This is a fine fucking spot to be in at the end of a fucking honeymoon:

Waking up in the late afternoon from a two-hour nap―a nap you only took to get away from reality for a while―not even in the California king-sized bed, but on it, on top of the comforter, still fully dressed and with your fucking shoes still on as your feet dangle off the endive of the mattress.

If that sounds like a pretty pitiable spot to be in on your honeymoon, or anytime, you probably don’t have to worry about being there yourself anytime soon unless you’re my sorry ass, waking up in the darkened honeymoon suite bedroom after my sorry-ass nap.

Fuck it. Married or not, once I get back to my job in New York, it’s not like I’ll get more than a couple hours of sleep every night. I see how goddamn dark it’s getting already through the window.

Maybe the best use of the rest of my time on this stupid trip is a mini-hibernation to prepare myself for another year, or two, or the whole fucking rest of my lifetime of being a markets zombie, dedicating my brain, my body, my entire being to tracking, predicting, trying to nail down shit that has nothing to do with shit, all about cash and nothing else.

I’m already drifting back into slumber when a cacophonous clanking of bells shatters through the room’s silence, rattling lamps and furniture.

Either my suite’s been magically transported to one of the Notre Dame Cathedral towers, or my room phone is ringing.

I reluctantly roll off my bed and slog to the unholy clamor emanating for the unassuming little hotel phone on a nightstand.

I pick up the receiver, and take a moment to bask in the renewed silence. I fight the urge to just hang up, and I bring the receiver to my ear begrudgingly.

“Yeah,” I answer, doing the best I can right now to not sound like too much of an asshole.

“Mister Barrett!”

I recognize the concierge’s affable perkiness through the phone. I think I gave him my mobile provider info on my way back to the suite earlier.

“Yes, what is it?”

“We’ve tracked down a great mobile phone for you, a smartphone like you requested, actually a ‘phablet’ as they call it.”

“I’m not certain what that is. How much is it?”

“It just has a slightly larger screen than most, Mister Barrett. And don’t worry about the expense, the management’s taking care of it.”

That’s confirmation that a stockholder, or possibly even an owner, of this resort or its parent company knows who I am. That’s fine, as long as they’re not involved with my firm in any capacity.

Or maybe the concierge is hoping for one of my famous gratuities.

My mind’s blank as I shower, shave, brush my teeth and get ready to retrieve the stupid phablet as soon as possible and tie up any loose ends so I can get the fuck away from here as quickly as possible.

On the elevator down to the lobby, I run the possibility of using my new phone to change my flight reservation so I can leave tonight and pretend that none of this ever happened.

As soon as the elevator door opens, I spot the concierge behind his desk, holding a large phone up at chest level and speaking into it.

He wouldn’t be this brazen about it if there was anything legally hazy about this gift from the resort, most likely.

I try to smile while walking to the desk, reading the concierge’s name plate.

“Ah, here he is now.”

“Hey, Kingston.”

“Is that you, Mister Barrett? We just need your address and account number to confirm.”

The voice is coming loudly through the speakerphone. It’s the service provider.

This is shady as hell, right? But I don’t have it in me to be suspicious. I recite the information loudly and clearly right in the middle of the fucking lobby.

Kingston is a bit perturbed by this, but what are you gonna do?

“All set, Mister Barrett,” declares the bubbly male voice through the phone speaker, “everything’s now transferred to your new device.”

I want to turn around to see if anyone’s watching this ludicrous display, but if they are, I’ll just let them enjoy it.

Now that all my stuff is on there, Kingston casts his eyes skyward so he doesn’t see the screen as he hands over the device. He slides the box with the charger across the desk as well.

“I thought you’d appreciate it being ready for you when you got it.”

I flip through different screens on the device, everything is surreally in the same place where I left it on my old phone―only larger.

“I sure do, Kingston. I’ll get you when I check out.”

I don’t feel like going anywhere, but I really don’t feel like going back up to the fucking honeymoon suite again.

I find a seat on a generic, semi-comfortable piece of lobby furniture and continue looking through my phone. I have hundreds of unread emails, those can wait...no missed texts or calls that I can see, which is kind of surprising, but everyone knows I’m out of town.

I try to open the web browser so I can look into changing my flight, but my thumb hits the wrong icon, opening my photos.

I think it’s an accident, but I can’t guarantee it.

The last photo I took fills the spacious screen. The picture’s from shortly after I first arrived, and it was overcast. There’s no one in the photo, just the boarded-up beach bar, and the empty beach. I remember thinking that it didn’t look like Hawaii, not in this weather.

Fuck this shit, I can’t just leave.

I know damn well that I’ll never see Madeline again after this week, but I’m not going the rest of my life without telling her how I feel about her.

How do I feel about her, anyway?

I’m still holding the cloudy, empty beach in my hand.

That’s partly why I need to see her: to talk to her, so I can figure out what this pseudo-honeymoon chapter actually means before I try to go on to the rest of my story.

If this shit sounds selfish, well, I guess I can’t argue with that.

But I’m not thinking about myself when pocket my phone and my charger and stride across the lobby and out the door.

I’m not thinking about myself at all as I walk quickly, jog across the pavement and onto the beach.

I’m not thinking about myself, or where I’m going, or any clear plan in mind as I break into a run, going south along the beach, passing the bar but seeing no one there.

