Madeline’s still here, enjoying the resort and enjoying Hawaii in ways that only she can, but apparently the last couple days of her vacation are days that she agreed to spend with her friends.

I’m back here where I started―at the honeymoon suite, sitting at the sad, undersized excuse for a dining table and looking at my vending machine-purchased feast of a microwave “barbecue” sandwich and a small can of pineapple chunks I could have gotten at a fucking Gristedes in Manhattan.

I know this seems like some serious sad-sack, feeling sorry for myself type schtick, but none of it is as bad as it sounds. I knew that a vending machine meal was probably inevitability before the honeymoon was over. Maddie and I finished all the cakes and cheeses from Uloji days ago, and I just don’t fucking feel like shelling out for room service or any of that shit today.

And honestly, after two minutes in the microwave, the sandwich smells vaguely edible.

As for Maddie, well, it’s going to be tough saying goodbye no matter what, so I’d be lying if I said there isn’t some relief to getting that over with and getting on with whatever my life is going to be now.

She probably feels the same way. She’ll take something different from this, and she’ll continue on her own journey, and that’s weirdly reassuring.

Fuck, I can’t even bite into this sandwich, it’s so goddamn hard. I might as well have bought one of those fucking petrified lava plates from the gift shop and tried to cook that in the microwave.

And the stupid, pathetic reality is that I am sitting here in self-pity. There’s no reason I can’t leave the honeymoon suite and get a decent meal for myself. Hawaii’s not over yet.

Part of the reason I’m reluctant to leave right now is the dry-cleaning bag hanging on a hook right next to the front door. Maddie finally returned that outfit she confiscated, and even had it dry-cleaned, which is completely unnecessary for those items, but I understand why she did it.

What I don’t understand is her having the resort staff bring it back to my room instead of returning it to me herself.

Well, unfortunately, I think I do understand. Now that the week is winding down, it’s time to wind down anything that could be remotely construed as fun or flirtations or playful in any goddamn way about the fling. Sending my shit back in a dry-cleaning bag through a third party actually makes perfect sense―but I don’t enjoy looking at it right now.

But I suck it up. It’s just a dry-cleaning bag, and as I pass it on my way out, it occurs to me that I need to get a new phone.

This chapter’s ending, most likely, and I’m going to need a goddamn phone for the rest of the story―beginning the moment my plane touches down at JFK, when I’ll suddenly have a flood of harried voicemails, emails and texts about every single fucking thing that’s occurred south of Chambers Street during my honeymoon, no matter how fucking minute―and how it’s all a giant crisis that I need to fix this instant or the world will fucking fall apart.

In other words, I’ll need to go back to work, and I’ll need a stupid smartphone as always.

I ride the elevator down to the lobby, which is more crowded than I’ve seen it yet. If nothing else, it looks like I’m leaving the resort at the right time, before the tourist rush starts.

I have another little bit of luck when I see that no tourists are monopolizing the concierge desk, which means I can stop there quickly on my way out.

The lanky, mustachioed concierge’s face lights up when I approach, like he recognizes me.

“Ah, Mister Barrett! We haven’t been seeing much of you.”

Huh. That’s all a little strange, but I don’t have the time to care.

“Right, well...long story short: I need a new phone. I mean, a new personal smartphone with my old number and service plan. Is that possible within a couple days?”

I realize how farcical this is to ask at a fucking hotel as I say it.

“Just put me in touch with your provider; I’ll have a new phone ready for you by tomorrow.”

Word of my generous tipping must be getting around.

“Yeah. Great, thanks.”

My body perks up reflexively as I notice a very familiar laugh and voice resonating through the lobby from somewhere behind me.

Madeline is standing by a small, potted palm tree close to the exit, ensconced in a conversation with Laura...well, at least Laura is ensconced. Madeline is glancing at me, trying not to look too obvious about it.

To be fair, she shouldn’t be too surprised to see me here, but I understand if it makes things difficult, if she just wants to let it all fade.

But fuck that. We should talk, just to wrap things up, just to say goodbye. It’s not like we didn’t know this was coming, and the healthiest thing to do is at least try and be adults about it.

Maddie doesn’t flee out the exit when she sees I’m approaching her, so that’s something.

Why can’t we just try to make this work?

Fuck. I can’t seem to get that idea out of my head.

I slow my pace a little. I’m thinking about what this conversation is really going to entail. I can’t just offer to move to her fucking city. If I come on too strong, it’s going to ruin the memory of this week for both of us.

Fuck, she’s actually smiling as I get closer, but it looks like she’s trying to hold back―to avoid leading me on. Not a great sign.

“Ethan. So nice to see you.”

She’s using just my first name, which is still a rarity, but in this case, it’s a polite formality, the polar opposite of the way she’s used it before.

Two fucking days ago. Less than even that, actually.

I guess a few days really can make a difference, and not always a great one.

“Hello, Madeline,” I reply as I arrive at a good conversational distance.

I’m just trying to match Madeline’s tone, but there’s still clear disappointment in her eyes after she hears my greeting. Like she wishes I weren’t here at all, or I that I would at least ignore her.

I’m trying to be understanding, but after what we went through literally yesterday, this is getting ridiculous.

This sudden, mysterious backlash actually feels worse than the sudden, mysterious backlash I experienced with Audra.

Much worse.

“It’s good to see you,” I state in sort of a drone, taking a breath, silently reminding myself that we agreed this was a fling, and Madeline’s acting completely rational.

I probably seem a bit crazy, in fact.

“Good to see you, too,” intones Madeline robotically, hesitantly, repeating her initial greeting almost verbatim, staring at the floor with palpable discomfort and a touch of anguish.

Fuck, she really doesn’t want this shit. I can’t leave it like this, though.

“Maddie...”

Damn, why did I have to call her that? That word just catches in my throat, making it impossible to finish the sentence for some reason.

Like I’m fucking getting choked up or something. Of course, that would really be ridiculous, but it looks like Madeline softens slightly when she sees my weird, out-of-nowhere struggle with speech.

“You okay there, Eth?”

I chuckle. That caught me off-guard, and I want to want to laugh much harder, but I bring myself under control for the sake of avoiding complete catastrophe with this conversation.

“Yeah. I was at that seminar on How to be Socially Awkward in the main ballroom this morning. Looks like it’s paying off for me.”

“Oh, I went to that seminar, too, if you couldn’t tell.”

Madeline and I laugh for a moment, and that feels nice enough.

I steal a quick peak at Laura, who’s been silent this whole time. She’s trying her best to smile politely, but she’s looking straight at Madeline with a look of pity and mild concern.

“Alright, Maddie,” I say. “If I don’t see you, have a safe trip back. And good luck at grad school. Don’t let the workload get to you―crush that shit and get that motherfucking advanced degree. You deserve it.”

Laura finally acknowledges me, though silently, with a nod as if to say Okay, that’s enough now.

Maddie’s look is fixed somewhere indeterminate on the other side of the lobby, as if she can’t wait to be done with this.

I guess this really is goodbye.

“Maddie,” Laura’s addressing her friend in a sweet, matronly tone, “isn’t there something else you’d like to say?”

Laura’s trying to get Maddie to say farewell with finality so she can get a clean break from her vacation liaison and return to the reality of the real world.

“Thanks.”

That’s all Madeline says. Maybe because I wished her luck, but it’s time to stop speculating about any part of this.

The sunny, Hawaiian day visible on the other side of the lobby door holds no appeal for me whatsoever.

I give Madeline the quickest nod I can and turn away from her to go back to my suite.