Page 68 of One Bride for Three Single Dads

But beer is supposed to be cold, am I right? Am I crazy?

And what the hell kind of beer is this? It’s like molasses or maple syrup or something. Super dark. I feel like it kind of slides into my throat, like I’m being facially penetrated.

Gross.

But I can’t say anything, because here I am! With my boyfriends! In public!

In another country!

I mean, come on. It’s a dream come true. I should be grateful.

The funny thing is, I have had a passport for three years. Why would a girl like me have a passport? I never even expected to go to Illinois or Florida, much less leave the country.

The truth is, a few years ago when Tony and I were dating, he asked me to go to Mexico. His band had a gig at a resort somewhere. It was going to be a three-day gig, but then we would stay at the resort for the full week.

Absolutely paradise. I applied for my passport the very next day. Sometimes passports take a long time to get. I didn’t want to miss it by blowing off the deadline or anything like that.

So, days went by. Then weeks. I got my passport in the mail. Really an interesting, kind of old-fashioned thing, isn’t it? You get this little booklet, and nothing else in the world is the same size as this booklet. Only passports come in this size. It makes it all so special, you know?

The booklet is filled with pages. The pages have light-colored scribbles on them, I guess so you don’t make fakes or anything. There are light lines dividing the pages. I think that when you go somewhere, before they let you in, they are supposed to stamp the book. Like, really pound it. Blammo.

That is how it works in movies.

And I never got to find out for sure until today. I only knew how it worked in movies.

I never got to go to Mexico.

I didn’t even know that I wasn’t going to Mexico until Tony was packing for his trip. He had four kinds of swim trunks and three kinds of flip-flops. Only two T-shirts. I guess he was planning on spending a lot of time with his shirt off.

I came in the bedroom while he was packing, startled to see the situation. Then I remembered.

“Oh, Mexico!”

He looked up, grinning.

“Totally! I have to get ready. Sorry, babe, can I get behind you? I need my extra sunglasses.”

“Oh, sure,” I muttered, confused as I stepped aside. “Are we late? When are we leaving?”

He picked up the sunglasses and walked backward, squinting at me in confusion.

“Can you drive me to the airport?” he asked shrewdly.

I started to feel kind of sick. Kind of stupid. Kind of… I don’t even have words for it.

“Are you… Tony? Is this the Mexico trip? The gig?”

“Yeah, babe.”

I looked at his face. There seemed to be nothing there. Like there was a wall. I could see him behind the wall, but I could not connect with him directly.

“Am I… going with you?”

It actually took me almost a whole minute to phrase that question. I think that sometimes there must be something wrong with me. In movies, women just start throwing shit. They say things like “You let me down! How could you!”

Me? I’m trying to figure out how to not offend him.

Even thoughIshould be offended.

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