Seventeen

After some serious planning by Barbara, John and Barbara flew to Mexico for a six-week adventure. Barbara had researched and booked each flight, hotel, destination, and activity while John kept repeating how good it sounded and promised to buy a Let’s Go guide, which he never did. They started in Cancun in a five-star hotel.

Once in the room, Barbara stripped the sheets from the bed and remade it with the high thread-count cotton she’d brought from New York. John laughed heartily.

“Don’t mock me. Who knows where these sheets have been.”

“They have detergent down here too, you know.”

She threw a T-shirt at him from her bag.

John laughed harder.

They changed into swimsuits and walked to the pool, eager to relax in the warmth of the sun. They found the pool surrounded by late teens and 20-somethings lying around the pool behind dark glasses with blasting headphones perched in their ears. John couldn’t help but check out some of the bikini-clad women. One beautiful young woman with full breasts filling out a small white bikini, walked toward them. She noticeably looked Barbara up and down. John couldn’t help but look over his shoulder after she passed. Her swinging blonde ponytail, toned back, great ass, and tanned legs glimpsed him back. If Barbara had noticed him ogling, she didn’t let on.

After lunch, she and John walked along the beach in front of the hotel until they found a secluded section. The 15-minute walk in the hot sun had left them sweating. They walked into the ocean until it was deep enough to dive in. John was relieved in a number of senses. The water was cool and while he was completely into Barbara, he couldn’t stop fantasizing about the hot young blonde Scandinavian-looking girl parading around the pool.

“What do you think of the hotel,” Barbara asked John.

“It’s fine. Are you happy now the sheets are changed?”

“Huh!” Barbara pretended to look hurt. “It’s okay, but it’s far from special.”

She canoodled up to him and kissed him on the lips. How about we go exploring a bit earlier and leave the college kids to it?”

While John and Barbara both considered themselves young enough to party, theydecided to leave Cancun early. On the third day, they escaped in a minibus to the Mayan ruins at Chichen Itza. One large pyramid stood impressively in the center. John enjoyed the exertion of climbing to the top, but didn’t care for it much more than that while Barbara commentated from the guide-book she’d bought at the airport. “The Mayan city of Chichen Itza is one of the Seven New Wonders of the World. It says the archaeological center, the most important Mayan capital at the end of the classic period around 1200 A.D., was declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1988.”

It didn’t make much sense to John. He understood that a UNESCO World Heritage Site was important but he had no idea what UNESCO even stood for.

“So was it the Mayan capital or not?” he asked.

“Um, I’m not sure,” answered Barbara.

“How many years did the Mayans exist?”

“Let me find it.”

“We should have paid the five dollars for the tour.”

“Slow down and I’ll find it.”

John nodded and feigned interest.

They went on to a resort 20 minutes out of Playa del Carmen and Tulum. The Mexican receptionist behind the check in desk greeted them warmly and took John’s passport and credit card on arrival. Barbara sat down in a chair to help her cool down while John took care of the arrangements.

“Is this your first time in Mexico, sir?”

“It’s my second, actually.”

“Welcome back.”

Her English was perfect and she had a beautiful smile, which she didn’t hesitate to flash. She was dark-skinned with black hair and, although not classically beautiful, John found himself imagining her naked as she took care of the paperwork. The daydream only lasted seconds.

“Make sure we get a queen sized bed,” said Barbara.

“Sure,” he said, feeling self-conscious as he came back to reality.

“There you go, sir. You are on the second floor in the East wing.”

“Thank you.”

“Have a pleasant stay and if there is anything I can do to make it more comfortable, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

John’s mind raced again. He smiled and then followed Barbara and a porter to their room.

This five-star resort was pricier than the last and up to Barbara's standards. And they now had the best of both worlds. They could have a romantic night in at one of the hotel’s two restaurants, get room service or pop into one of Playa del Carmen’s many restaurants and bars. John read four books over their two weeks in Mexico. He felt like a machine. They ranged from Cormac McCarthy and Tom Clancy fiction to Peters and Waterman’s and Jim Collins’ essential business manuals. Barbara passed over one of her books when he’d finished his library: Katharine Hepburn’s memoirs. John skimmed the first few chapters and then gave it back.

