How to Honeymoon Alone

by Olivia Hayle

“Enjoy turning real people into fake people.” That makes me laugh. “You make me sound like a psycho.” “Aren’t all writers?”

“What’s that?” “A forgive-me-mojito. A… forjito.”

But look, you’ve used a highlighter. I didn’t know it worked on these sorts of pages.” “You have to get a special kind,” I murmur.

I’ve only tried it once or twice when I was a kid. My uncle had a cabin in the woods, next to a lake, and we’d go sometimes.” “Did you like it?” “I was eight,” I say. “I liked everything except broccoli.

I don’t think they serve steak at the fish market, buddy.” “Buddy?” “Yeah, it felt wrong the second it came out of my mouth. I take it back. I un-buddy you.”

“The guidebook told me all about the shipwreck we’re headed to,” I say. “I was planning on sharing that information with you, but now I won’t. I’ll just let you swim over it like an ignorant dork.” His eyebrows shoot up. “An ignorant dork?” “Yes. I know that sounds stupid, but I stand by it.”

I take a long sip of my planter’s punch to avoid answering, only to get spice right up my nose. I burst out coughing. Across the table, Phillip pushes a glass of water my way. “Lovely,” I wheeze. “Now the rum is trying to kill me.” “I think that’s alcohol’s game in general,” he says.

“You don’t take tumbles regularly?” “No, can’t say that I do.” “This is my… third in a week. You get used to it.”

“You okay?” a voice asks. It’s familiar now after days spent together. I smile. “You followed me?” “No,” he says. “Well, yes, I suppose, but not in a creepy way.”

“I wasn’t too harsh?” I reach for my piña colada and take a long, calming sip. “He’s a corporate lawyer,” Phillip says. “That phone call with you was probably the nicest he’s had all day.” “Wow.”

“I don’t want to miss whatever stunt you’ll pull next. Plenty of things to fall into around here.” I hold up my drink. “Well, for my next trick, I’m going to make this piña colada disappear. Please observe.”

“And you don’t think women can fall in love with jugglers?” I ask. “You’d probably break hearts left, right, and center if you grabbed a couple of balls.” His eyes widen, and a smile starts at the corner of his mouth. “Eden, I—” “Don’t,” I say. “I heard how that sounded, too.”

“Thanks, sweetie pie.” He frowns. “No.” “My lucky charm?” “Absolutely not.” “My honey nut,” I say, and then grimace. “No.”

“It’s a testament to minimalism.” He gives a sage nod. “I see. The Japanese kind or the Scandinavian?”