Page 44 of Total Dreamboat

Hope

Something has shifted between me and Felix. Sitting here on this beach with him, discussing my dreams for the future, I feel that flicker he’s so good at eliciting. A flare of connection so bright it’s impossible to pretend it’s not there.

It beckons me as much as it frightens me.

I’m not sure if I should cling to my resolve from last night with my fingernails, or to simply enjoy him.

I want to do the latter.

We’re leaving in the morning. Would it be so bad to lean into our chemistry for a few hours?

I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.

I realize he’s not when he says: “You never sound terribly enthusiastic about your job.”

There is no greater buzzkill than my professional ennui.

“I’m not enthusiastic about it,” I say.

“Why is that?”

“It’s stressful, and constantly being under pressure to write press releases is depressing. And begging journalists to cover those press releases is even more depressing.”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Don’t be. I’m sure I’m fired anyway.”

“Really?”

“I don’t know. Maybe not. I think mostly I’m disappointed with myself that this is what I’ve ended up doing with my life. Like I haven’t met my potential.”

He nods. “You want to write books.”

“Very badly,” I admit. “But the older I get the more it feels like that dream is delusional. I came on this vacation in part because I’ve been so dispirited about the whole thing.

Like, if it were going to happen for me, wouldn’t I have gotten it together by now?

At least have something I’m proud of, even if it’s not published? ”

“But you obviously have the talent,” he says. “You wouldn’t have gotten a book deal or an MFA if you didn’t, right?”

His belief in me is sweet, but not reassuring. Creating art takes vision and inspiration and the time to put in the work to fulfill it. I don’t have any of these things. I haven’t in a long time.

“I tell myself that in my better moments,” I say.

“But to be perfectly honest, my job is such a grind, I barely have time to catch my breath. And the pitiful truth is that I don’t have such a burning idea for the great American novel that I’m motivated to get up at five a.m. to work on it anyway.

I feel stuck. Like what’s the point of even trying? ”

“To find happiness,” he replies. “Fulfillment.”

“Right. So easy.”

“I’m not saying it’s easy. I just think you’re brilliant, and it’s worth it to keep going.”

“I know you’re right,” I concede. “I guess I’ve always imagined that some literary masterpiece would just emerge from my brain like magic.

And instead, I’ve stalled out. I think that’s why I was with Gabe.

I wanted to borrow his literary existence.

Get absorbed into his world because I’ve struggled so much to make one of my own. ”

I can tell I’m making Felix sad, which in turn is raising the stakes on how pathetic I feel.

Suddenly I’m awash in regret at how much I’ve disclosed.

“Sorry,” I say. “I’m being depressing. But you know, this has helped. Getting away. I’m not bursting with an idea for a book, but I feel so much more like myself. Like I can find that inspiration again.”

He smiles. “Good.”

I take a plunge. I add, “You’ve helped with that.”

He looks at me searchingly. Like he isn’t sure how much to read into my words.

Which makes sense, because I’m not sure exactly how much I’m trying to say.

I’m so confused by what I still feel for him.

“You’ve helped me too,” he finally says.

Before he can elaborate, a pig sidles up to us and starts rooting in my bag for the last apple.

Neither of us pursues the subject further.

Instead, Felix starts building a sandcastle, which I find charming. When a pig trots by and tramples it he doubles over with laughter, which I find even more charming.

I find just about everything he does charming.

Which is partly why, as the day wanes, I begin to feel dread. I don’t want to return to my real life.

Felix can evidently tell that something is wrong, because on the boat back to Atlantis, he asks, “What’s the matter?”

I decide to tell him.

“This is going to sound insane,” I say.

“Try me.”

“I’m sad I’m going home tomorrow.”

“Come again?”

“I know. I know. ”

“Is it the lack of telecommunications you’ll miss? The absence of valid personal identification? The humidity?”

I laugh weakly. It’s you , I don’t say. I’ll miss you.

“This week has been a dramatic break from normal life,” I say. “A true adventure.”

“Plus, nonstop relaxation,” he says.

“Oh yeah. Like a weeklong massage.”

“At least we didn’t get norovirus. My episode with the fire engine notwithstanding.”

“Some might argue missing the boat is worse.”

“I’m glad we missed it together,” he says softly. “There is no one I’d rather be stranded in the Caribbean with.”

My heart leaps.

Would he have said that if he didn’t feel the same tug I do? That desire to be together, if just fleetingly, one last time?

“You’re only saying that because I bought you that ‘Conch King’ shirt,” I say lightly, feeling out the moment.

“I think it was a fair exchange, since I provided you with your only ability to contact the outside world.”

