Page 105 of People We Meet on Vacation

We don’t so much as brush against each other until we hug goodbye. We never speak about what happened again.

I go on loving him.

30

This Summer

SO I GUESSwe’re not talking about what happened on Nikolai’s balcony, and that needs to be fine. When I wake up in our Technicolor hotel room of the Larrea Palm Springs, Alex’s bed is empty and made, and a handwritten note on the desk reads,RUNNING—BE BACK SOON.P.S. ALREADY PICKED UP THE CAR FROM THE SHOP.

It’s not like I expected a bunch of hugs and kisses and pledges of love, but he could’ve spared aLast night was great. Or maybe a cheery exclamation point.

Also, how is he running in this heat? There’s just a lot going on in that very short note and my paranoia helpfully suggests that he’s running to clear his head after what happened.

In Croatia, he’d freaked out. We both had. But that had happened at the tail end of the trip, when we could retreat to our separate corners of the country afterward. This time, we’ve got a bachelor party, rehearsal dinner, and wedding to get through.

Still, I promised I wasn’t going to let this mess us up, and I meant it.

I need to keep things light, to do my part in preventing a postcoital freak-out.

I think about texting Rachel for advice, or just to have someone to squeal with, but the truth is, I don’t want to tell anyone about this. Iwantit to be something only between Alex and me, like so much of the world is when we’re together. I toss my phone back onto the bed, grab a pen from my purse, and add to the bottom of Alex’s note,At pool—meet me there?

When he shows up, he’s still dressed in his running clothes and carrying a small brown bag and a paper coffee cup, and the sight of all this combined makes me feel tingly and eager.

“Cinnamon roll,” he says, passing me the bag, then the cup. “Latte. And the Aspire’s out in the lot with its flashy new tire.”

I wave my coffee cup in a vague circle in front of him. “Angel. How much was the tire?”

“Don’t remember,” he says. “I’m gonna go shower.”

“Before you... come sweat by the pool?”

“Before I come sit in that pool for the entire day.”

It’s not much of an exaggeration. We lounge to our hearts’ content. We relax. We alternate between sun and shade. We order drinks and nachos from the poolside bar and reapply sunblock every hour, and still make it back to the room with plenty of time to get ready for David’s bachelor party. He and Tham decided to do separate ones (though both are coed), and Alex jokes that David chose this plan to force a popularity contest.

“No one is more popular than your brother,” I say.

“You haven’t met Tham yet,” he says, then walks into the bathroom and starts the water.

“Are you seriously showering again?”

“Rinsing,” he says.

“Remember in elementary school how kids used to standbehind you in line for the water fountain and say ‘Save some for the whales’?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Well, save some for the whales, buddy!”

“You have to be nice to me,” he says. “I brought you a cinnamon roll.”

“Buttery and warm and perfect,” I say, and he blushes as he shuts the bathroom door.

I really have no idea what’s going on. For example: why didn’t we just stay in the room and make out all day?

I slip into a seventies lime-green halter jumpsuit and start working on my hair at the mirror outside the bathroom, and a few minutes later, Alex emerges already dressed and almost ready to go.

“How long do you need?” he asks, looking over my shoulder to meet my eyes in the mirror, his wet hair sticking up in every direction.

---