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“Wow!” I call. “This is amazing!”
And it is. A makeshift hut with a straw roof like the one on the island has been assembled on the side wall. The counter is filled with a taco bar and mocktails. Peter from maintenance is serving as the bartender, even though his daiquiris are virgin and the piña colada is all juice and coconut.
He holds up an enormous glass goblet. “What’s your poison?”
I look over the food. “With tacos, I’d say strawberry daiquiri!”
“You got it.” He drops strawberries into a blender with a scoop of ice, then pours in simple syrup.
I turn to look over the crowd. I swear I recognize some of the getups from a year ago. Marney in marketing, whose role was downgraded since she wasn’t able to keep up with her former workload, is wearing the same striped sundress with her orthopedics that I remember from the cruise.
Viola has her white mesh back, only this time it’s covering hot pink skater shorts and a black sports bra.
The crew is colorful, that’s for sure. It’s a lovely, bright send-off.
“And here you are, milady,” Peter says, handing me the oversized glass. I notice everyone else has plastic cups. When I look more closely at it, I see the words, “Bailey Johansson, VP of Marketing, Island Survivor.”
“I love it,” I tell him. “Thank you.”
Caribbean music creates a melodic undertone beneath the hum of conversation. Rhett grabs a drink, and we walk among the staff, accepting handshakes and hugs.
I’m going to miss this place.
Gloria wanders up. “When do classes start?”
“Two weeks. I’m still trying to switch one credit.”
“A masters in poly sci,” Gloria says. “It’s a brave choice.”
“Depends on what I do with it,” I say.
Rhett leans in. “She’ll use her power for good.”
“I’m sure she will.” Gloria squeezes my arm. “Martin seems great, but we will miss you around here.”
“I’ll miss you all, too.”
The music grows louder, and everyone realizes at once that it’s a conga line song.
“Hi yi yi yi!” Hammond from IT calls out, his neck encircled with plastic leis. He starts rolling his hands to the beat, and others fall in behind. They form a long snake in the center of the room, pulling up anyone seated on the chairs along the wall.
Rhett takes my drink from me right as I’m swept into the fray.
We conga through the meeting room, down the hall, to the elevator, and back. When we return, the music has switched to something else entirely, and everyone breaks apart with laughter.
“We out conga’d the conga!” Hammond shouts.
Rhett returns my glass to me. He’s holding a tray of oysters.
“Oh, not again,” I say. I haven’t touched them since we were stranded on the island.
“Try the one in the middle,” Rhett says. “It’s special.”
I hold up my hand. “Oh no, nobody’s going to make me slurp raw sea creatures.”
Gloria returns, her eyes oddly glittery. “Just take a peek inside.”
I realize everyone is looking at me, and the music has been turned down.