“We made a good team.”

He smiles at me. “We did, didn’t we.”

There’s a wistfulness in his tone that makes me certain this time has meant something to him too.

“We should do something tonight to celebrate our achievements,” I say.

“Want to blow seven grand of my father’s money at the casino?”

“You realize it’s actual legal currency and not Monopoly money, right?”

“We could break into the water park and go on the slides,” he suggests.

“Except I don’t want to die tonight.”

“More conch?”

“Oh, of course. I thought that went without saying. Always more conch.”

“The problem is we’ve already done the greatest hits,” he says. “We dined. We snorkeled. We ballroom danced.”

“ I ballroom danced,” I say. “You toppled over.”

“We aquacized,” he says.

“ I aquacized. You just looked at my boobs.”

He glances meaningfully at my swimsuit. “And what boobs they are.”

I prickle with awareness.

“We saw four minutes of show tunes,” I say. “Which was life-changing.”

“You duetted with Elvis.”

“Not to mention duetted with you.”

“Ah, yes,” he says with a satisfied grin. “We slayed karaoke.”

“And,” I say, “you were blown away by breathtaking magic.”

“Not to mention the psychic—though she forgot to pull the get-left-behind-on-an-island-with-no-passport card.”

“She can’t know everything , Felix.”

Now I’m thinking about the other card I didn’t pull.

The Empress.

The sweet drawing he made for me.

“Do you know what my favorite night was?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says.

“No you don’t!”

He looks me dead in the eyes.

“Of course I do. It was when we ordered room service, and then I ravished you.”

He’s right. It was not only my favorite night of the cruise, it was one of my favorite nights of my life.

“Actually,” I say, “I think it was the other way around. I ravished you .”

“Who can recall?” he says. “It happened so many times.”

He’s being playful, but he also has a gleam in his eyes.

It says: I still want you .

And my God, I want him too.

“What if we did that tonight,” I say softly.

He goes very serious. “Hope…” he says. “Is that wise?”

No. It’s not wise at all. But I want it anyway.

“We’re leaving tomorrow and probably won’t ever see each other again, right?” I say, putting all my cards on the table. “We’ve had a rocky go of it. It would be sweet to end on a high note.”

He’s silent for a long beat. And then he looks at me, his eyes hooded.

“Making love to you would definitely be a high note,” he says.

I try not to read too much into those words, making love to you . But the intensity in his gaze tells me he means them.

“Then let’s do that,” I say.

He looks at me even more gravely. “Yes. But first: room service. It’s tradition.”

“You order this time,” I say, trying not to give away how shaky I am. “If you leave me in charge we’ll definitely run out of Monopoly money.”

“Deal,” he says. He takes my hand and shakes it, and I feel his touch with my whole body.

I’ve missed it. I’ve missed him.

When we get back to the room, I take a long, sensuous bath, imagining the next few hours. It’s like foreplay.

While I’m soaking, Felix orders food. I emerge in a hotel robe to a feast less deranged than the one I ordered on the boat, but also less appetizing.

It should kill the mood, but instead it fills me with affection for him.

“You’re no better at this than I am,” I say, taking inventory of a congealed pizza, a wan Caesar salad, and a dry brownie under a melting glob of ice cream.

“You can’t hold me responsible,” he protests. “I didn’t cook it.”

“And thank God for that. You’d probably end up in the emergency room.”

“Just because I injured myself in the kitchen one time doesn’t mean I can’t cook without doing bodily harm.”

“So you say.”

“Read my reviews online. Not one mention of stray human fingers in the soup.”

“Conveniently, I don’t have internet access.”

“Well,” he says, sitting down in front of the food, “feel free to starve, but I don’t recommend it. You’re going to need energy for what I have planned for you.”

That sultry feeling comes back.

The food is as mediocre as it looks. I call down for it to be removed while Felix showers.

He comes out of the bathroom wearing a robe that matches mine.

“Get in bed,” he says immediately.

“Which one?” I ask.

“Mine.”

His energy is very “imperious duke in a romance novel.”

Which is one of my kinks.

He proceeds to lie me down and kiss me ravenously. It’s like coming home.

“God, I’ve missed you,” I gasp as I devour him, pressing him down into me, wanting to be consumed.

“You’ve got me,” he murmurs. “You’ve got me.”

When he enters me, I feel it in my heart.

And when it’s over, I want it again.

I want it forever.

“You’re perfect,” he says, stroking my hair. “That was perfect.”

I can’t reply. I know my voice will come out in a sob.

At my silence, he looks at me with concern.

“Was that okay for you?” he asks.