Page 20 of Here for a Good Time
She waves a hand. “No need to explain. That’s why we make sure to cover all our bases in terms of activities. How about after breakfast, I drop you off at the spa where one of our masseuses will help put together the best treatment plan for you, and then”—she turns to Zwe—“we can make our way to the beach?” She peers out toward the deck. “Again, I need to double-check for safety reasons, but the weather looks perfect for a windsurfing session in my opinion.”
Zwe pumps a fist in the air. “Do you think we could also do some kayaking afterward?”
“Sure, I can hook you up with a kayak!” Leila says.
“Me?” Zwe crosses his arms, the move infusing his words with a flirtatious subtext. “Don’t tell me you’re not joining me. What, are you chicken I’ll beat you in a kayaking race?”
Leila grins through her scoff. “I don’t think Sandra will be too happy that I’m taking advantage of the resort’s—”
“But it’s what I want,” Zwe says. “As a guest. I’d assume Sandra would want you to go the extra mile to keep a guest happy, right? Isn’t that this whole place’sthing?”
Leila’s smile is so wide, the corners of her pink glossy lips are hooked onto her cheekbones. Meanwhile, I’m wondering when Zwe got so smooth with his flirting. This is the same guy who panicked before his first kiss and excused himself to the bathroom where he texted me that he was eating ten mints in one go, and then threw them all up on his date’s shoes.
I don’t recognize this version of Zwe, and it scares me that I can’t tell if it’s this new setting that’s making him different, bolder, more willing to ask for what he wants, or if this is yet another new side to him that I’ve overlooked: Zwe flirts now. Not just that, he’sgoodat flirting.
“I don’t want to intrude on your guys’ trip, though.” Leila’s voice breaks my train of thought. She’s looking at me with an uneasy expression. “If you’re going to be kayaking with someone, then surely it should be Poe.”
I’m about to sayYeah, actually, that massage will feel much more satisfying after a day out on the water,but Zwe interrupts with “Poe hates water sports. In fact, she kind of hates all sports.”
“I do not!” I kick his shin under the table. “I like—”
“Mario Kart?” Zwe supplies.
I kick him again, even if his answer makes me giggle. “It’s a sport! It requires both strategy and skill!”
“Which is why you’re the reigning champion of our apartment,” Zwe says. “But you hate water sports. Look, if you really want to join me today, then of course I think it would be fun. Your call. Wedohave two whole weeks here, though. Plenty of time.”
“You guys could also do separate things in the morning and something together in the evening,” Leila offers.
“I have to work in the evening,” I explain, hating how clichéd I sound. I don’t want to be the person who’s glued to her laptop during a trip, but I also can’t afford to not write for two weeks. I throw Zwe an apologetic smile, and he nods in understanding.
Two things stop me from insisting I’ll join Zwe and Leila this morning: one, Idohate water sports. And two, I’d effectively be cockblocking Zwe if I tagged along. I’d be lying though if I said the framing of me being the person who’s “tagging along” didn’t make me feel a bit left out. This was supposed to beourtrip wherewebonded over fun activities.
“How about we go snorkeling tomorrow?” I suggest. “That spa isreallycalling to me today.”
“It’s a date,” Zwe says.
After the fit-for-an-army breakfast we had, we agree to skip lunch and regroup for dinner. At the spa, the masseuse hands me a questionnaire where I can pick my desired level of pressure, and, using a figure drawing of a body, circle any sections where I’d like extra attention. I circle my back, shoulders, and hands.
“Do you spend a lot of time on a computer?” she asks with a knowing smile.
“A bit,” I say, suddenly embarrassed that I must be living up tothe hunched-over-a-computer city-person stereotype they get here all the time.
After my first two-hour four-hands massage, I’m led out to the spa’s deck where someone brings out a flask of iced tea and a bowl of artfully cut and displayed fruit as soon as I sit down on a cream chaise lounge. I have an unobstructed view of the beach, including of Leila and Zwe out in the water. They look like they’re having the time of their lives, any sound they’re making drowned out by that of the Jet Skis they’re maneuvering.
Happy.Zwe looks so happy, which makesmehappy that I was the one who brought him here. It’s cheesy, but sometimes I watch him at the bookstore, juggling everything from stock take to the cash register to making sure his parents eat lunch at a reasonable hour, and I’m overwhelmed by what a good person he is, down to his bones. I was never going to bring anyone else here. It was always going to be him, or nobody.
Remembering that I never responded to Soraya last night, I pull out my phone and call her. It’s early morning in the UK, but according to Soraya, the concept of sleep is a faraway dream now.
“You’re up,” I say when she answers.
“Do you mind if we stick to audio?” Soraya’s British accent comes through. She sounds like she’s at the level of exhausted where you don’t give a crap about niceties likeHelloandHow are you?“I have to hold this kid with one hand and push my tit into his mouth with the other, so I’m all out of free hands. I can turn on my video if you want, but you’d be staring at the ceiling with me occasionally flashing you.”
“You have great tits, I’d be honored,” I say. I smile when that gets a tired laugh from her. “I’m sorry I’ve been so shitty with texting back.”
“It’s okay, I get it, you’re a big-time author now. Hollywood is begging you to write more books that they can adapt.”
NowI’mglad we’re sticking to audio and she can’t see the inadvertent grimace I just made. “How are you? How’s the family?”
