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Chapter Three
The plane had landed smoothly, but the sprint across Miami International Airport left Samantha breathlessly exhilarated. After lockdown, it was such a privilege to travel across country, let alone across the Atlantic.
Samantha was reaching for one of her suitcases as it snaked past on the luggage carousel when Hugo called. True to his word, he had come to meet her. Jasmine was with him, having arrived hours earlier from Montreal.
‘What’s the hold-up?’ Hugo asked impatiently. He was circling the airport perimeter road.
‘I’m at baggage claim.’
‘Who checks in luggage in this day and age?’ he scoffed.
‘I do!’
Samantha could never claim to travel light. On an average trip she maxed out the allowed luggage. This time, she’d devoted one suitcase to the various outfits for the pre- and post-wedding events. Her carry-on held her camera equipment and laptop. This trip was going to be fun and productive even if it killed her. She was launching a new travel blog, a dream whose time had come.
‘So you’ll be out in an hour, then?’ Hugo said. ‘I’ll take another lap around the airport.’
‘Can’t you pay to park?’
‘Can’t you get out already?’
‘See you in a minute!’
After twenty minutes languishing through customs, Samantha rolled out of the airport. The chilled air gave way to thick humidity. She could feel her hair reacting, each corkscrew curl coiling tighter.
Hugo pulled up to the kerb and hopped out of the truck he’d borrowed for the occasion. Tan and tattooed, with a strong nose and a mop of curly black hair, Hugo was a Miami dream. Jasmine emerged from the passenger side. Petite and pretty, with the golden-brown complexion of sand, she wore her hair in long box braids that spilled down her back. They pulled Samantha into a sloppy hug while a traffic guard blew hard on a whistle, urging them to get a move on. Samantha closed her eyes and lost herself in the embrace. She may not have a great love, but she most definitely had great friends.
The Vegas Squad came together about five years ago. Naomi was only an intern at the California design firm that ultimately hired her when she was tasked with setting up a booth at a Las Vegas international exposition. They’d booked her a room at one of the grand hotels on the famous strip and Samantha had leaped at the chance to tag along. While Naomi worked, Samantha spent her days lounging by the pool. There she met the Brazilian graphic artist and the French-Canadian illustrator who would turn her life upside down. They were in Vegas for the expo as well, but unlike Naomi, they spent little time in the packed conference halls. They had a long list of locations and attractions to visit, including a helicopter ride over the Grand Canyon. Samantha had just turned twenty and was still terribly preoccupied with looking cool.
‘I’d rather avoid the touristy spots,’ she said. She was sitting at the edge of the pool, her feet dangling in the water.
‘That’s where you and I differ,’ Hugo said. He was bobbing along the pool’s surface on a swan-shaped raft, sipping a piña colada. ‘I’d rather do it all.’
That hot afternoon in Vegas, enveloped by the scent of chlorine and coconut rum, Samantha had an honest to goodness epiphany. A neon light flickered in her mind. Why not do it all? She was a tourist. Who exactly was she trying to impress? By playing it cool she was only going to miss out.
From that day on, she joined Hugo and Jasmine on their outings. Nothing was off the table. Selfies with wax figures of celebrities, indoor gondola rides, a dancing fountain show at a quarter to midnight. Once they’d wrangled Naomi free, they got her to join the fun. Somewhere between pool parties at MGM Grand and bottomless cocktails at Vegas Vickie’s, the four became friends. On the last night of their stay, they planned a future trip to Mexico. They’d been best buddies and travel partners ever since.
Documenting their adventures in a blog had always been in the back of Samantha’s mind, but she’d never acted on it. And as time passed and adulting took its toll, the opportunities for spontaneous travel grew scarce. She and Timothy hardly travelled. He was not one to venture far. A road trip here and there was more his speed. Samantha had shelved the idea until the day Naomi called with news.
‘Are you sitting down? Anthony and I are getting married in Tobago and you’re all invited!’
Hugo and his husband shared a minuscule condo in the trendy neighbourhood of Brickell. Samantha’s luggage joined Jasmine’s pile in a space that did not qualify as a guest bedroom. The view from the wraparound balcony more than made up for it, however. After watching the sun set over the bay, they showered, changed, and set out for dinner.
When in Miami, you wore white. That was the unwritten rule. Jasmine had on a white tunic with gold embroidery and a pair of strappy gold sandals. Samantha paired a white cotton mini dress with turquoise mules. Hugo threw a tailored blazer over a plain white T-shirt and kissed his husband goodnight. It was officially ladies’ night out. Hugo’s pronouns were he/him, but he was definitely one of the girls.
The restaurant was located on a top floor of a glossy boutique hotel only blocks from Hugo’s place. He knew everyone from the doorman to the hostess. His popularity helped them score a table on the terrace with glittering views of all Miami had to offer. Samantha and Jasmine ordered mojitos, a traditional Cuban cocktail. Hugo honoured his own heritage with a caipirinha.
The topic of the night was Naomi’s flash wedding. Ever since the ‘save the date’ notice had popped into their inboxes, the wedding had dominated their private news cycle – every email, private text, or group chat had been dedicated to Naomi’s mad dash to the altar. Now the time had come to hash it out in person.
If this were a Hollywood production, Naomi would be the star cast in the role of the sophisticated professional who falls for the former jock-turned-fitness professional. They’d met one dreamy California evening in late November. Naomi attended a charity gala and took part in a silent auction. Single women bid on dates or activities with a bevvy of gorgeous single men: firefighters, minor celebrity chefs, and the like. By the end of the night, she’d won a six-week intensive package with Anthony Scott, personal trainer to the stars. In January she booked her first session. At the end of the six-week period, not only was Naomi in the best shape of her life, she was madly in love. Shortly thereafter, she announced their engagement.
It was a lovely story. And yet Samantha had questions: Who does this? Who marries a man within six months of their first encounter? It made no sense.
Jasmine echoed this sentiment, only in French. ‘Mais à quoi elle pense?’
Samantha’s French was limited. She didn’t have the words in any language to express her confusion. Sensible Naomi wasn’t one to rush into any decision, let alone a lifelong commitment.
‘The man is hot,’ Hugo said. ‘That’s not even a question.’