When his mind wasn’t occupied in a book, he contemplated their relationship. He felt more for Barbara than he had for any woman for quite some time. He loved their closeness, the intimacy, her regard for his opinion and her lack of pretense. If she expected something, she usually just said it. He wasn’t left guessing, as he had with some girls in his past. However, she had her quirks. And while the sex was good, it wasn’t as hot as it had been with some—Rasha for instance. So, is this really love? How can I be sure?

And if it was, why am I still attracted to other women? He smiled at the thought of the Scandinavian.

Just propose and get it over with. The thought hit him so suddenly. A chill went through him.

The resort had Crabtree and Evelyn soaps and shampoo in the bathroom, and each day Barbara would take them and stockpile them in her suitcase. With two weeks’ worth, plus a pair of hotel slippers and a face washer, they packed their bags to leave.

“You can’t do that,” Barbara said, as she watched him pack his case.

“What?”

“You can’t just put your shoes in your bag.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You need to put them in a plastic bag first; otherwise you’ll get dirt all over your shirts.”

“That’s why I face the soles to the side.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not,” he said, pursing his lips.

“I’m sorry John, but that’s really not a smart way to pack,” she insisted.

She didn’t mean that, he told himself. He stared, expecting her to apologize.

“Well?” she continued.

“Don’t ever call me stupid again.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“I said it wasn’t smart.”

“Who cares how I pack my shoes?”

“I just want you to have some clean shirts when we get there.”

When they were leaving the room, Barbara took her handbag and John’s daypack and left him the two suitcases to manage.

John looked at her and the luggage sitting there.

“Did you call a porter?” he shouted after her.

She came back and put her hands on her hips. “What? To take it from here to the lift and then to the front door of the hotel?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“You expect me to lug them both?”

“What, you’re no longer a gentleman?”

John begrudgingly grabbed her case and his soft bag and walked out the door, following Barbara. She had insisted on taking a suitcase rather than a soft-bag as John advised. That was fine in luxury hotels, but when you go off-road, he knew it would be a real pain in the ass. And that’s where they were headed, into Mexico properly.

Getting dropped off at their hotel in Merida near eight at night, they walked through a white-washed brick facade to find a three-person chipped marble desk in front of mirrors and 1970s wallpaper. Eduardo, the receptionist, concierge, porter, and doorman, watched a dubbed version of Family Ties on a small television. He checked them in, keeping one eye on the TV, and sent them up two flights of concrete stairs to the second floor. They walked down the stained, yellow carpet, which was coming away from the walls in places, and realized how big the hotel was. The hotel had three wings, which bordered an open-air restaurant and a pool.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” said Barbara as they found room 215.

John unlocked the door and let Barbara go in first. He had the same feeling as he angled the suitcase and bag to make it down a short, narrow corridor until the room opened up.

Finding spider webs on the ceiling, Barbara pointed upward and said, “We aren’t staying here tonight.”

“Babe, I’ll get a broom and kill it.”

“No. We’re not staying,” she repeated.

“Is there even a spider up there?” asked John.

“I don’t care. We’re changing hotels.”

She peeked into the bathroom. It was clean, but had a chipped porcelain sink, a cracked mirror in one corner, an assortment of broken tiles decorated the walls, and an old pink toilet sat in the far corner.

“Oh my god,” said Barbara.

“What?’

“This is awful. It’s 20 years old. We have to move.”

“To where?”

“Somewhere clean.”

“I’m sorry, but this isn’t 70s and I’m not walking around town looking for another hotel at this time of night. Besides, I’m sure they’re all the same.”

Barbara looked at him, fuming.

After a full day of travel, they made their way to the hotel’s open-air restaurant for dinner under a slither of moon. Eduardo had insisted it was the best place in town and the music from the pool beckoned them to at least take a look. All of the tables were filled with couples and travelers. John looked around for a spare table while waiting for someone to come and seat them. No one came.

“We might have to go somewhere else,” Barbara said.

“Mmm. It’s pretty popular though, so it can’t be too bad.”

“It at least looks cleaner than the rooms.”

John laughed and put his arm around her.

“You’d think someone would come over and attend to us,” said Barbara.

John walked over to the bar and interrupted the barman, who was making two piña coladas.

“Amigo, how long for a table for two? We’re staying here.”

“Not sure. Whenever free.” His English wasn’t good, but it was better than John’s Spanish.

“Where else is good to eat at around here?”

“Here, best. Join table and I come take order.”

“There are no free tables,” Barbara said.

