phone. A silence, during which I assured myself that what he had said did not mean what I thought it meant.

“We have to go back,” he said, and I sunk down in the sand. I closed my eyes and covered my face.

“I’m sorry, Kristin,” Clark was saying. “My hands are tied here.”

I wiped my eyes, and sat up, but I couldn’t look at him.

“When do you have to go?”

“Now,” Clark said, and I rose. I blinked back the oncoming tears, took a deep breath and I told myself: Shut up. Don’t say a word now, you have your answer. You have your answer if he really cares, so don’t you dare say another word.

And I didn’t. No, as Clark said some more things, some more things that weren’t the right things, I said nothing. As we packed up our stuff and left the gorgeous room we had only had two nights in, I said nothing. As our taxi took us to the airport, I said nothing. And, for the whole flight, all eight hours of it, I said nothing.

It was only once our taxi had pulled over in front of my building that I spoke. Holding the door open, pleading with me once again to say something, to please forgive him, that he would make it up to me, finally, Clark asked me “Kristin, will you ever forgive me?”

I stared into his dark eyes—the same eyes that had apparently been upset the night of the prom, the same man who had disappointed me once again—and I said, “I don’t know”, because, really, I didn’t.

And then I was walking into my building and into the elevator, returning home once again. Back with my unimpressed cats, who hadn’t touched the food I’d left them, back with my phone (with five new messages from Veronica and more tabloid reporters most likely) and my sad little life.

I sank into my bed and put the covers over my head. With this latest disappointment, I didn’t even want to think about what I was going to do with all the money Clark had sent me. No, I just wanted to forget I had ever met Clark and his lying, closed-off self.

I spent the next week avoiding Clark’s calls. Although I did listen to his messages, to every one of his “I’m so sorry. I swear I’ll make it up to you. I swear I’ll make this right” messages. Until, finally, when I actually heard his voice waver, I gave in; I picked up the next time he called.

“Kristin!” he said as soon as I answered, “You picked up. Oh, thank God you picked up.”

I smiled in spite of myself, and then frowned once again.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t hang up.”

“Because I want to see you again. I need to see you. I want to take you out on dates. I want to see you again, not just again, I want to see you every day. I swear to you, anything you want, I’ll do it. To make up for it. We can go back to Cancun, we can go anywhere, do anything that you want.”

Just then, another incoming call popped up. Veronica.

I hit the ignore button, suddenly knowing what would, maybe, make up for it.

“Come with me to a family dinner.”

“Okay, of course,” Clark said immediately, his eagerness audible, “Just tell me when.”

“Okay,” I said, trying to keep my own eagerness out of my voice, “I’ll text you.” And then, I hung up.

As I sat there, I tried to stop the smile working its way onto my face. Already triumphant images of the family dinner, with Clark and I at the head of the table while my Mom, Dad and siblings barraged us with questions, were seeping into my mind.

I called my mom and braced myself for the worst, but the conversation went better than expected; she was worried, clearly, but didn’t share Veronica’s over-the-top sentiments about how I had disgraced the family and so on (as conveyed in one of her latest vicious texts). She agreed to a dinner at New Moon Café that night, and assured me that the whole family would be there. When I mentioned Clark, however, she went silent. After a minute, she finally said “But honey, are you sure?”

“Yes, Mom,” I said, finding that smile back on my face once more, “Yes, I am sure.”

I hung up still smiling. Because I was sure this time. Clark wouldn’t dare disappoint me again. Not if he cared about me. And he did, I knew he did; it was in his extended looks on me when he thought I didn’t notice, it was in how I just had to half-smile for him to full-out grin. He cared about me, I know he did.

I had to find something to wear, but first, I had to text Clark: 6 pm, at New Moon Café.

Immediately, the response came back: I’ll be there.

Then, I began to get ready. A chipper rock playlist was my soundtrack, vanilla was the scent, and blue was the theme of the night’s preparations. I chose a nice blue dress, one with a choker neck and a full skirt. My eye shadow I made a deep grey, which I paired with a light pink lip. Then, some fresh water for the cats, a quick pack of my overnight bag and I was ready to go.

Outside, it was so warm and sunny that I decided to walk there. I wanted to enjoy this feeling. This eager anticipation, happy expectation.

I could almost see their faces now: Mom and Dad’s happily pleased with my recent success—in money and in love. Veronica’s would be curled and snarled with jealousy, Bill and Diana’s suffused with shared happiness with me. And, most of all, Clark’s jubilant face, his hand in mine, his ecstatic gaze on me, happy, so happy, to be a part of this meal, to be there beside me, to be with me, that I had given him a second chance at all. Really, it’s a third chance this time, a disgruntled voice in my head reminded me, but I ignored it. Clark was going to come tonight, make things right, and everything was going to be perfect. Tonight was going to be perfect, I could tell.

