Page 11 of Harper's Holiday Romance
“It’s only day one and I think we’ve discovered the word of the holiday,” Sarah said. “Hey, maybe we should get it tattooed? Something like... Unreal Mexico 2K23...”
“Eww. We’re not twelve, and our body’s aren’t the inside of a bathroom cubicle.” I settled my towel on top of the bed. It took me several seconds to straighten the ends; the whip of wind curled the edges in a way that made me cringe. I’m not saying it’s a diagnosed disorder, but it’s certainly not normal.
“Pfft.” Sarah removed her T-shirt to reveal a white sporty bikini top and a body covered in tattoos.
“It’s also a five-star resort, not Blackpool. I think they’d pay us not to get that tattoo,” Billie sassed. She grabbed another two towels from the stand on top of the one I’d already got for her.
“Why do you need three towels?” I questioned.
“One for the bottom, one for a pillow, and one for when I’m wet,” Billie said. She displayed her towels like she was about to receive a spa massage.
“You’re excessive,” I joked. “It makes perfect sense. You use all four towels when you have a shower, which I still can’t wrap my head around.”
“You use four towels when you have a shower?” Sarah interjected. She was now lathering her whole tattooed body in the SPF 15 oil I warned her against purchasing at the airport. The sun-kissed glow the bottle promised was more important to Sarah than the pain of burnt skin. I forced her to purchase the large bottle of aloe vera gel as a compromise.
“Yes.”
“How?” Sarah asked.
“One big towel for my hair, one small towel to semi-dry my body. I don’t think it’s hygienic to use the same towel for your naughty bits, so I use another small hand towel for that, and then I put body lotion on and wrap the large towel around my body whilst it soaks in,” Billie said without taking a breath.
“I bet the cleaners will love you,” Sarah said sarcastically.
“Do you see this...” Billie used her index finger to draw a circle in the space around her sun bed. “This is a judge-free zone.”
Sarah shook her head, a familiar smirk appearing on her lips.
They continued to bicker whilst I unpacked my trusty beach bag; inside were two different lotions, my Air Pods, the complimentary mosquito spray from the hotel bathroom, a deck of cards for when boredom struck, and my ten-year-old holiday purse I purchased from TK Max. I purchased three new bikinis, two new pairs of flip-flops, and three pairs of shorts for the holiday, but I still had the same purse and bag from prehistoric times—go figure.
I liked to think I led a humble life. I didn’t have a great deal growing up. I came from a single parent household, and with that came its challenges. The moment I could leave school and get a full-time job I did. I’d always been independent and self-reliant. I knew the value of money. I knew what it was like to have very little, and that motivated me to forge a career, work hard, and build a life for myself. It wasn’t luxurious by any means. I had to work hard, and I saved for the better part of twelve months to afford the holiday we were so lucky to be experiencing. I intended to appreciate every luxury from the towels to the complimentary amenities. Even the free cotton buds.
The hotel was filled with Americans. It only took half a day exploring the grounds to realise other English holidaymakers were few and far between. The many American dialects were hard to decipher. I started to play a game with myself—Guess the Accent—not the most original title. At lunch the guy ordering a fresh taco sounded like a midwestern newscaster. I guessed Minnesota, or maybe even Michigan, but I couldn’t besure. The woman sat at the table next to me asked the waiter for acawfeeand missed everyrfrom every word she used; it was a clear giveaway for the Boston accent, and the easiest by far to identify.
When we resumed our places by the pool, the bed to the left of me and Sarah was now occupied. A plus-size lady in a bright blue bikini squeezed one boob at a time as she emptied the contents of the pool from her bikini top. She had on a straw hat and a pair of sunglasses dangling from her neck on a piece of string. The woman to her left had thick blonde hair with speckles of grey; she wore a baseball cap with the wordsI love Cancunwritten in fluorescent colours. I was yet to visit the resort gift shop, but I’d seen several people donning a similar cap. I listened to the two women converse for a few minutes, it wasn’t until the pronunciation of the wordaboutthat I realised they weren’t American.
“Are you guys from Canada?” I asked.
“We sure are. Where are you guys from?” The lady in the blue bikini asked.
“England.”
“Awesome. We love England. I’m Christina. This is Tracey.” Christina had a powerful voice; it was deep but high-pitched at the same time.
We all introduced ourselves; Sarah and Billie obliged. If it were up to them, I knew they’d never go out of their way to make conversation. Unfortunately for them, they were on holiday with me.
“Where in Canada?” I asked, absolutely not out of politeness, I was intrigued.
“A small town in Alberta, total population of about eight-thousand people,” Christina said whilst sipping through not one but two straws she had poking out of a watery cocktail.
“Canada is attached to the US, right?” Yes, I was widely aware my geography skills stopped within a fifty-mile radius of my hometown, but I saw it as an opportunity to learn.
“Yes, it’s classed as North America.”
“So, it’s like a state?” I questioned.
Christina chuckled. “Not quite. Canada is the second largest country in the world. I think America is fourth?” She turned to her friend for confirmation.
“Yeah, that’s right, but America has ten times the population. Canada is very remote,” Tracy confirmed.
