“Sol’s getting laid tonight,” Juana says.
“I said no such thing,” I reply.
“But you didn’tnotsay it,” Mariana adds.
I look at all of them. Ridiculous. Glitter-covered. Loud and warm and the exact picture of growing up. Except that we are at an all-inclusive resort in the Dominican Republic and we all have big girl jobs, and not at someone’s childhood bedroom getting ready to go to a sketchy party just because someone’s crush wasmaybeattending too.
They mean well. They really, truly do.
It’s just that my life doesn’t look like theirs anymore. That used to scare me. Now it mostly just feels like fact. Like mortgages and end of year reviews, or the way group chats slowly die when half the people in them start having kids.
It doesn’t mean I don’t love them. I do.
It just means I’m tired in a way they’re not. And living a reality none of them can truly understand.
I stand and stretch. “If I wear the red dress, will someone please do my eyeliner for me?”
There’s a few gasps from the crowd and Isabel runs to her makeup bag like it’s go time. Juana leans against my shoulder and whispers, “Told you you were fun.”
CHAPTER 2
BEN
I’ve madepeace with the fact that I’m the kind of guy who overpacks for a weeklong trip and still forgets the essentials. In this case, it’s hitting me that I may have forgotten my bathing suit. And definitely toothpaste. Hopefully not the dress shirt I need to wear for the wedding I’m attending in a few days.
The shuttle ride from the airport takes forty-five minutes. I spend twenty of them searching on my phone if one can die from too much humidity, and the rest leaning toward the front of the van so that the AC vent hits me directly in the chest. Outside, the trees are green and lush and the sky is smugly cloudless. It’s the complete opposite of the cold, gray scenery I left behind.
“Bienvenido,” the driver, who introduced himself as Miguel, says as he pulls up to the front of the resort and pops the trunk. It’s an enormous cream-colored building and there’s hundreds of people moving about in their resort wear, smiling and laughing and enjoying the warm weather. The lobby is an open-air massive room, with a handful of reception desks and a full bar on one end.
There’s a high ceiling with fans lazily turning overhead, a water feature with actual fish in it, and music playing thatsounds like it was scientifically designed to slow your resting heart rate.
I scroll through my texts while I wait in line to check in. There’s nothing urgent. My boss sent me a thumbs-up emoji in response to my reminder that I will be out of office this week. My mom liked an Instagram post from two weeks ago. My most recent situationship has left me on read. Par for the course.
“Hi,” the concierge says. Her smile is ear to ear in a very customer service way. I’m so used to this that sometimes it doesn’t even register. “Welcome to Caribbean Splendor. Name?”
“Ben Kingston. I’m with the Grosso / Sanz wedding block.”
The receptionist lights up. “Yes! Of course. Welcome. You’re one of the groomsmen?”
“Oh—no. Just a work friend.”
She types something into the computer, and I brace myself for a room mix-up, but she just smiles. “Your room will be ready in about thirty minutes. Would you like a welcome drink?”
“God, yes.”
She laughs and hands me a laminated card with the resort map, a wristband, and what I think is a coupon for a ten-minute massage by the beach. I take my stuff and wander to the bar across the lobby.
It’s the middle of the afternoon, and the place is already buzzing. Not crazy—but enough to make me feel like I’ve arrived late to something. There’s a group at a high table with matching tote bags that sayBrunch, Booze & Bekahwho allwooat the same time and then follow that with a shot of something clear.
Outside, the brightness punches me in the face.
There’s too much sun, too many colors, too many noises. The music has shifted significantly, and I can clearly discern Christmas carols in the air, even though the weather and the setting don’t immediately scream Christmas to me.
I order a mojito from the poolside bar and lean against a palm tree, pretending to casually take in the scenery like someone who’s not deeply aware of how solo I look.
I don’t mind being alone, not usually. I travel significantly for work as a corporate consultant. I eat alone in restaurants more often than not. But there’s something about beingalone on purposethat feels different. Like everyone else is here to celebrate something, and I just showed up because I didn’t have a better plan.
Still, the drink is good.
