“You’re right babes, let’s get ready for the spa. We have massage appointments at 10:00,” I say.
She hops in place like a little kid.
“Yayyyy! I’ve never gotten a massage! I’m so excited!”
Then, we dress in our matching onesies and our luxurious fur coats.
***
“Ahhhh” I say as my masseuse, Caesar digs his elbows into my upper back, undoing all the knots in my back and shoulders. I’m tense from all that tossing and turning I did last night.
“This feels amazing,” Lana says, though it’s muffled.
I booked us a couple’s massage because Lana and I are basically married in every way except sexually. Besties, soulmates, codependents—take your pick. Honestly, the spa staff probably thinks we’re honeymooning. Let them.
As stunning and sweet as Lana is, I still need the real thing—preferably attached to a man who knows what to do with it. Silicone just doesn’t cut it.
An hour later, we’re relaxing in a mud bath, letting all of the elements benefit us. Some people think it’s gross, but I find it rejuvenating. Lana and I are covered head to toe in mud when someone walks in and delivers a message to one of the spa employees.
It’s him.
Is it?
The mud on my forehead drips down over my eyes, I can’t see.
Crap!
I try to wipe it away, but I just keep adding more mud from my hands. I make my way over to the edge of the bath and feel the ground until I feel a towel. Once I find one, I use it to clean my face.
But I don’t clean it in time because when my eyes are finally able to see again, he’s gone.
Was he even there in the first place?
Or was it all just a mirage?
Probably the second one.
Afterwards, we’ll head into the hot springs to allow the spring to open our pores, heal, and detoxify us. I don’t mention to Lana mydelusions so we can enjoy the rest of our time without me being boy crazy.
This is my favorite part of the spa, because there are a few kiosks along the edge of the spring where employees serve anti-ageing face masks that can be washed off in the water. After our bath, Lana and I go up to the window and ask for our masks. The employees give us the concoction and we divide the amount so we each get half.
We slowly walk through the water, eventually arriving at a spot that we can sit on that’s pretty secluded. Once we get settled, we take a seat on some rocks that are in the water, so we can be half in and half out while our masks dry.
“So, legend says this spring makes people fall in love. Like, chemically. My parents swore by it—came here early in their relationship, took one dip, dropped the L-word before their towels were dry.” I tell Lana.
She looks over at me, “Good one, Gen.”
“No, I’m serious. That’s how my parents fell in love. They came to Silver Lake on a vacation when they were a few months into dating and they said ‘I love you’ right after they got out of this exact spring.”
It’s a true story.
“That could have just been a coincidence, that doesn’t mean this spring holds magical powers,” she says.
“Oh really?” I say pointing to the sign sticking out of the water right by us that shares the myth.
“Oh…” Lana says, “My bad.”
Then she laughs.