 “You sit. I come take your order. You want beer?”

“But there’s no free tables,” Barbara insisted.

 John sighed. “You want a beer babe?” he said raising an eyebrow. He certainly did. Barbara nodded. It was getting late, yet still hot.

“Yeah, two, thanks,” ordered John.

“Do you have Budweiser or Heineken?” Barbara asked.

“Cerveza only,” said the barman.

“Corona?” John asked, hoping he’d recognize the brand.

“Okay.” The barman took the top off two Sol cervezas and put them on the bar.

“That’s …” Barbara began to say. John picked it up and sipped it. It was light and refreshing, almost a Corona.

“It’s good, Babe. Try it.”

She picked it up and sipped tentatively. The barman picked up two menus and instructed them to follow, taking them to an enormous wooden table in the middle of the restaurant. Rather than being symmetrical in any way, the wood jutted off in all directions in a mess. Nevertheless, it allowed people to sit around and see everyone else while they ate. The barman placed the menus in the middle of two empty places and said, “I take order,” before walking off.

Barbara and John looked at each other and then at the others at the table. Eight people sat there, some in conversation, some now eyeing them.

“Maybe it’s communal,” John suggested. Communal eating was the new in-thing around New York for hip breakfast spots. John wasn’t a fan of it, though.

 “G’day,” said the guy closest to John. “Are you joining us? There’s plenty of room.”

John sat down next to him and Barbara next to a girl on her right. John introduced himself to Shanti from Australia, who in turn, introduced them to half the table. It was an eclectic bunch of guys and girls—dreadlocks, shaved heads, unbrushed for months, and oily hair-dos. Just no Scandinavian ponytails. Recently shampooed, Barbara and John tried to remember everyone’s names but all John could remember was Shanti.

“So, how do you all know each other?” John asked, amazed at the diversity of the group.

“Rachel and I are in Mexico to learn to dive. We’re on a world trip. Everyone else we met tonight.”

“You’re not all together?” asked John.

Most of them seemed easy going enough, content in their own conversations. One girl, quite thin, tanned, with light brown dreadlocks had studied Barbara and John when they arrived. John sensed she didn’t like them, but couldn’t tell why. He sat there in his light blue Ralph Lauren polo and tried to figure it out. John would have felt like a big fish out of water anyway, but she made him feel like they were invading the U.N.

Barbara and John read the one page menu as a distraction from having to interact with these strangers. No one seemed overly interested in them at all—except the attractive dreadlocked girl opposite them, who glared.

“I think I’ll have the fish with rice,” Barbara said to the returning waiter.

“The fish would have to be fresh here, right?” John said, turning to the Australian, Shanti.

“I assume so. Besides, I wouldn’t order the steak. I haven’t seen too many cows around.”

“Chicken for me,” John said.

Shanti smirked. John interpreted it as good-natured.

When the drinks arrived, John toasted Barbara and then the table generally. Shanti and his girlfriend responded, as did a few others. The girl opposite didn’t budge. As he started to relax a little into this new communal environment, John was curious how people found the time to travel around the world. Despite being now technically unemployed, it never occurred to him to do such a thing. Shanti or Rachel however, after working for a year post-college, had saved enough to do just that.

“So is Shanti your real name or a nick name?” Barbara asked.

“It’s my real name. My spiritual name is Bob.”

Barbara laughed, but John didn’t get it. What’s a spiritual name, he felt like asking, but didn’t.

“Your parents were alternative?” Barbara asked.

John thought it another rude question and tapped Barbara’s foot under the table with his. She glanced annoyingly at him and then looked back at Shanti.

“My parents were hippies.”

“Really, you grew up on a commune or something?” Barbara asked, surprised.

“No, in a house.” John cringed, feeling like they were making idiots of themselves. “I grew up in a place called Byron Bay, an alternative part of Australia. My parents had jobs, they were just spiritual.”

“Cool.” It was the only way John could think of to participate in the conversation. His mind wasn’t really on the conversation though, as he considered the dreadlocked girl across the table from them. She was now getting her shoulders massaged by a guy with gray balding hair. He stood behind her and whispered things quietly to her from time to time. John found it bizarre behavior at a restaurant. He found the girl both attractive and repellent at the same time.

