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PENGUINS & PROMISES

T he Day of the Trip

I’m now beyond stressed that we need to go to help Steve to paint a barn before we’re even properly moved in.

The one saving grace is that Sabre can at least come with us.

But I’d really like to stay here, set up our apartment and rest. I’m resentful that we don’t get the opportunity to do that. It’s delaying me from setting up my writing routine, and it’s delaying Timmy from setting up his own routine, which he so desperately needs.

Everything feels out of sync, like wearing clothes that don’t quite fit. I know it’s just a temporary visit, but my mind keeps circling back to the apartment we haven’t had time to properly set up. I crave structure, order, and a fresh start—something that seems impossible when everything is in flux. I can feel the weight of missed opportunities piling up. Every day we spend away from our new home feels like a step further from the life I imagined, the routine, the nest, I so desperately want to build with Timmy. And I know he needs that, too, even if he won’t admit it.

Timmy’s obsession with hunting takes over almost immediately, the moment we get to Solvana. Every other sentence is about shooting another deer or which rifle to use, and what a great hunter he is. His eyes light up at the idea of the hunt, and for a moment, I see the version of him that’s full of life and excitement. But the shifts are quick, almost jarring. It’s like he’s clinging to these little moments of joy to avoid confronting the deeper chaos bubbling just beneath the surface.

Timmy and Steve spend hours out painting the structure, and I stay inside writing and watching TV. Timmy and I are staying in a small unit off to the side of the main house, with its own little kitchen, bathroom and living room. The bedroom is up a steep staircase, which is really more like a ladder.

The setting is beautiful, but it just feels off.

In the moments the guys come inside for a drink break or a meal, I can’t handle some of the stupid comments that come out of Steve’s mouth. He’s so sexist, so misogynistic, little comments rolling off his tongue, making me more irritated with every encounter. He’d never dare make those types of comments in front of his wife, who is away for the next few days. But for some reason, he has no problem saying these things in front of me.

But I bite my tongue—it’s not worth a fight. Instead, I focus on my writing and count the days until we can leave.

The store here on the island is super expensive, but I feel like I really need to eat healthy. My body isn’t feeling great after all the greasy crap on offer at Matty’s place. I need vegetables in my life.

So I spend hundreds of dollars on produce and other food items–there’s really no other option. You can get things delivered by Amazon, but it takes a few days longer than usual. I fill up the fridge with produce and meats. Timmy’s food stamp money for the month is already long gone, so, as usual, all the grocery costs come out of my savings. So does money for gas when we drive around the island, snacks, everything. It’s all on me.

Steve invites us over to the main house for some dinners, which are nice. But I’m just feeling really off kilter. I need to be in my own space where I can feel comfortable, where I can set things up the way I want them.

This is clearly temporary, living at Matty’s felt really temporary, and because of what happened at my first apartment here, that felt temporary, too. Like an extension of the purgatory I was feeling back in San Francisco. I’m slowly losing my mind, and I just need some sense of stability.

“I can’t wait until we get back, babe,” I say.

“I know, me too,” says Timmy, kissing me on my head. “Soon enough. Just a few more days.”

For some reason, he also barely wants to have sex while we’re at Steve’s. We’re in a totally separate building, so it’s not the noise factor. But his sex drive has almost disappeared, and I feel like a nuisance for initiating anything. I hate being rejected, and he’s just not reciprocating my energy. Everything just feels… off.

A couple of days during our visit, while Steve is working, I get my hopes up because Timmy suggests we go on a few drives so he can show me around the island.

He takes me on a scenic drive along the coast, and the views are breathtaking. Waterfalls shimmer in the distance, and we stop at a secluded beach where a river winds into the sea. We snap photos, trying to capture the fleeting beauty of the moment, as well as some just of the two of us. For a little while, things feel okay again—almost normal. Almost good.

He takes us to another park, and we visit a monument.

We fuck against a tree, Timmy behind me, my arms and chest pressed into the bark. We’re on a steep hill overlooking the ocean and a small island archipelago adjacent to Solvana.

He takes me to a few more beaches where we look for pretty shells.

It’s all nice bonding time, and I feel closer to Timmy. Maybe this trip wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

“You are my penguin,” he says randomly as we drive along a gorgeous, winding coastal road flanked by steep, emerald green hills to one side and sparkling turquoise water on the other.

“Your penguin?” I ask, quirking a brow.

“Penguins have one mate for life, and you’re mine. I never want to be with anyone else. You’re my person, and nothing can ever come between that. So you never have to worry about me even looking at another girl again. Because you’re it for me.”

I like his words, yet I have some reservations based on other stuff he’s said and done. I weigh up the situation and decide to press a little further. “But what about when you said that you still get to look at other girls and say ‘yeah, you!’? What about when you said you still wanted to be able to flirt? What about the times I’ve seen your head pivot like a ceiling fan when a girl walked past?”

His expression flickers with mild annoyance and some confusion. “Was I drunk all those times?”

I think back to each situation and nod. “Well, you’d definitely been drinking, but that’s not really the point, Timmy.”

He nods as well. “Listen, you really are my penguin. You don’t have to worry about any of that. And I’m sorry for what happened in the past. That stuff didn’t mean anything. You’re it for me, I love you, and you never have to worry about me looking at anyone else ever again.”

His words are comforting, soothing, and I feel myself exhale, releasing some of my tension. Sure, his actions might not have quite lined up with his words to date, but he has a way of explaining things that brings me comfort. It’s like he’s stepping our relationship up a notch. This is what I want to hear—his reassurances, his promises. I can feel the cracks in my resolve slowly sealing themselves up.