There are no other vehicles nearby. No other roads. No buildings. Where is this tour taking us?
The limo slows. I turn to face Lily, eyebrow arched in question, but she is in her own little world, playing some game on her phone. “Lil,” I whisper at her. She looks at me with the same bubbly look she always has.
“More margarita?” Phone down, she picks up the carafe out of the ice bucket and tops off my cup. I’m so thirsty.
“Why are we slowing down? Can I get some water?” Lily looks confused at my questions, then takes a minute to look out the window.
“I guess this is our next stop. We’re supposed to see a coyote sanctuary. I don’t see any water bottles. I’ll ask James.”
Before she can say anything else, the limo has stopped. On the side of the road—half the wheels in the desert dust. Huh. James is at our door in a flash, opening it with a flourish and a very wide smile. Obediently, we get out. It feels good to stretch after sitting for so long in the car. “Where are we?” I ask.
“We are headed to the coyote sanctuary. But first we need to make a pit-stop.” He shuts the door and steps away from us. Pit stop? Here? There isn’t a building as far as I can see, let alone a gas station.
“Are we out of gas?” Now I’m concerned.
Lily shakes her head in anof course everything is fineway that she’s done as long as I can remember. Reaching for the door, she says, “Let me see if we have signal. We can look up the nearest gas station.”
“That won’t be necessary,” our driver is now standing beside his door. He opens it, jumps in, shifts into gear, and guns the gas pedal, spraying us in a shower of pebbles and dust as the rear tireattempts to get traction before all four tires make it onto the jet black asphalt of the highway.
And there it goes, our sleek black limousine, driving into the distance.
I look at Lily, who is staring after the limo, expectantly waiting much like a dog waits for its master at the front door, knowing at some point relief will come. Except, the brake lights never flash red.
We’re both wearing skimpy tank-tops, hers with glittery letters that spell ‘BRIDE.’ Mine with glittery letters that say, ‘THE OTHER ONE,’ which sums up everything you need to know about our relationship. I’m wearing linen shorts, she has on a really tiny ruffly skirt. Both of us are wearing flip-flops and holding our margarita tumblers. No water. No hat. No phones. At least I have my sunglasses to protect me from the blazing sun.
Chapter 2
Hyacinth
Well. That sucks.
Lily screams in frustration and anger, stomping her foot in protest. “Ow!” She stomped on a rock. Figures.
“Did you roll your ankle?” I ask, hoping to the heavens that she hasn’t. I can’t carry her, and I can’t leave her here while I go for help. I’ve read enough novels to know that won’t end well for either of us.
“No, but I probably bruised my heel.” Her statement is a sniffly whine. Oh, please don’t cry.
“Okay! Well, we need to pick a direction to walk in.”
“Walk? Walk where?” Oh yeah, the tears are starting. I have to calm her down. We have to conserve every ounce of liquid we have. The sun is still high in the sky, still hot as fuck. I can feel the skin on my shoulders and arms heating already.
Stepping towards Lily, I put a hand on her arm and plaster the fakest smile I can manage onto my face. “Look, we can’t stay here. Our best bet is probably to walk back the way we came. I imagine we’ll find more traffic the closer we get to Las Vegas, yeah?” She sniffles and nods. “Okay, try not to cry, let’s not gettoo dehydrated.” I pull her into me to hug her, let her know we’re in this together.
Our childhood is a series of her assuming she is the center of the world, and me trying to ground her in reality so she doesn’t get hurt, then put her pieces back together when she inevitably does. Our dad always said I was her anchor. I hated that analogy when we were teens, bristled against it. Tried to ignore that need to be that for her. But always, in the end, I’d be there for her. It was like that all through college, too. And it’s exhausting. Right before finals, I was up all night—not studying like I’d planned to, but consoling her after another boyfriend broke her heart.
It helped that we no longer live in the same town. Yes, I chose a job in another state so that I couldn’t be her daily anchor anymore. And for most of seven years, it’s worked in my favor.
It’s shameful to admit, but I hoped that in marrying Patrick, he’d be the one to take that role over from me. But it’s possible that I—that we—overestimated Patrick. Because either he doesn’t know how to check Yelp reviews before sending his fiancée out into the desert wilderness, or…murder vibes.
Either way, it’s going to be a long road back to recovery. Once we reach our hotel, that is. I’m not sure I’ve ever regretted my shoe choices more than at this very moment. Heat has permeated the foam sole of my flip-flop, and now the bottom of my feet are just as hot as the tops of my toes. I’ve never sunburned my toes before.
This is going to be a day of many firsts.
Our first fight is swift and fast. I want to walk the way we came. Lil wants to walk after the limo. “That’s our ride!”
“Yeah, but our ride left us in the middle of nowhere! I wouldn’t trust him now.”
“But Patrick paid for the tour. And my phone is in the limo!”
