Page 24 of Here for a Good Time
Still with that dubious expression, Zwe finally nods, and he and Leila jog off into the water while pulling on their masks. I watch his figure slowly disappear into the water, his sunscreen-covered skin gleaming in the sunshine, and I can’t help but think once more how young and free he looks while splashing around in the ocean, droplets of water jumping into the air with every bouncy step his blue rubber fins take. After I watch the two of them go underwater, I turn to Antonio.
“I apologize in advance if I freak out,” I tell him.
He shakes his head. “No apologies necessary. Although I think you should cut yourself some slack. You’re a smart and fit woman—I have no doubt you’ll pick it up in no time.”
I almost askAre you flirting with me?but stop myself, because even if he is—which I’m pretty certain is the case—I don’t think official employee rules would allow him to admit it. Which is just as well; it’s been nearly a full year since I last went on a date, and to be honest, I don’t really remember how to flirt with an actual man that I’m attracted to. Which leads to the realization that this attractive, muscular man is about to make skin-to-skin contact with my torso, and oh god what if my body forgets how a body is supposed to act and reacts in a weird, definitely not sexy manner? What if I cough and spit water in his face? What if a wave crashes into us and my top slips down and my boobs pop out (also in a definitely not sexy manner)?
“You ready?” Antonio raises his forearms into a ninety-degree angle, biceps flexing in the process. His slightly confused smilemust mean that in the midst of my panic, my face began doing something weird.
To hide it, I pull my very sexy plastic mask on and give two thumbs up. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Not to toot my own horn, but I pick it up way more quickly than I thought I would. There were some abrupt starts and stops at the beginning, but that was solely because I got in my own head; otherwise, there was no inhaling or spitting of sea water, which is a major win. Once I managed to go several minutes without stopping, Antonio even began teaching me breathing control techniques: shallow inhales and full exhales will make your body less buoyant and let you sink deeper into the water, while full inhales and shallow exhales will keep you floating closer to the surface.
“Look who’s joined us! Ariel herself!” Zwe says after I snorkel on my own to demonstrate my newfound ability, the three of them watching like a trio of proud parents. It would’ve easily sounded like sarcasm coming from anyone else, but not Zwe.
We stick close together at first underwater, one person waving and gesticulating at a cool fish and the others giving thumbs-ups to acknowledge them; eventually, though, we drift off on separate paths, close enough to keep each other in our peripheral vision, but far enough that we’re doing our own thing. And for the first time in a long time, I realize the typically frantic part of my brain has… stopped.
As great as the spa day was yesterday, lying on a massage bed in a quiet room while other people worked through a menu of massages and facials left me with nothing to do but think. Despite my fervent pleas to my mind torelaxanddo nothing,it did what it always does, whether that’s on a commute or while queuing atthe supermarket—plot, fidget, wonder, worry. I once tried explaining to Zwe that it feels like I’m a video game character running through my own book, repeatedly running into dead ends or down plot holes that I don’t know how to overcome on the next try.
Not today, though. Today, the physical activity keeps my brain distracted. I’m not worrying that my next pitch for Ayesha won’t be exciting enough, because I’m too busy worrying about breathing correctly and staying alive.
When I look around, I see crystal-clear turquoise waters and iridescent fish and coral reefs and Zwe taking photos with his waterproof disposable camera. The water is cool but not freezing, and I’m awestruck by the way the sunlight breaks through the surface and makes the seabed shimmer. Ironically, here—in the middle of the Indian Ocean with a piece of plastic shoved into my mouth—is the first time in months that I’ve felt like I can breathe. Right now, life feels manageable, and being happy, reallytrulyhappy, seems like such an easy and achievable goal.
I’m cured!I think, and immediately chuckle, making a couple of bubbles float up in front of my face. Noticing, Zwe makes a questioningOkay?gesture with his fingers, and I nod and return it. I’ve never been more okay in my life. If snorkeling turns out to have been the solution to my problems all along, I’m going to sell our apartment and move us to a shack on the beach.
