Ironically, we find Easton and Misty waiting for us in the lobby. From the look on Easton’s face when he greets Holly and Damon, I expect an excuse to come, but I am surprised when he gives none. Just after successfully avoiding direct eye contact with Easton and Misty—while managing a cordial greeting—we file out of the hotel into a waiting SUV. An SUV with just enough room to accommodate all of us.
Once inside the car, I focus on Damon, or rather his hands, as he worries about the placement of them sitting next to Holly. My lips lift in amusement as our Casanova’s nerves get the best of him. He’s going to go for it.
“Okay, Damon, time to fess up. Where are we going?” Holly asks.
“Where else? A tequila distillery,” he replies, just before I leap for the SUV’s handle. Laughing, Damon wrestles me back into my seat as Holly’s dam bursts. I glare between them both after catching Easton pressing his lips together to stifle his own laugh.
“Worst best friends ever,” I grit out as Damon winks.
“Oh no, what’s the tequila story?” Misty asks, looking between us all and apparently clueless as to exactly what went down last night.
“Funny you should ask,” Damon speaks up just as a demonic threat escapes me.
“Say another word, Damon. I love you, but you’re a man child, and if you continue down this path, I’m not above making you disappear—here. Plenty of unexplainable things happen past the border.”
“That bad, huh?” Misty says as Holly lets out a nervous bubble of laughter, looking between all of us.
“Not to add insult to injury,” Holly spouts, opening her luggage-sized drawstring vacation purse and pulling out a bottle of tequila. She braves a look my way as she passes out some plastic-wrapped cups. “Sorry, babe,” she winces adorably as Damon takes and opens the bottle, “it’s the only liquor they had in a plus-sized bottle in the gift shop.”
“It’s fine. When in Rome, right?” I hold my cup out, dazed and defeated by the past twenty-four hours as Holly free pours, while a full circle Mexican fiesta dances in my head. I just want it to stop. I want this to be over with. With that in mind, I can’t help but glance around, reading the expressions of all who’ve agreed to this disastrous waste of a day while inhaling and exhaling the uncomfortable air circulating throughout the cabin.
It’s then I have a small epiphany.
Oh, life, you funny, inconsiderate, untimely motherfucker.
Full circle is right.
In the midst of this nightmarish situation, I realize it’s how our parents must have felt when we were just as reckless with their history, discarding it like it didn’t matter as we selfishly basked in our happiness. What’s worse is that at some point, we expected them to be okay with it.
Even if they found their happily ever afters, I can’t imagine ever being okay watching Easton happily move on with another woman—as I’m forcing myself to do now.
This is exactly what we would have pressured them into doing—putting on airs, trying their hardest to put their past away as they toasted us. This is the hell we would have subjected them to on every special occasion. Though our stories and endings—well, my ending—is far different from theirs, the dynamic is still the same, and frankly, it fucking sucks.
“I get it,” I spout ironically as everyone brings their cups up to toast.
“Get what, babe?” Holly asks as all eyes pin me quizzically.
“All of it,” I manage through a laugh, “but fuck it, Viva La Vida!” I tap glasses with all of them, looking them directly in the eyes as I was taught, in order to avoid bad luck. I make a point to do it, knowing I can’t possibly survive any more. We all toss the spicy liquor back right after toasting, save one jade-eyed man. A man who returns my lingering eye contact with a rapidly hardening gaze of his own before slowly lifting his cup and tossing back his shot. Breaking eye contact when Holly prompts me for my cup to refill it, I decline. I opt to stare out of the window at the landscape. I’ll be serving the rest of my time, my sentence, in Mexico—sober.
After walking through endless oversized barrels, and spending hours learning about a liquor I now despise, I lift my camera and take a panoramic view of my surroundings. While everyone else seems sufficiently buzzed from the tasting, I’ve just eaten my weight in tacos. Damon, being the generous bastard he is, added a romantic sunset buffet for the five of us at the end of our tour.
Because slaughtered hearts have to eat too, right?
The distillery provided the most spectacular view to dine at with its cliffside location. The patio is surrounded by similar rocky cliffs, and in the distance, an ample view of the ocean to watch the descent of the sun. Our candle-lit round top sits on a beautifully paved deck full of empty tables. We seem to be the only group who opted for the top-notch buffet and romantic atmosphere tonight—which pairs perfectly with the irony bouncing around us.
The vibe is surprisingly chill, with Spanish guitar music crooning softly out of nearby speakers. Our overly attentive catering staff continues to change out the buffet trays with fresh eats every few minutes as though they’re serving royals. I, myself, dined like a queen eating her feelings while keeping my focus averted from the man sitting across the table. Feeling somewhat safe in my chair now, Damon serves as our buffer while Misty vapes, chatting with Holly next to the waist-high brick wall encasing the patio. I tune out of Easton and Damon’s exchange while praying for the minutes of this sentence to tick out. Feeling somewhat confident that I’m going to get through the last of it unscathed, my safety is abruptly ripped from me when Damon excuses himself to answer a call. Ignoring my pleading eyes, holding a finger up to the two of us, he leaves Easton and me alone at the table.
As he walks back toward the distillery for privacy, I decide Damon is an Olympic-level Judas in the best friend department. I will be informing him of his update in status as soon as I have the opportunity. Having already spent most of my day facing as much of this reality as I can withstand, I look over to Easton to engage him, instead of shying away from conversation. I find his eyes already focused curiously on me as the sun begins its descent, tinting the sky in various hues of pink and red.
“Not so horrible, right?” I speak up while snapping another photo. “This view is—”
“What do you get?” Easton cuts me off abruptly, his tone biting.
“Pardon?” I ask, texting a picture of our view to Dad.
“Don’t play ignorant. You know exactly what I’m asking. Put the phone down and tell me what you get, Natalie.”
My eyes widen as he kicks back in his seat, his delivery far too hostile for casual conversation. Though his posture is relaxed, the look in his eyes tells me he’s anything but.
“Fine. I get that we married our parents into this very type of situation.”
“I fucking knew it,” he scoffs.
“Knew what?”
“That you were justifying our divorce.”
“Never that,” I sip my water.
“No? Sure seems like it. Newsflash, Natalie. Plenty of people get along with their exes for the sake of their children.” He tosses his napkin on his plate, the leather cuff fastened around his wrist keeping the majority of my focus before I take him in fully—something I’ve deprived myself of since we met up hours ago. His thick hair, which is definitely a few inches longer, hangs just above the collar of his dark blue linen button-down.
“I would say ours was a much different situation, but I’m not entirely disagreeing with you. Even so, there’s no point in arguing about it since it’s been put to bed, right?”
He scoffs. “Sure has, Sleeping Beauty.”
“Hey, hey,” I speak up in defense, “I’m just as uncomfortable as you are, but we don’t have to turn on each other.”
“That’s always been your angle, hasn’t it, Natalie? Putting everyone else’s feelings first.”
“Don’t,” I warn in a harsh whisper. “I was just trying to find some meaning in the situation. It’s ironic and probably a little deserved, considering. You don’t have to be such a jerk about it.”