Page 120 of How to Honeymoon Alone

“To each other?”

“Yes. I’ve heard of how long it can sometimes take for international mail. We might get them in two weeks, or two months, or never. But if they arrive, it’ll be a little reminder of this.” I rest my hand on his chest, and through the linen of his shirt, I can feel the beating of his heart.

A reminder of you,I think.

“What would we write?” he asks.

“Anything we want. But it’d be a secret.”

“Ah, neither of us would know until we get our card.”

“Exactly,” I say. “Are you game?”

His mouth tips up into a smile, and his hand brushes over my cheek. “Sure.”

We stand on either side of the little display of postcards. Up top is a sign that says the concierge will be happy to postmark and send them on their way. It’s a complimentary service, apparently, and if I ever suspected this wasn’t a five-star resort, this would have convinced me.

“Which one are you choosing?” I ask Phillip, looking at all the versions of tropical beaches.

“I’m not telling,” he says.

“What?”

“The whole thing is supposed to be a surprise, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then so will my choice of the card,” he says. He holds up a card and an envelope in one hand and steps back. “Don’t peek.”

“I would never!”

“Right,” he says and raises an eyebrow. “Remember, I’m a lawyer. Breaking the rules is a suable offense.”

“It absolutely is not.”

“That’s your last warning,” he says with a smile and turns around to the concierge. I’m smiling at his back. He asks for a pen, and I watch as he writes down whatever it is he wants to say to future me.

What do I want to say?

I choose a postcard with a map of the island on it, and with my marker, I draw a little heart around the Oistins Fish Market.

I hesitate for a few seconds before I start writing.

Hello from Barbados,

By the time you read this, you’ll be back at your twenty-four-seven job, merging and acquiring. But I don’t want you to forget your vacation self. How rarely you shaved, and how you told your coworkers to fend for themselves. Your vacation self was a tough nut to crack in the beginning… but he turned out to be a really great guy. I didn’t expect to meet him, but I’m really glad it happened. And I want you to remember it, too. How you were. Don’t forget to relax sometime and watch the metaphorical turtles hatch.

And if you ever want to take a trip to Pinecrest, I’d love to be your guide.

Thanks for everything,

Eden.

I finish the tiny scrawl on the postcard. My words don’t feel like enough. Not at all. But as I look over at him, standing tall by the concierge and conversing with an employee, I realize he probably isn’t writing beautiful poetry or anything, either.

Don’t fall off any more boats,perhaps. Some quip about the baby turtles hatching, maybe. A dig at my guidebook, for sure.

Phillip and I exchange addresses. I had his memorized from the itinerary, but I pretend I don’t, and write it out on the back of my postcard.

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