Bestie
Part 1 (Re-write)
The cheap champagne in Business Class was sour. Goods were not as advertised. The air was tepid at 35,000 feet above the Papagayo Peninsula.
We were about to begin our descent, thank God. It had been a long six hours pretending the $1,300 last-minute upgrade was worth it. If it had been up to me, we would have set up shop at the sports bar, nursing overpriced pints and maybe an Airport Burger (a term I’d coined for any greasy food indulgence).
But, no… this was a “Special Ladies Trip.” No expense to be spared. We sat in the Members Lounge, scrolling on our phones and chugging free wine as the warm, glowy lighting lit up rain pellets on the big windows that peered over the runway. It was high-brow. Grown-up. That was the theme of our take-off, according to Christina.
“We’re not going to be like those dumb, twenty-year-old bitches who don’t know how to vacation properly. We are going to spend money, because we HAVE money,” she announced earlier that week. “Ugh, and I hate that bathing suit on you.”
I shimmied out of the turquoise one-piece with a gossamer sarong. I thought it looked elegant, but if I chose it after Christina vetoed it, I’d only have to hear about it for our entire lunch hour. It wasn’t on theme, anyway.
Christina always decided our themes.
As our plane tilted toward the runway of Daniel Oduber International Airport, Christina was bobbing in her seat. “Top me up! Top me up!” she crowed at the flight attendant. His cold smile didn’t reach his eyes. He glanced at me quickly and then back to Christina. The empty mini-bottles of champagne clinked in the turbulence.
“Ma’am, I cannot top you up. We are beginning our descent,” the attendant said.
“Well, what the fuck did I pay thirteen hundred dollars for?” Christina flopped back into the seat and turned toward me. “Can I just say, you are the best friend I’vesssever had. And I’m so, so glad that you agreed to come on this trip with me.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Because, you know, and I’ve wanted to say this for a while… as your friend, I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t mention something. About your new man. Connor. There are some things…”
“Things?”
“Red flags…,”
Oh, Christ. Just as she was about to launch into a half-baked psychoanalysis of my three-month situationship, the pilot came on the intercom:
“Well, folks, thank you so much for flying with us today. We sure do hope you enjoyed your flight. We will be touching down in Costa Rica in about ten minutes. If this is your final destination, enjoy all the beauty that Papagayo has to offer. Thanks for flying with us, and have a wonderful day.”
Christina started bobbing in her seat again. “I never got to take these vacations with anyone! My sister and her friends used to go every year, but I didn’t really mesh with their friend group.”
I felt a pang, picturing 20-year-old Christina scrolling Facebook, looking at her younger sister on a beach, with a ton of friends. I put my arm around her shoulders. “Well, we’re gonna make this one to remember.”
Christina stopped bouncing for a second to look into my eyes and squeeze my hand. She beamed at me, “I fucking love you, bestie.”
A sprinter van was waiting for us after we cleared baggage claim and customs. Stepping out into the Costa Rican afternoon, I relished the sun on my skin.
My moment was short-lived. Christina instructed the van operator on how to stack our luggage. “… No, it’s the blue one on the bottom and the red one… NO, not that red one.. yes, the tiny little red one. Squish that to the side. HEY! Get in the van!”
I threw my backpack onto the cold, faux-leather seats of the van and stepped into the air conditioning. Christina piled in next to me, and we rode silently through the countryside, occasionally filming on our phones. The Four Seasons Papagayo was about an hour away from the airport, nestled under a deep canopy of palm trees. The grounds were perfectly manicured, featuring wading pools, cream towels stacked high on pool chairs and cabanas draped with translucent fabric. The air smelled like flowers and sandalwood.
Every nerve ending in my body cooled, and the muscles in my back relaxed. Work made things awkward between us back in Toronto. What we needed was a nice break to blow off some steam. A resort worker handed us a bright green cocktail in a champagne glass, topped with a huge slice of pineapple. “Welcome to the Four Seasons, Miss Megan and Miss Christina. Won’t you follow me to your suite?”
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my GOD!” Christina whispered loudly in my ear and I smiled. It felt good to be with someone who didn’t have to pretend to be unimpressed. “You are gonna be SO HAPPY that I made you cancel that reservation at Secrets. This is going to be sooo much better.”
Christina slipped a hand into mine and let her pinky finger rest, then stroke my wrist once.
“Yeah, I mean.. it was half the price…”
“Oh, who cares? Listen, you make a great salary and you deserve to spend it. This trip is like two months’ pay. What’s that, in the grand scheme of things? I don’t want to feel like I FORCED you to do this or something… that actually hurts my feelings—“
I stopped the runaway train before it started, “No, no… I meant that I’m happy we upgraded. Really! You’re right, I need to loosen up.”
She smiled, “OK, good. I just want to have fun this week.”
“Me, too.”
We had arrived at our room. It was a Canopy Plunge Pool Suite. The palm leaves on the terrace waved in the warm breeze as the ocean peeked through. The room was spacious and airy, with beachy accents and wooden furniture. The Plunge Pool overlooked the ocean view, branching off the terrace slightly, with terra cotta tiles, jets bubbling away.
We tipped the employee (generously, Christina always insisted they would do ‘favours’ for you later if you tipped them well upfront) and began settling in. About a half hour passed, and the silence in the room stretched. I popped my head around the corner into the main space.
Christina was sitting with her back to me at the small table on the terrace, staring intently at her phone, which was resting on the table, unlocked.
I took a tentative step toward her. “Chris?”
She whipped toward me, and as she did, I saw her body had been blocking the view of a bottle of tequila, a quarter gone. A used shot glass was sitting in front of her. Her eye makeup was smudged, her face was puffy, and she was breathing heavily. “I… ju-just… checked my DMs and… Justin SAW my message… but…he didn’t respond. What the FUCK is wrong with him? Why would you tell me to send that message? I’m sending him a voice note.”
She poured another shot and downed it. As she was shifting to turn closer to me, she fell off her chair, hard, on her ass.
