#psycho ex

I cleverly decided that it would be a good idea to date the person who brought a BELT into school to beat their ex with. The ex had done nothing to them.

I conveniently forgot about that, dated them, got cheated on, and decided that the best course of action would be to tell all of our friends.

CHRISTINE  

Fast Escapes Travel Bargains is dilapidated, to put it mildly. Only a good rainstorm takes the grime from their giant plate glass window. The white plastic sign with blue and red lettering is older than my mom. All the slats for the blinds inside are broken or bent. The posters and brochures lined along the bottom are so faded from the sun that you can’t tell Athens from Aspen. They’ve managed to stay in business in the same spot for nearly forty years so they must be doing something right.

I stop by the entrance. I still can’t believe she was dumb enough to blog about her wedding plans but maybe she wanted to brag. What a great friend, making everybody pay two thousand bucks to see you get hitched. Must be the mention of security cam footage at the Radisson I posted in my last comment on her blog. I’ve got her scared. Why else would she be high-tailing it out of town so suddenly.

Their sandwich board sign next to the door offers flight deals around the world but I have my ways of narrowing down where they’re headed. This place doesn’t offer that many different packages and their website lists all of them. Including ones they recently booked. They booked only three this past week. Since Alex hates flying, he’ll want to go somewhere not too far away. Florida or the Caribbean, I bet. Mariana Key fits the bill. I can’t picture him jetting all the way to Thailand or Maui.

According to the copy of the ad I printed off the internet, a hotel resort on an island off the coast of the Bahamas urgently needs English-speaking staff. They said to apply here. They don’t name where, exactly, but what other island resort nearby had a last-minute booking for thirty guests.

MARISSA

What a long, and tiring afternoon. After confirming the reservations, Alex and I went to city hall to get our marriage license. Mariana Key is remote and sparsely populated. Nor do they have an extradition treaty with the US. If Christine follows us there, she is a dead woman. The political instability is only an added bonus. With Christine gone forever, everyone will assume she was behind Bridget’s attack.

Back at work, I log into Wordpress. After uploading a quick article about how excited I am to be doing a destination wedding, I open Google maps. Eyeing the squiggly lines crisscrossing the island, I can see that Mariana Key is deceptively small. Only one town, several villages scattered on the far side from the resort, no straight roads between any of them. The coastline is mostly jagged volcanic rock. Isolated only begins to describe the place. Perfect.

I zoom in and switch to satellite view. My heart flutters at the sight of the hacienda I’d seen in the brochure. This is where Alex and I are getting married. I zoom in more only to get a blurry terracotta smudge next to the beach. It’s so remote they never mapped the area beyond a few shots from space. I follow the curve of the shore up to where a second, tinier island sits off the coast. I think I can also spot what appears to be little Tiki huts dotting the beach. Then I see an article about how that area bore the brunt of the same hurricane that flattened half of the Caribbean last fall.

Next, I look up a map of the various currents, the kind boaters and fishermen use. I study where the water is deepest, and the channels most likely to flow out into the deep blue sea. Where waves crash against basalt cliffs, turning wayward boats into kindling. While I wait for the workday to end, I call Gemma. “Hey, did you get my email?”

“So you guys are doing a destination wedding! This is fantastic, it’s as if we all get to take a vacation together! And for once I have an excuse not to bring the kids!”

"Alex had always wanted a small beach wedding anyway.”

“Hell, I wish I’d done one with Doug. Windermere Park was basically a bridal drive-thru.”

ALEX

There is only one saving grace with these events: plenty of free alcohol. I cannot imagine trying to get through an awards dinner sober. I’m reminded too much of weddings. The same round tables draped with thick white linens, the same awkward small-talk with people we have to pretend to like. The same absurd amounts of money spent for a handful of hours (though at least these can be turned into tax write-offs). Similar BS speeches through which we all have to simper. I zone out, thinking. When I’m honest with myself (which all too rare), I know am not ready to settle down. Not for a while yet.

Bridget tips the bottle over my glass, looks at me expectantly. I shake my head. The MC, Jerry Feinberg, prattles about diversity. Tanisha suppresses her laughter; her eyes screwed shut, hand clasping her mouth, her domed forehead glistening under the twinkling overhead lights. Each time she presents her business card to him, he excuses himself with a light cough.

He announces the award for Ad Agency of the Year; we straighten in our seats as if the school principal has just taken stage. Marcel elbows me. “Bet Capshaw win; they have the most trannies.”

Tanisha snorts, almost spitting out her wine. I press my lips together, not saying a word. I don’t dare.

Bridget hisses, “Trust me—Inroads wins it this year.” We all stare quizzically at her. Her eyes gleam. “Muller and Rowe won last year and Inroads hired … the niece of …” She darts her eyes at the red-haired pony-tailed woman with double-D breasts at a neighbouring table.

We each nod sagely in turn. Nepotism still rules the day no matter what all the HR manuals and policy statements claim. You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours. And large-breasted assistants are good for bringing in new business.

On the stage under the hazy spotlight, Jerry opens the crisp white envelope. He adjusts his glasses. A smile quirks on his lips. He leans closer to the mike. “Agency of the year for Western New York? It’s Inroads! Congratulations, Inroads! I cannot think of a more deserving company. Apart from mine, of course, ha, ha, ha.”