12.
Rich
Even though I’ve spent half the night playing out how it could go, I’m still surprised when she agrees. Just goes to show one should always take one’s chances. Not that I thought it was going to be anything more than what I’d said. I meant what I had told her—that I respected her boundaries and that if friendship were all she could offer, I was more than happy to take it. Wasn’t that for the best anyways?
I go straight to the dining garden after I leave her villa. By the time I get there, my heartbeat has assumed its natural, calm rhythm, though I’m still in shock at having asked her at all. This morning, after waking up several hours before dawn and finding myself unable to go back to sleep, I had spent several hours arguing with myself, unsure whether or not I should just let go. But something in me wouldn’t allow it. Somehow, I knew that this was one of those situations where I’d end up kicking myself for a very long time, maybe for the rest of my life, if I just gave up. Besides, I had vowed long ago never to become that type of person: a quitter. My father had been that way, and I had had to watch him live most of his life mired in regret. I didn’t know what Becca and I were destined to be, but I did know that I couldn’t just let her walk out of my life.
When I arrive in the garden, breakfast is just getting started. I pick a table at random, or so it seems, only realizing after I’m seated that I just so happened to have chosen the same table we had dined at the night before. Besides myself, there is only one other vacationer in the garden, a teenager in a wetsuit hunched over a pile of bacon and eggs. He doesn’t look up as I enter the garden.
A waiter comes over as soon as I sit down. I order a cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice. I don’t have long to wait before Becca appears. Sipping my coffee, I watch her cross the garden. She’s wearing a bikini and a cover-up, both different from the day before. A bag is slung over her shoulder. Peeking out of it are two towels and a bottle of sunscreen. And here I hadn’t even thought to bring anything other than flippers and a snorkel.
“Hi,” she says as she slips into the seat opposite me. She looks at the table, her eyes narrowing. “Same table, huh?”
“Oh,” I say, smoothing out the tablecloth with my hands and giving her a sly grin. “I hadn’t noticed.”
She laughs. “So where’s this reef at?”
“No idea. All I know is that my friend said there wouldn’t be any other people there. And that we’d see all sorts of wonderful fish. Maybe even a shark or two.”
“Sharks?”
“Nurse sharks. The ones that don’t bother you. Not unless you bother them, of course.”
“Oh, okay. Whew! For a second there I was worried we’d be around the kind of sharks that might mistake us for food.”
“I mean, you are kind of small…”
“Oh, shutup.”
Laughing, we get up and go over to the buffet. The selection is almost as robust as the night before. We load up our respective plates with eggs and sausage and bacon and mounds of fresh fruit—slices of papaya, mango, pineapple, and orange. Becca finishes picking out her food first and waits until I’ve balanced as much as I possibly can on my plate. As we head back to the table, she eyes my precariously stacked meal.
“Do you always eat that much? I mean, you seriously put it away yesterday. I thought maybe that was just because of the flight.”
“Oh…umm…yeah, actually,” I say, glancing down at my plate as we settle in at the table. And here I’d thought I was eating light worried as I was of getting seasick. “I’m a very active person, I suppose. So I’m always hungry.”
“Active like you work out every day?”
“Basically.”
“Don’t tell me you worked out this morning already.”
I chuckle. “I won’t tell you then.” The truth was that when I’d woken up and couldn’t go back to sleep, and after going over my plan to invite Becca out a thousand times and finding myself as restless as ever, I had gone for a long run down the beach. By my estimates, what had begun as a nice three-mile jog had turned into a nine-mile trek.
We dig into our food. Just like yesterday, talk flows easily. After a few cups of coffee, we each order a breakfast cocktail. I get some sort of rum drink while Becca keeps it simple and orders a mimosa. Neither one of us mentions the night before though the tension is palpable between us. Every so often, we both fall silent and just sort of stare into each other’s eyes. Each time, Becca, blushing, looks away to spear a piece of mango or take a sip of her drink. And then, as natural as anything, our conversation resumes.
I’m so present talking to her I don’t even notice that soon the garden has filled up. I’m in the middle of telling some ridiculous story, Becca doubled over with laughter, when we’re interrupted by an elderly couple.
“Excuse me,” the woman interjects. She has her arm hooked through the crook of her husband’s elbow.
“Yes?” Becca says, still giggling.
“I just had to come over and tell you that my husband and I find you two to just be the cutest couple we’ve ever seen. Don’t we, Harry?”
She nudges her husband and her husband, all smiles, nods. “We do,” he says.
“You two look just so happy to be together. Like you’ve known one another for a very long time and yet are just at the start of your relationship. It’s a rare combination. Isn’t it, Harry?”
Harry, all smiles, nods. “It is.”
“Anyways, we won’t bother you anymore. We just had to say something. Didn’t we, Harry?”
“We did.”
“Enjoy your vacation, you two. God bless.”
The couple walks away before either of us can respond. I glance over at Becca. Her face is bright red.
“Huh,” is all I say as I reach for my cocktail. As I take a sip, I wave the waiter over for a refill. Becca, too, orders another mimosa. For several minutes, we’re silent as we watch the people around us. So many happy souls. Almost made one forget all the terrible things going on in the world, not to mention one’s own life.
“You know,” I finally say, just about at the bottom of my second cocktail. “I wonder why everyone is so obsessed with love in this place.”
“Probably because they don’t feel it anywhere else.”
“Hmm, good point. I feel people would be better served if instead they just focused on the natural beauties and wonders of this paradise. Love can be…disappointing, to say the least.” Where was this coming from? Must be the alcohol had loosened my tongue.
“Agreed,” Becca murmurs, her eyes suddenly unfocused, her mind a million miles away. “I think—for most of them anyways—that it’s all pretend. I doubt half of these couples are as happy as they seem to be.”
She’s hurt just like you are. There must be some man she left behind. No wonder she said she wasn’t ready.
“They probably spend all their time at home arguing. And as soon as they land here, it’s like a timeout has been called.”
“Probably to gather their resources to resume the fight upon return.” Becca laughs and I laugh with her. “Anyways, speaking of focusing on the natural beauties and wonders of this place, shouldn’t we get going?”