After much deliberation and a few days of well-behaved Timmy, I agree that he can come with me. I sigh. “Okay, but I’m warning you.”
He nods. “I understand. You can count on me.”
I book us a hotel right in the middle of downtown so we can stay the night rather than worrying about making the long trip back to the other side of the Cay.
Timmy dresses nicely to meet my friends, even making an effort to put on a collared shirt and jeans.
We meet them at a rooftop bar where we enjoy mai tais and seafood appetizers while reminiscing about high school and their Vegas wedding.
Timmy follows through on his promises, at least for the time being, entertaining them with funny stories about life in the Cay and what it was like growing up here. He’s charming and funny, and my friend’s wife banters with him. We’re all in stitches several times.
Later, we visit a nearby hotel and have fun playing pool. We drink hard seltzers and Fireball from the convenience store located in the lobby.
Timmy starts to get a little weird, telling me he thinks my friends are sexy, but it all seems to be in good fun.
Later in the evening, we say our goodbyes and agree to meet up the following day.
“Let’s go back to the hotel,” I say to Timmy, taking him by the hand.
We start walking, but then Timmy’s mood shifts without warning.
“You don’t have to be such a fucking bitch,” he says out of nowhere.
“What are you talking about? I thought we were having a nice evening,” I reply, beyond confused.
“Well, you always want to end the evening early. You’re so controlling.”
“What would you like to do instead?” I ask. Sure, the evening has run its course and I’m getting tired, and neither of uscertainly needs any more to drink. But if he really wants to go to one more place, I guess I’d be down.
By now, we’re at the neighboring hotel—another sprawling resort—this one painted an iconic purple color.
“Fuck you!”he yells at me.
He storms off, leaving me outside the hotel.
Confused and tired, I take a seat on the edge of the landscaped garden in the hotel’s sprawling driveway. I’m anticipating he just needs to let off some steam and he’ll return and collect me.
But he never does.
I wake up, and I’m sprawled in the garden of one of the fanciest hotels in the Cay, the one where Timmy left me.
It’s still dark out, and the nearby porté-cochere is a hive of activity with the valet team picking up and depositing vehicles for arriving and departing guests.
I’m so confused, and then I remember I was waiting here for Timmy. I must have fallen asleep.
Mortified, heat rushing to my cheeks, I stand up and dust myself off.
A lady sees me and walks over. “Are you okay?” she asks, her Kiwi accent unmistakable.
“Uh yeah,” I say. “I think so.” My cheeks flame hotter.
“Why were you lying in the plants?”
I’m so embarrassed.
I play it off casually. “Oh, I had a little argument with my fiancé and I was waiting for him to come back. I must have fallen asleep.”
“Do you need help getting anywhere?” she asks, the concern in her tone palpable.