Everything She Never Had // Chapter 3

The Honeymoon... Part One: Come on baby, let's get away.

We’re sitting side by side, our bodies smashed up against each other, squished into two armless, tiny green vinyl seats, alongside 8 other couples, 16 guests total, also squished side by side, into their own tiny green vinyl seats, which only makes the humidity and sweating, seem all the wetter. Windows along all sides of the vehicle are open, but it’s not helping much to circulate the air. Our main luggage, larger suitcases and bags, are strapped to the roof and stuffed to the brim of the vehicle following us. Between our legs and feet, carry-ons. On our laps, random bags and purses and hats that won’t fit anywhere else. Hot sweaty arms rubbing, legs mingling, wet skin sliding against each other and sticking to squeaky seats, bumping and holding on for dear life in a converted old van-bus, barreling down a dirt road, heading towards paradise. It’s the small price we must pay, I suppose, for a week of pleasure in Costa Azul.

"30 Minutos!” yelled the driver over the noise. It felt like we had been on this wild ride for two hours already, but I was admittedly relieved to hear it was only thirty more minutes.

I close my eyes and lean my head back remembering a second too late that we don’t have headrests and reroute my head to Chris’ shoulder. I go inward for a moment to ease my incoming anxiety due to our unfortunate circumstances. I just need a new perspective, I think to myself, and take a deep breath and then another... 1, 2, 3, 4 and release. Three more times, in and out, in and out, in and out. My body starts to loosen its rigidity. I see green and yellow and red, vibrant colors everywhere, and smiling faces. The word Happy crosses my mind then, Happiness, and I smile. I take one last deep breath and open my eyes to the sound of voices chattering, and notice all the happy couples talking with each other, completely unbothered by the very same circumstances that had my patience waning, just ten minutes prior. The van-bus is creating a dust cloud around us, but in the distance, I am astounded by the bluest sky I have ever seen. It somehow appears even bluer than it does back in California, from where we just traveled on a 6-hour flight from LAX to Los Cabos International Airport in Mexico.

I’m now surprisingly calm, happy my little inner head trip, worked. Chris’s hand is on my lap, or more accurately, in my lap. His fingers tucked between my crossed legs, his most very favorite spot, but somehow, his grip on me is helping hold both of us steady, in spite of the slippery sweat on this bumpy ride through what now feels like the backside of Mexico; beautiful, but off limits. I'm in the aisle seat and Chris has the window, as usual, and is staring out into the distance at the green tropical landscape, with a look of satisfaction on his face, the calm contentment of a man with no worries.

He looks at me and notices that I’m staring at him. “Are you okay?” he asks, concerned. I tilt my head down and look at him over my sunglasses, smile with closed lips and nod rapidly. “Yes,” I reply, “yes, I’m all good, Baby.” We remain silent for the next 15 minutes of the ride and arrive at the hotel around 4pm. Since it’s one of those all-inclusive adventure package kind of hotel deals, there’s a guide standing at the entrance of the hotel, ushering all 16 of us off the van-bus.

“Don’t worry about your larger bags and luggage,” he yells over the chaos, assuring everybody, “It will all be delivered to your rooms shortly,” he finishes.

It’s a small, boutique hotel, with just enough Spanish charm to makes us feel like we are far away from home, away from the big city and in the middle of nowhere. We chose this hotel for these specific reasons and wanted to feel immersed in the local culture. We wait momentarily in the small lobby for our room key and room number and once all the paperwork is signed, we head through the hotel main area, down the exterior hallways and find our suite, number 22, on the main floor.

Out of nowhere Chris swoops me up and into his arms, opening the door to our suite. “What’s that cheesy line they say about carrying your wife through the door?” Chris asks as he’s actively now carrying me through the door.

“Something about carrying me over the threshold so I don’t trip on the way into our new life together.” I respond, giggling, sarcastically, but secretly, I love the gesture and I kiss him sweetly.

The rust Saltillo tiles from the exterior hallways and grounds carry into our room and I notice our bathroom is on the right as I’m carried through the short hallway into our suite. Its bright white walls contrast the rust floors in that perfectly classic Spanish essence I adore. Chris throws me on the bed and our bags go everywhere.

“Chri-isssssssss! Jeez! Not so hard, please!” I whine, now laying on my back in the center of the massive king-sized bed, fitted with the softest and most luxurious white bedding and the fluffiest pillows I’ve ever felt. I look up to see layers upon layers of white mesh mosquito netting, draped over a wooden canopy above, hanging low in knotted sections on each side of the bed. So romantic, I think to myself, smiling.

“I thought you liked it hard,” Chris retorted with a smirk, snapping me out of my idealized reverie, back into reality, standing above me now, pulling