Bestie
Part 2 (Re-write)
The storm calmed after an hour-long rant about how men never know how to handle her.
Justin was a guy Christina had been speaking to on Instagram for the past two weeks. He hadn’t responded to the boob-pics she sent him from the lounge bathroom. So, it was forty-five minutes of hair-holding as Christina retched over the toilet, bracing herself on the cool tiles, sweat beading on her hairline. Somewhere in there, I snuck out to order some room service and a Bloody Mary. I could have predicted this crash-out a mile away.
Finally, after a shower, we were both sitting at the resort bar, bare-faced, in floral maxi-dresses. The bartender was short and muscular. Young, probably around 21. He had a wide smile that was made for Hospitality. Christina leaned over the bar, pushing her breasts together. “Can you make me a special drink?” She said breathily, looking up at him through her lashes. “I’ll drink whatever you give me.”
“Certainly, miss,” He said, winking and turning around to pick out a base liquor.
“Oh my god, he’s giving me rum. He wants me,” she whispered loudly in my ear.
“Obviously, he does,” I replied.
Christina’s eyes narrowed slightly and she went back to sipping her half-finished Piña colada. “So, I think we should go book the catamaran tour first thing tomorrow,” she said.
“Yeah, that sounds like a plan.”
“Are you mad or something?”
“No! I’m just a little tired.”
“Well, you’re being a downer. This is our first night here!” Christina smiled and mouthed Gracias to the bartender as he slid a murky, root beer-looking cocktail across the bar.
“I’m sorry. I’ll have more energy tomorrow.” I turned toward the mirrored bar and made eye contact with the bartender.
He smiled back and sidled toward me. “I think I’d like to try one of those blue things I saw you making earlier… the one with the lemon?”
“Ah, so you’ve been watching me!” he teased. I chuckled.
Christina was quiet for a second, whipped out her phone for a quick scroll.
“Actually, I don’t think you should order that,” she said, flicking her gaze back toward me.
“Wha -“ I started to ask.
“We need to be up to book the sunset catamaran early tomorrow. That guy at the front desk said the tours fill up fast. You can’t handle your booze, and I don’t want it all to fall to me.”
I opened and closed my mouth wordlessly.
“You know what I’m saying, right? We don’t want to go too hard on the first day.”
She looked at the bartender. “We’ll have two club sodas with lime, please.” Pushing her rum cocktail to the side with her index finger as if it disgusted her, she turned herself back to face me and jutted her chin out.
I accepted my non-alcoholic beverage. Balance had been restored. I contemplated how I was feeling as we padded slowly back to our suite down the glistening hallways. After some of our fights, I’d fantasized about moving back to the East Coast and her finding out from an out-of-office reply.
“Look, I just need some space,” I’d said two years prior. “I have different needs than you do.”
“Oh, I totally understand,” Christina responded, closing her eyes and nodding. “By the way, do you want to do a bottle?” After I had texted her back that morning, saying we needed some boundaries, she suggested we meet for a steak salad lunch at our place. The wine was a new addition.
“Ummm… I have a meeting at 1.”
“It’s just that it’s so much cheaper than, say, having two glasses each.”
“I guess…”
“One bottle of Malbec, please!” Christina barked at the server. “Anyway, I just want you to know that I love you so much. You are my bestie, and if you need space, that’s what you need! I’ll have to adjust. I want you to feel safe and comfortable with me.”
“Wow, Chris, thank you.”
That afternoon, with only a few bites of gristly steak salad in my stomach, I drank through my meeting with Christina and woke up on her couch with my pencil skirt twisted tightly around me.
What could I say? I needed this.
We made it back to the room, and I drew the shades, stripping off my dress and changing into a loose t-shirt. I pulled back the woven duvet and silky sheets, resigning myself to a good night’s sleep. Just as I was closing my eyes, I felt the bedding rustle and the unmistakable weight of another human next to me.
My body stiffened, and I called out, “What’s up, Chris?”
“I just want to sleep with you tonight, is that ok?”
“Ahhhhmmm… no—,“
“Please! Please. All that stuff with Justin messed with my head really badly, and I’m in such a shitty place. I won’t take up your side of the bed, I promise, I won’t even touch you. I just can’t be alone tonight. Pretty please?”
“… ok, fine.”
As I lay there, eyes adjusting to the darkness, Christina started to snore quietly. I slipped out of bed and onto the crushed velvet couch across the room. I closed my eyes and listened to the chorus of tree frogs. I sank into the fabric and thought to myself, “She’ll feel better once we book the catamaran.”
At six AM, I was still wide awake. I watched the shadows creep across the floor as the fresh, morning sun filtered through the drawn curtains. Christina was still out, and would be for some time. I got ready as quietly as I could, throwing on a light, cotton dress and flip flops. I grabbed my keycard and headed down the pathway.
As I approached the beach, everything seemed to slow. The sand was shimmering. The waves gently lapped on the shore. I closed my eyes and tried to remember the last time I felt true peace. I squeezed my eyelids shut on the realization that I couldn’t remember.
I heard a familiar voice behind me.
“Where did you go?” Christina demanded.
“Just for a walk, you know me… I can’t sleep in strange places.”
“I woke up, and you were just… gone. You have to tell me before you leave the room.”
“OK. Sorry. I honestly thought you would be sleeping longer.”
“It’s fine, whatever. I had such weird dreams last night. Let’s go make that reservation for that fucking thing tonight — what did you say it was?”
Three weeks ago, we were side-by-side at Christina’s desk, scanning through the list of different catamaran options, weighing every point on their list of “What’s Included,” and crawling through each review on TripAdvisor. Her idea. I was never much for comparison shopping. I tried to tell her. She rolled out a chair. “Sit,” she had said. “You don’t know how to travel. I need to teach you.”
“We register at the Concierge Desk,” I said. “Let’s go!”
A group of resort workers passed us and smiled. I stretched my jaw and heard a click. Christina piped up, “You know what, bestie? Let me do this. You go back to the room and take a nap or something.”
“Huh? Are you sure? Why?”
She let out an easy chuckle, and a kind look spread across her face. “It’s no big deal! You were up early, and this won’t take long. I’m happy to get us registered, and we can meet up a little later for brunch by the pool! Sounds like a plan?”
I gave her a quick hug and made my way back to the room.
And then, I was back in middle school, staring at a birthday cake with only two slices missing. Junior high, running as fast as I could away from the community pool, all the other kids refused to get in if I was there. I was 20, alone in a dingy basement apartment in the city, refreshing my Facebook page to see if anyone had responded to my invite to a housewarming party. Life felt like one long inside joke I wasn’t allowed to be part of.
Christina made friends wherever she went. She was vibrant. Opinionated. Cheeky. Charming. Early in our friendship, I found myself mirroring her and picking up some of her conversational tricks. At the same time, I noticed she had started dressing like me. She shopped for more tailored dresses and blazers and started darkening and shaping her eyebrows, just like me. She found out I went to therapy for my anxiety, and she immediately went online and found her own therapist. “Finally,” I thought, “A real friendship.”
Once I made it back to the room, I decided to lie down in a bed without anyone else in it. I changed back into my oversized sleeping t-shirt and snuggled in. The blackout blinds squeezed out most of the morning sun. I was asleep within minutes.
Hours later, I woke with a deep sense of dread.
Did I have a bad dream? I looked at the bedside table, and my phone was sitting there. I reached over and tapped the screen.
Twenty-seven missed calls and texts.
