Page 3 of A Not-So Holiday Paradise

Some people have all the luck.

While Wes snores lightly from my bed, I double-check my backpack to make sure I’ve got everything I need for the day excursion. Beckett is meeting us in port, and then we’re taking a boat over to the island where he’s been working on installing an astronomy research campus for the last eight months. This was part of what made my parents choose this particular cruise to the Virgin Islands—they love Beckett like a son, and they jumped at the chance to get to see him.

I’m excited to see him too, obviously, but I’m also anxious to check out the area because I’ll be back here in a couple months. I’ve signed up for a work study that starts then; not on St. Thomas, but several islands over. It will be the perfect way to spend cold, dreary February.

“Sunscreen,” I mutter as I dig through my bag. “Bug repellent, sunglasses…” I look up, biting my lip and glancing around my small room as I think. When my eyes snag on my snacks, I smile. “Sustenance,” I say. “Yes.”

I’m the kind of girl who likes to snack on familiar comfort foods when possible, which means I frequently bring my own. Mom did a bunch of holiday baking before we left, and I made off with some of the spoils: namely one small box full of miniature shortbread and gingerbread cookies in Christmasy shapes.

I open the box, smiling fondly at my cookies before grabbing one and biting the head off of a mini gingerbread man. Then I close the box again and shove it into my backpack. After a moment of deliberation, I also add my freezer bag of crunchy granola bars. I probably won’t eat them; it’s mostly just to help me feel better about bringing the very unhealthy cookies.

Also the canteen of Dr. Pepper. That’s coming too. Because like Wes, I am also not a morning person, and I need caffeine. Wes and my parents both have giant water bottles that they’ve been lugging around the whole trip so far; if I need a drink of water, I can get one from them.

Once all my food is packed, I grab the medicine bottle on the nightstand and take out one pill from my bottle of seizure medication, placing it in a sandwich baggie and then zipping it in an inside pocket of my bag. That will be enough for my afternoon dose. I was first diagnosed with epilepsy when I hit puberty; it’s been a long road with a lot of setbacks, but I’ve finally found a medication that works well for me and has minimal side effects.

“Meds, food and drink to take them, sunscreen, bug spray, sunglasses…” I say as I run through my mental list. Then, glancing at the time, I go to my suitcase and pull out my clothes.

As I’m changing into my swimsuit in the bathroom, I’m pleased to note that my hives are starting to fade from a mottled red flush into a lighter pink. I grab my phone and do a quick search, which informs me that the allergic reaction could take up to several hours to disappear. Looking at my face, though, I don’t think it will be that long—maybe another hour.

After this my google search gets derailed, and twenty minutes later I find myself looking at the mole on my right thigh to determine if I have skin cancer. It’s only when a text from my mom comes through that I’m pulled back to the real world—the world where my mole is just a mole, although it’s always wise to keep an eye on your skin.

Mom:How are you feeling?

Oof.How am I feeling? Like I’ve just reappeared from the rabbit hole. I scramble to finish getting dressed, pulling my shirt and my shorts over my swimsuit before texting my mom back.

Me:Better. I’ll get Wes and we’ll be there soon.

“Wes,”I call as I exit the bathroom. “Get up. It’s been longer than thirty minutes.”

We’re going to pretend that’s not because I was learning the ABCDEs of malignant skin lesions—Asymmetry, Border, Color, Diameter, Evolution—but because I was simply feeling generous.

“You lost track of time, didn’t you?” Wes says as he stretches.

Welp. So much for that. “Uh,” I say. “Yes. Look, though.” I point to my face.

Wes sits up, squinting as he looks at me. He puts his glasses back on, and then his expression clears. He nods. “A lot better. If I didn’t know you, I probably wouldn’t notice anything wrong.”

“Perfect,” I say happily. “In that case, let’s go.” There are tidepools for me to examine…andone brother’s best friend for me to gaze longingly at.

Is anything going to happen between me and Beckett? No. Of course not. We’re seeing him for one day, accompanied by the rest of my family. But if I could just manage to make a good impression? I’d call that a win. And who knows—maybe after this I’ll even be able to move on. Maybe seeing him again will be just the closure I need.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Two

Beckett

I’m not a particularlysociableguy.

Don’t get me wrong—I love my best friend and his family. Heck, I’m probably closer to them than I am to my own family. It’s kind of hard to bond with a mom who walked out and a dad who was always working. But just because I love them, just because I’ll be happy to see them, doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to a full day of socializing.

I’ve been happily working on a remote island for the better part of a year. It’s safe to say I don’t mind being on my own.

My less-than-social nature, though, doesn’t dampen my happiness when Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley appear in my line of sight, rushing down the pier toward me with giant smiles and enthusiastic waves. Wes and Molly aren’t with them yet; apparently Molly had some sort of allergic reaction at breakfast that needs to die down, and then they’ll come.

It’s been years since I’ve seen my best friend in person and even longer since I’ve seen the rest of his family. That never stops his mom from sending me care packages a few times a year, though, or from calling me up every now and then just to check in. I’m loathe to say Ineedanyone in my life—I’ve always done fine by myself—but I do enjoy having the O’Malleys around.

It’s early in the day still, but I can already tell it’s going to be a hot one. I stroll up the pier at a leisurely pace, my hands in my pockets, watching Wes’s parents move closer and closer. When we finally meet, Mrs. O’Malley pulls me into a giant hug like I’m her own flesh and blood. She’s a short little woman, but her grip around my middle is tight, and I wrap my arms gratefully around her shoulders, smiling.

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