Page 6 of Two Sticky Nuts

“What?” I prod.

“Dissis a family resort, miss. You won’t be findin’ no single men here.”

“I’m sorry. What?”

“Family resort. Did you not noticedikiddy pool and puppet shows allaftanoon? Or the huge mouse givin’ out ice cream? Magic Mouse is a favorite withdikids.”

I saw the kiddy pool, but that didn’t strike me as odd. And no, I didn’t see puppets or an ice-cream-pimping mouse. “We just rolled in four hours ago.”

“Well, you’re in the wrong place if you’re lookingfamen.” She walks away, stifling a laugh.

I can’t fucking believe it. Sofie brought me to a Jamaican Chuck E. Cheese.

CHAPTER FOUR

The next morning, I wake to a snoring Sofie in the other bed. I want to punch her in her beautifully rested blissful face. And I don’t even have to ask how good her orgasms were last night because the smile glued to her resting lips says it all.

My jealousy rears its ugly head and starts spitting in her general direction.Ptewy! Ptewy!

No, no. Don’t go there,I tell myself. If I’d found some hot man with dimples for days to hump my woes away, I’d expect her to stuff my purse with condoms and send me on my way.

I will be the good, dutiful friend. I will be grateful because she brought me to paradise. Even if it’s a family resort without single men.

Sofie rolls over, her back to me. “Oh stop.” She giggles in her sleep. “That tickles.”

Dutiful friend, yes. Sucka for punishment. Nope.

Determined to make the most of this trip and at least get in some relaxation, I shower, slather on sunscreen, and hit the pool.

That does it. I’m leaving on the first flight.I look around at all the happy families with children squealing and splashing in the pool. Women are sipping fruity cocktails while their husbands rub suntan oil on their backs. Some of the parents are in the wading pool filled with babies in adorable sun hats.

I can’t take another minute of this crap!Everyone here looks like they just fell out of a Target summer sale catalog, all happy and glowing and basking in their perfect lives. Even these kids are making me jealous. So cute and joyful.

And I don’t even like kids!But I bet lots of women here didn’t either. And then…they met the right guy. Suddenly, they found themselves wanting to see tiny versions of him.

“Here’s your pina colada, miss,” says the waiter who’s working the pool area. I chug down the tepid one in my hand, set the cup aside, and take the fresh one.

“Thanks,” I say, staring at the perfectly cut pineapple slice stuck to the edge of the cup.It’s a little happy face. Fuck, I hate this place.

Sad part is, I don’t want to hate it, but it keeps making me think about how I’m so far behind in life.

What if I never meet Mr. Right?

Or what if I do, but I meet him when I’m older, and it’s too late?And then I find myself wanting kids, but my ovaries are too decrepit, so my dream of coming to a place like this—not that it’s my dream—but it could be—I could change just like these women—then I might want this dream and can’t have it, so I have to live my life with Mr. Right and an emptiness inside me.

I inhale slowly and exhale.It’s better just to stay single.And lucky me, I’m actually pretty good at it.Yeah, see, Mila. You’re not doing so bad in life. No relationship. Crappy job. No home. Fuck, I suck.

It dawns on me that this is exactly why I don’t take time off. I start peeling my life-onion, removing one layer at a time, overanalyzing everything, which inevitably leads to spiraling and negative self-talk. This isnotrelaxing.

I blame you, Mom and Dad. Learning to relax was never in the program. It was always go, go, go at our house.

Don’t get me wrong, they were loving parents (when I saw them), but all they did was work. Mom is a lawyer, and Dad runs his own construction company. Both are successful now, but in the early years, they put in a lot of hours. Growing up, the expectation was that I, too, would someday work myself to the bone and conquer the world.

And if you think my aunt—a stay-home mom who babysat me five days a week—was any mellower, you’d be wrong. Between taking care of me and her two kids, she was always busy. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, homework, and after-school-activities chauffeur. She never stopped moving. And I never learned how to chill out.

A random beach ball flies into my lap, splashing the piña colada down my cleavage.

“Ooh, that’s cold!” I grab the rolled-up fresh towel from the empty chair beside me and start dabbing my bright green bikini. It’s a hideous color, but it turns out there aren’t too many choices when you go shopping for a bathing suit at the drugstore when the mall is closed.

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