Running even faster back to the pavement, bounding, dashing to the other part of the resort, I’m thinking about nothing but Madeline.

About seeing her emerald eyes one last time.

About trying to make her laugh.

About saying goodbye for real.

About telling her…

About telling her what I need her to know before she parasails away from me for good.

When I push through the front entrance of the nightclub, I’m nearly gasping for breath, my heart is pounding with quick insistence, and I’ve got sweat plastered all over my face and shirt.

I walk slowly across the empty first floor of the club, trying to regain some semblance of composure. I can only hope Maddie happens to be upstairs, although the odds on that are probably not great.

I visit the restroom to wash my face and try to dry off a little. After making myself marginally more presentable, I walk into the ill-conceived little gift shop by the stairwell.

I don’t know if I’m trying to delay seeing Maddie, or if I’m trying to delay not seeing her, but this gift shop in a nightclub is fucking weird as fuck.

I still take the opportunity to grab a few random things: a fairly fresh-looking bouquet of anthuriums, a lei of assorted regional flowers, a six-ounce sampler box of chocolates…wait, no, that larger box…no, actually that four-pound box is even better, and maybe one of those small ukuleles painted with a floral design…

By the time I get upstairs, carrying all of that, plus a five-foot teddy bear, I’m mostly relieved to see Maddie―sitting at a table with Laura―so that she can take at least some of this stuff off my hands. If she wants any of it.

God, she looks good.

She must’ve gotten that sundress dry-cleaned as well, because she’s wearing that, and her long hair is flowing down just one side, over her right shoulder, strands of gold framing her radiant face and draping further down to rest atop...

Anyway, Maddie doesn’t look shocked or surprised in any way to see me. After taking a microsecond to register the sight of me trying to take careful steps across the room both arms loaded with all this crap, Madeline instantly begins shrieking with laughter as her face turns beet red in disbelief.

Laura’s probably used to Maddie’s laughing fits, so it takes her a few seconds to bother turning around and enjoy the scene herself.

“What the fuck?” At least Laura’s able to get a few questioning words across as she laughs.

Maddie’s coming close to hyperventilation as she struggles not to fall out of her chair while she’s also struggling to answer Laura’s question.

Maddie’s shaking her now rosewood-colored face, signaling that she has no idea what the fuck’s going on.

I continue taking slow, careful steps, playing up the clumsiness for their enjoyment, and they indeed enjoy the show for a few more seconds before getting up to help me.

Maddie’s still laughing, though not quite as hard, as she takes the humongous box of chocolates from the crook of my left arm.

“Dude, holy shit.” Maddie’s first sentence of the evening is perfect.

“You know, you can do your souvenir shopping after you hit the club,” Laura notifies me while grabbing the uke.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

“You didn’t happen to get anything for me, by any chance?”

Maddie’s laughter is now just a luminous smile.

“Why, yes, here you go.”

I transfer the giant stuffed bear to Maddie’s waiting arms.

“I can stuff this guy in the overhead bin,” Maddie remarks from behind the wall of plush fabric and cotton.

“Or you could just send me the bill for all huge checked baggage.”

“That works, too.”

Maddie opens her arms and lets the poor beast fall to the floor.

“Oh, and all this other stuff is for you, also.”

“I figured as much.”

I hand Maddie the flowers, and I’m about to place the lei over her head when I hear some ukulele chords ring out behind me.

“Unless Laura wants the uke. That’s up to you.”

“No,” Maddie expresses sweetly before her smile turns terrifically evil. “It’s mine.”

Laura ignores the both of us as she begins walking back to the table and while strumming the uke―until she stops short while walking by Maddie and sweetly, lightly touches her shoulder and flashes her a brief, sweet look. A look I pretend not to see, but a look that seems to say See? I told you so.

I can’t afford optimism or delusions right now.

“Madeline?”

“Yeah, I’m right here.”

Laura’s ukulele chords are growing further.

“I…it’s been shit. My life just, well, kind of turned to shit.”

“Um…”

“Wait. When I came here, on an eleven-hour fucking flight to Hawaii, I didn’t know what was going to happen. I wasn’t excited. I was pretty much ready to give up.”

“Hold the phone, is this an infomercial?”

“Not quite. Madeline, I realize, sort of just right now, I’m realizing that my life has been shit for a long time, even when I thought I was the shit. But this week has been...”

Fuck, words keep getting caught in my throat today.

“It’s been,” I continue, or try to, “it’s just been the best. The best week of my life.”

Holy shit, did I just say that?

“Really?” Maddie looks like she’s about to start laughing again, and that’s what her tone sounds like, but she seems to get caught up at the end of the word―just like I’ve been today.

“This is why I wanted to see you one last time, Madeline. I know that it’s gonna end soon, and I’m fine with that, but...I just really wanted to say thanks. I wish it didn’t have to end, but...fuck, ignore that part. Just…thanks.”

Madeline seems touched, at least. Big tears are rolling down her cheeks, and she lets out a loud, unselfconscious sigh.

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No, I don’t want it to end, either. No.”

Maddie’s walking towards me. She takes the lei off and starts putting it over my head.

“No?” It seems like the thing to say.

“No,” Maddie asserts, smiling through her tears.

“No,” I state simply as Madeline finishes putting the lei on and proceeds to use it to pull me to her.

“Yes.” Madeline finishes with that word as our lips meet in celebration.