“We had this great house on lots of land out in the sticks. It had a shower on the front porch. When neighbors finally moved in across the road—Seventh Day Adventists—they called the police because they could see us washing. My mom then played Dad’s drums on the front porch naked each morning for a week, just to piss them off,” Shanti continued. Everyone at the table laughed.

“What do you do? Or what will you do when you finish your trip?” Barbara asked.

“I’m a lawyer,” said Shanti.

“Really?” John hadn’t expected it.

“I work in human resources for an accounting firm,” said Rachel.

John tried to make sense of them.

“What area of law?” John enquired, hoping to be able to relate to this guy on some level.

“Intellectual property.”

“Cool.” John said again, trying to fit in. It was a semi-commercial area, but not something he knew anything about. They talked with Shanti and Rachel some more; who still hadn’t asked what they did or where they were from. The social order here didn’t fit with what John understood and he had an underlying urge to stamp his authority on it to some degree by telling them who he was.

The dreadlocked girl talked to everyone but them. John decided she wasn’t that beautiful after all. But there was something about her that stayed with him.

They spent the next day visiting more pyramids. The first thing that hit John was the dry heat. The main pyramid of wherever they were, nicknamed “El Castillo,” was impressive, and they again climbed to the top. It was only 24 meters high, but it took some effort in the midday sun. They walked through the stone columns, the main temple, the bearded man temple, the table temple, the deer temple, and a few others. It quickly turned into one big blur to John. They also checked off the market and steam bath. John was over it halfway through. The only thing he found impressive was that the city was built amongst the jungle, which overflowed around the city walls. Mexican street vendors tried to sell them reproduced Mayan antiquities on the way out and he walked past or even through them, holding Barbara’s hand, ensuring she didn’t get diverted.

After returning to the hotel around four o’clock, which equated to four hours of walking around in the heat, they lay down on Barbara’s sheets and drifted off to sleep. Opening his eyes an hour later, John was hungry, stiff and sore—very sore. It felt like he'd run a marathon.

“Ow,” he said, trying to lift himself out of bed.

“Me too.”

John leant over and gave Barbara a consolatory and empathetic kiss. Even that hurt.

“How about I call the front desk and try and organize us some massages?” he suggested.

“Good idea, except there’s no phone in the room, so you’ll have to go down to reception.”

John grimaced and thought about it for a minute. After building up the resolve, he swung his legs off the bed and used the motion to help himself up. Walking down the flight of stairs slowly, his glutes ached with each movement.

At the front desk, Eduardo informed him they would have to go out to get a massage. As per Eduardo’s directions, they found a basic one-storey, one room house a few streets over from the hotel. On the white painted brick façade was painted, “Masaje—10 dollars.” Three doors down was a decent-looking Best Western Hotel, which Barbara eyed.

They hobbled into the house.

Inside, four wooden a-frames held up thin mattresses, hip height. A local man sat on a chair getting his legs worked on by a girl on the floor while his feet sat in a bucket. The beds were empty.

An old woman greeted them, “Massage?”

“Yes,” answered John.

“Is it possible for both of us at the same time?” asked Barbara.

Si.” She smiled and her wrinkles made patterns like contours on a map highlighting a steep gradient.

The girl massaging the local man stopped what she was doing and walked over to Barbara.

“Come please.” She took Barbara over to one of the beds, pulled a white curtain and said, “Undress please.”

The old woman took John to another bed and did the same. He stripped off to his underwear.

“Take off,” she ordered, as she held a sarong up to cover him.

“Take off my underwear?” John questioned.

“Take off please,” she repeated.

John looked for Barbara but couldn’t see her.

“All off?” he tried to clarify.

“Take off,” she said again.

He did as commanded; feeling exposed and put his clothes in a bin under the bed and lay face down on it.

The old woman put some oil on her hands and rubbed up and down his spine. Her hands quickened; he felt the heat from her effort. Her hands were firm. She worked each spinal knuckle, limbering them up. John was surprised at the energy of this woman. It wasn’t that she looked frail, but she certainly didn’t look in her prime.

She worked in a fast, strong rhythm down the side of his abdominals with her forearms. It was almost rough. Up and down, around and along his sides using her forearms and elbows. When she hit a knot, John reacted and she held it there until it released.

She massaged his naked gluts, rubbing around in circles with her elbows.

John became aware of his penis. It wasn’t erect, but it wasn’t contracted either.

Don’t be hard when I turn over.