“Do you think we should move here?” I ask Zwe as I pop another cheese cube in my mouth. Antonio and Leila had arranged a post-snorkeling picnic for us, but even with our most fervent pleas, refused to join us for this part. So now it’s just the two of us, sittingon a blanket, enjoying a substantial cheese and fruit platter served with two pitchers of our signature drinks. It’s the beginning of yet another perfect cotton-candy sunset, a pattern that would seem improbable if you wrote it into a movie.
“What would we do with our place?” Zwe asks.
“Your brother can take it. Or we can sell it.”
Zwe chuckles. “I wish we could move here,” he says. “But it’d be a logistical nightmare.” Even when we’re fantasizing, he’s realistic. “I’m glad we’re here right now, though. Thanks again. For”—he gestures around with a hand—“paying for everything.”
“Don’t even mention it, what else would I do with my advance?” I say, waving a sand-specked hand. “You know, Vik and I used to say that we would go on a big, fancy holiday whenever I sold my first book. He wanted to climb Everest—”
Zwe interrupts me with a snort. “You would not have survived thirty minutes on Everest.”
I throw a grape at him even though we both know he’s right. “Butthiswas the kind of tripIalways envisioned,” I admit. “Where we just sat around and… talked. Wherever we went, though, for me, the most important part was thatIpaid for it.”
“Why couldn’t he pay for it? The man was the poster child for finance bros.”
“It was an ego thing.”
“Yours or his? Because I distinctly remember the latter being big enough to make your relationship a throuple.”
I roll my eyes. “Mine, in this case. I wanted to show him I could do it, you know? Buy us nice things. That my books would one day be worth… something.”
Zwe’s eyes are unreadable behind his sunglasses. I can’t even tell if they’re open or closed as he lies on his back, face tilted rightup at the sun. “If there’s anyone who doesn’t need to prove themselves to anybody, it’s you,” he finally says, delivering a gut punch of a reply.
“How did you do it?” I ask.
“Do what?”
“Always believe in me. Believe that one day my books would lead to—” I throw my arms open. “—this. You’re the most level-headed person in the world. How did you keep on believing that I’d actually do it when all the evidence was pointing to the contrary? When even my own fiancé eventually viewed it as a pipe dream?”
Between the two of us, I’m the dreamer, the one who believes in Manifestation with a capitalM,who grew up blindly pointing at my bookshelf and declaringI’m going to have copies of my own book one day. In contrast, Zwe has always, always been a numbers guy, had become an accountant because he didn’t trust anyone else to look after his parents’ money. I’ve always thought it was more than slightly unfair that his younger brother got to move to Hong Kong to try to become a fine dining chef there while Zwe was stuck looking after the family business and their parents, but Zwe’s never given any indication that he dreams of a life more similar to his brother’s. I don’t know how much of it is because he’s genuinely happy where he is, and how much is because he feels that it’s his eldest son duty.
“Who the fuck cares what Vik thought?” Zwe props himself up on his elbow, and I’m startled by the way his tone has stretched, like my last sentence has left him a millimeter away from snapping. Seeing my expression, he raises a hand to apologize. I forgive him, because I know how he feels about Vik. “It wasn’t difficult to believe in you, Poe,” Zwe says. He pushes his sunglasses on top of his head, as though he wants me to see in his eyes that he’s telling the truth.“I read your drafts. Of course it was always going to happen. It was just a matter of time,” he says as he leans forward and reaches for my pendant, swiping one thumb across the words. The back of his hand makes contact with my chest, and on instinct I look down at where his hand is resting between the turquoise triangle cups of my bikini top. Zwe nudges my chin back up with his thumb but doesn’t move his hand, and when I raise my head again, I’m looking straight into his brown eyes. Most of his hair is dry now, but the roots are still slightly damp, making him look like he’s just been done up for a swimsuit photo shoot. There’s some sand stuck to his right shoulder that I wonder if I should brush off.
