Page 24 of Harper's Holiday Romance
I swapped out my black bikini for my pink strapless one, so I could avoid the pain every time I moved my upper body. The diamond encrusted silver band on my right-hand ring finger was a present from my mum for my twenty-first birthday. I pulled it forwards above my knuckle to reveal the indented white band.
How? It looked like I’d been on holiday for three weeks.
I cleared away the dried-up coconut from the balcony. Billie had somehow managed to convince the kitchen staff to give her two last night. I’d seen nobody else in the hotel with a full coconut; I wasn’t sure how she did it, but she had a persuasive power unlike anyone I’d ever met. The sweet translucent fluid was strange at first but refreshing. I’d never, in all my twenty-eight years on earth, had the opportunity to drink from a coconut, so it was an experience.
I removed my purse from the safe and tipped the Mexican pesos onto the bed. I divided the fifty and twenty notes by the remainder of days; in doing so I worked out I could tip the staff at least eight times per day without having to draw out any more cash. I thought that was adequate.
The door slammed shut. Sarah entered in gym gear, sweat dripping from her forehead, and a large plastic cup of liquid the colour of urine in her hand.
“Couldn’t you hold your bladder?” I joked.
“Very funny.” Sarah rolled her eyes. She looked down at the spread of money on the bed. “What are you doing?”
“Arranging my tip money.”
“Only you would work out how much money you could tip before you’d even had the service worth tipping.”
Billie popped her head through the design-driven hole in the wall that separated the bathroom and the bedroom. “I said the exact same thing.”
“What if nobody deserves a tip?” Sarah asked.
“I’ll give them one anyway.” I’d specifically brought tipping money. It was tucked away neatly in a separate travel wallet clearly labelled in my scroll like handwriting. The same research that told me about the exceptional waiter service also told me how very little they earned, and their reliance on tips made me want to break down and cry. The service I’d seen so far was impeccable, and I had no doubt my tips would be effortlessly offered out.
“I’ll give you a tip,” Billie piped up, “don’t eat the octopus at the seafood restaurant.” She rubbed at her stomach.
“Bad?” Sarah asked.
“Really bad,” I clarified. I was the one sharing a room with Billie. I was very aware.
“Why couldn’t you have had the salmon or the chicken like us? You always try the strangest thing on the menu.” Sarah plonked her sweaty body on the corner sofa next to the sliding balcony doors.
“You two are boring,” Billie scoffed. She exited the bathroom and made a beeline for the minibar.
“Are we? Or are we just cautious?” I challenged. There was no way I could eat octopus; some things are meant to be left in the sea. Poor things.
“Exactly. Boring.” Billie laughed.
She proceeded to chuck the complimentary M&Ms in her mouth one at a time. She missed the first one; it bounced off the concrete table and rolled across the floor.
“Shit—” She scarpered after it, but the delicious red chocolate nut ended up buried underneath the bed.
“Great, now we’ll get ants.”
“I’d be more concerned about the black widow if I was you.”
“The what? Where is it?” I jumped up, knocked the money off the bed, narrowly missed the standing lamp, and toppled over the edge of the tub on the balcony. I hurt my knee, my arm, and my face in the process of swatting away anything on my body, close to my body, or potentially dangling above my body.
“I said you should be concerned about them not that there was one.” Billie laughed. “Do you have to react like that?”
“I’m glad you find my crippling fear of spiders funny.” My panting reduced, but I was on high alert.
“Do you think you’re spider-phobic?” Sarah asked.
“What did you just call it?” Billie interjected, mid-M&M.
“Spider-phobic.” Sarah shrugged.
“It’s arachnophobia,” Billie corrected.