The café was only a fifteen-minute walk from my apartment, and all around me, there were bright blooming flowers and blue sky as far as the eye could see. Traffic was scarce, and the birds were warbling out pretty tunes; the whole world was celebrating with me.

When I stepped onto the porch of the café, a cold gust of wind slapped me in the face. I shivered. What if Clark didn’t come? But then I took out my phone, read his message again, his I’ll be there, and I knew, he was coming. He had to.

I was five minutes late, but my whole family was there, waiting at a table outside. Seeing me come in alone, their faces grew worried, though I smiled wide.

“Clark’s just late. He is the CEO, so he has a crazy amount of work.”

Mom and Dad nodded, although I could tell they didn’t believe me.

As soon as I sat down, our waitress buzzed over. “Well, hullo, hullo. Now that everyone’s here, would y’all care to order?”

I shook my head.

“Not yet, thanks. We’re just waiting for someone.”

She nodded her strawberry-blonde-pigtailed head.

“Drinks then?”

“Just water for now, thanks.”

And then, she was gone, and I was once again left with my family’s stares. Billy and Diana shifted nervously in their seats, while Veronica looked like she had just won the lottery.

“So, dear,” Mom said, trying to smile, “How are the cats?”

“Oh, you know,” I said, “The usual. They love each other, but can’t stand me. What can I say.” I tried to laugh, but it came out strained and unnatural-sounding. Checking my phone revealed that it was now 6:11 and Clark hadn’t texted me.

“Here,” I said to the table, “I’ll just text him now.” Once again, my voice came out so awkward-sounding that I wondered who I was trying to convince—them or myself.

As soon as I’d sent the Where are you? text to Clark, my mind started hissing with doubts of its own: How could you ever have expected him to come, after what happened last time? How could you ever have been so stupid?

“So, Billy,” I said, turning to my brother who was poking the ice in his cup with his straw. “How are Kiana and Kyle?”

At the mention of his tubby two-year old twins, my brother’s lowered eyes brightened.

“Oh, they’re great, just great. Blabbering all the time and sleeping better than ever. And Rain’s just the best, I love her more every…” He fell silent, lowering his eyes again, as if the mention of his happy love was an insult to me.

“That’s great!” I said with a determined smile. I checked my phone. It was 6:17 and still, no text from Clark. I was beginning to feel a vague twist of anguish in my stomach, a rumbling of déjà-vu. I’d experienced this before.

I shoved my phone in my pocket and smiled determinedly at my family. Clark would come. He had to.

“So, Kristin,” Veronica said in a patronizing tone, the way you talk to a three-year-old, “Are you sure Clark said he’d be able to make it.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” I snapped back. Of course, at this very opportune moment our waitress decided to make her reappearance, sweeping my water in front of me with a pert, “So y’all are ready now?”

Everyone glanced at me and I sunk into my seat, murmured “Sure.”

Everyone ordered, while I stared at my phone, at the time, ticking from 6:21 to 6:22 to…

“Kristin?”

“Huh?”

It was Veronica, sneering at me with a faux-kindness.

“Want us to order for you?”

I shook my head, avoided her jeering gaze.

“No, I’ll wait.”

“You sure?” she asked and I said nothing. Then, the waitress was gone and I was on the phone, calling him—the jerk, the liar, the idiot—no, I was the idiot.

He picked up on the fourth ring.

“Kristin I’m so sorry.”

“Are you coming?”

Silence.

“Are you coming, Clark? Tell me right now, are you coming?”

Silence, then, “No.”

I ended the call and then stood up. My family had heard everything; no one was meeting my furious gaze. Tears were prickling at my eyes; I had seconds before they fell.

“He’s not coming,” I told them, before I turned on my heel and left. I could hear them calling after me, so I didn’t walk, I ran. I ran out of the restaurant, full of the people who were staring, who probably knew me, recognized me, knew what was happening even now. My latest embarrassment, my most recent making a fool of myself.

I couldn’t take it.

I ran through the parking lot and down the street, reflecting dully that once again history was repeating itself, and that I should have learned my lesson the first time. As my legs ached and my eyes poured, I cursed myself. For believing him again and again. For opening my heart enough to be hurt again.

As I ran, I scanned through my phone until I found his number. I deleted it, then blocked him. Then, I made a promise to myself: never would I forgive him. This time, this was too much. Never would I forgive him for this.