Things Girls Do: Vacation, Part II
In lieu of the wine pairing.
‘Things Girls Do’ is an ongoing series for paid Sunday Scaries subscribers beginning next month. You can find Part I in the archive here.
“I mean, it’s a bit weird she just wouldn’t return my text, no?”
Todd looks at a zit on his neck in the perfectly-lit bathroom mirror. With a clenched jaw stifling his words so he could pop it correctly, he mumbles, “I don’t know, she’s on vacation, so I bet she’s not on her phone much.”
She thought about her screentime for the day. 7 hours and 57 minutes. If anything, she just realized she was on her phone more on vacation than she would be if she were in the office. An embarrassing criticism of the way ‘unplugging’ has evolved. Rather than confront that train of thought directly, she diverts.
With her voice slightly raised so Todd can hear her from the bed where she sits in the hotel robe, she says, “I get it, I wouldn’t want to hang out with a pregnant woman while I’m on vacation either.”
“Babe, you’re not pregnant.”
“I mean, I could be.”
“But you’re not. And the test I’m staring at in the garbage right here confirms that.”
“But like, she probably thinks I am because I was going to tell her at dinner that I’m not and now I can’t because she’s ghosting me after I put too much on her at the pool today.”
Todd walks into the bedroom and sets his drink on the bedside table. He puts one cheek on the bed and sits down so not to wrinkle his pants. Being intentionally slow in hopes of creating an air of calm, he puts his hand on her robe-covered thigh: “I think you should get dressed.”
“Ugh, I know.”
“What even were their names again?” Todd asked in an attempt to minimize the relationship with them. “I barely remember anything after that tequila tasting the other day.”
“Rose and Graham,” she mutters with a joking but mocking disdain.
“This hotel is casual,” Todd tells her. “It’s not going to matter if we show up with two or four, let’s just get dressed and go down, I’m starving.”
She peels her eye mask off, takes the towel off her head, and grabs her ring from the bedside table.
“Fine.”
They held hands from the moment they left the door. On day four of the trip, they finally both felt at ease after a hellish month leading up to it. Like so many trips they had taken before, neither of them were able to truly clear their heads until a few days in. Or, perhaps, this idea had pigeon-holed them into believing this trend was true as a roundabout way of justifying a longer trips. But if anything, they felt fortunate to be holding hands at a luxury hotel on their way to a prix fixe dinner after a trademark day on holiday.
“Fuck.”
“What?”
“There they are.”
“Who?”
“Rose and Graham — they’re right there.”
Todd squints. “Oh.”
“Well, what do we do?”
They awkwardly approach the host stand, both staring at them but also not wanting to establish eye contact yet.
“I guess we’re having dinner with Rose and Grant.”
“Graham. It’s pronounced ‘Gram.’ Like ‘Instagram.’”
She felt uncomfortable. After all, her post-pool text confirming dinner seemed innocent enough. To just not respond felt cold, especially given the pregnancy-that-wasn’t-a-pregnancy looming in the ether. She begins running every possible scenario through her head. Would it be awkward to just approach the table? Should they get seated and just join tables later? After dinner drinks? And ughhhh she’s dressed perfectly like Gwyneth Paltrow headed out to a five-hour dinner in Los Angeles with Andy Cohen.
“Guys!” Rose yells, “We came a bit early since my phone is charging in the room, come over here!”
She and Graham stand up from the table to greet them. They collectively exchange the pleasantries that you exchange when you’re all a bit unsettled by how previous interactions had gone. Each taking a breath as they sit down and put their overly-starched napkins over their laps, all that fills the air is the drone of the beach and the quiet lull of a half-capacity high-end hotel restaurant.
“Well, look at us,” Rose chimes in, “Trip friends!”
“Cheers to trip friends!” Todd responds while holding up his water glass. Todd, who rarely does a cheers — especially with water — realized in the moment that he was simply doing this to fill the silence at the table. An empty gesture for people he barely remembers in a place that costs $1,400 a night. Just how he dreamt it up.
“Babe, did you want to look at the wine list?” he pivots.
Graham grabs it from atop his charger. “I was thinking about doing the pairing,” he says while handing it to her, “but it seems a bit trite.”
She opens it, blocking her from the rest of the table. Staring at wines she knows nothing about feels safer than forcing uncomfortable conversation, so she begins running potential talking points through her head.
“So is someone feeling better after the ceviche scare?” Rose jokes.
Looking up from the wine list, she responds, “Well, some personal news! I’m not pregnant!”
The moment the words left her mouth, she knew she had said them far too loud causing the news to carry to surrounding tables. Bowing her head a bit from the embarrassment, she looks across the table and whispers, “Which is probably a good thing because we’re not exactly trying.”
Rose hunches over and leans forward, placing her hand to the side of her face as if to tell a secret despite saying it loud enough for the whole table to hear. “Neither are we.”
And with that, she finally felt a comfort she hadn’t felt all day. Confirmation that their entire life wasn’t about to change. Support from another woman who also seemingly felt undecided about children. Having everything out in the open, even if it wasn’t all that much.
“I think we start with a bottle of that 2018 Louis Jadot Bâtard-Montrachet Grand Cru in lieu of the tasting,” Graham says to everyone and no one at the same time. “It’s a bit of a splurge but I can’t not order it if I see it on a list.”
Todd, not having seen the wine list at all, nods unknowingly and confirms the suggestion. That’s a problem for checkout, he decides.
“What were you guys talking about the entire time?” she asks while washing her face.
Dinner went as most après pool vacation dinners go: heavy drinks before food hits the table, discussions of getting a drink at the bar after, a stretch of overindulgence, and the death blow of numerous yeah, I’m pretty tired too declarations.
“I mean, he’s just got a really interesting business model that’s actually working,” Todd responds while hanging his clothes in the closet. “And while he didn’t say it directly, I get the feeling he would’ve hired me then and there at the table.”
“Would you have taken it?”
“I mean, I think I’d have to be a fool not to?”
Still in the bathroom, she begins patting her face with the the plush white towel that was previously folded by turn-down service like a peacock. “And that’s something you could do remotely?”
Todd, now underneath the comforter in his boxers and uncoiling his charging cable, hesitates.
“No, we’d have to move.”
“Well, nevermind then.”
She walks into bedroom, peels her side of the comforter off the bed, and plops herself directly next to him.
“Want to watch something?”
Todd dims his lamp to nothing.
“Is it that crazy?”
“Is what that crazy?”
“Moving.”
“Like, across the country? For a job?”
“Yeah, like, across the country. For a job. That could change our lives and get me out of this rut.”
She pauses.
“I mean, I do like Rose. But I’m not sure if I could be best friends with Rose.”
Todd knows he has to recalibrate the conversation, but he can’t help himself because her opposition wasn’t as staunch has he had originally anticipated on their walk back to the room.
“It sure seemed like you two could be best friends after how dinner went,” he jokes while snuggling into her. “But then we’d have to hang out with Graham all the time too, and he seems more like a work friend to me based on tonight.”
“At least he’ll bring nice wine to our place for dinner.”
“I really hope those bottles he ordered tonight were in pesos.”
“Rose and I barely even finished ours,” she jokes. “Rose and I. Has a good ring to it.”
“I think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves, babe.”
“Maybe so,” she exhales with her eyes shut. “Maybe not though.”
The porch door open, the violent expansive ocean acting as a nighttime soundtrack, two days left to forget about everything.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
Let out an audible "yes!" in the office when this hit the inbox. Inject it into my veins.
My all time favorite series. I haven't clicked on email that fast in forever. Also going to live by "That’s a problem for checkout" from now on