She started on his lower back and it was tender. “Ooh, it’s sore,” he said.

“Stress here,” she said.

“Huh?”

“You keep stress here.” She worked it hard, showing no sympathy.

She next moved to his legs, pulling them apart. She worked up his inner thigh. She went deep and worked higher and higher. It was invigorating, almost erotic. She went even higher until she got to the crease of his groin. With every circular swipe of her hand, she touched his balls. In all the massages he’d had before, John had never experienced this. While it was no longer pleasant, it didn’t hurt either. Each time she hit his sack, a small shock went through his pelvis and his penis retreated. A token benefit of getting repeatedly hit in the balls, John thought and smirked to himself.

She moved on to his thighs and calves, using her forearms as rolling pins.

“Okay, turn over please.”

John did as instructed and she placed the sheet such that it just covered his waist. She tucked it in and down so that his penis was covered and lay to one side but his pubic hair was exposed. She said something to Barbara’s masseuse in Spanish and they both laughed.

“I think they’re laughing at me, Babe,” said John.

“No, I think they’re laughing at my well-trimmed pubic hair,” Barbara said.

“Are you exposed?”

“No, not really.”

“Don’t worry about it. They’re probably just passing the time,” said John.

“I don’t think so.”

“And I don’t think I am going to be able to walk tomorrow.”

“Ditto,” Barbara said.

“Not sure if it will be because of the pyramid climbing or the massage though.”

The masseuse started on John’s stomach. It hurt. The circles started wide, going down into his groin and up into his rib cage. They became smaller as she worked inwards. His muscles engaged randomly to try and minimize the pain. The circles became tiny as she centered in.

“Ow,” he said.

“You keep your sadness here,” she said.

She momentarily put her finger in his belly button and the pain stopped.

After she massaged his entire body, she pushed John up into a sitting position and worked his shoulders and neck. Her elbows pushed down hard on his pressure points. When she’d finished with him, John felt destroyed, dazed, and could barely stand.

They staggered back to their hotel, drank some water and John was well on his way to falling asleep again when Barbara screamed from the bathroom.

He didn’t respond even though he knew he should.

“A spider just ran over my hand,” she yelled.

John had just closed his eyes.

“When I turned the tap on to wash my face, a spider ran over my hand.”

His eyes opened, knowing he had to say something. “Are you serious?”

“Yes I’m serious.”

“Did it bite you?”

She came out of the bathroom, inspecting her hand in the light. “I don’t think so.” She shivered.

“Well, it’s probably nothing.”

“I want to get out of here now.”

“And go where?”

“To the hotel near the massage place.”

“Babe, it’s too late and we’re both too tired. Come to bed. We’ll go tomorrow.”

The temptation to close his eyes and deal with the fallout in the morning was immense. He was physically spent and drained from the day. His energy levels felt like they were at an all time low. All he wanted was sleep.

“John,” she yelled.

He dragged himself out of bed, looked in the bathroom and seeing nothing, gave her a hug and tried to motion her into bed. She didn’t come until she’d ripped up the blanket and sheet and looked under the pillow. There was nothing there. John lay back down and cradled her into his arms. While it was usually too uncomfortable and out of his norm to fall asleep touching someone, John was asleep within minutes. This time, sleep lasted 12 hours.

When John awoke in the morning, he found Barbara in a chair looking at him. Her knees were pulled up with her arms around them.

“I want to leave.”

John rubbed his eyes and tried to digest the fact that it was a new day and she was packed and ready to go.

She ushered him out of bed and rather than shower, he threw some water over his face and didn’t bother shaving. Rather than the Best Western, John lugged their luggage to the bus station, which was a concrete shelter by the side of the road. The bus to Cancun wasn’t for another hour.

“Do you want some breakfast?” John asked.

“What will you get?”

“A tortilla, probably.”

“Um. No, I’m fine.”

“Come on, it won’t kill you.”

“I’m not hungry,” she said sharply.

“Do you want me to see if I can get you some plain bread and an orange juice?”

“Do you think they’ll have Minute Maid?”

“I doubt it. It will be real orange juice made from oranges.”

“Only if it comes in a can.”

John grabbed a breakfast tortilla of eggs, beans, and a chili sauce up the road. It tasted fantastic, which made the walk with such sore gluts worthwhile.

He bought reconstituted orange juice in a can and some fresh rolls for Barbara. She cleaned the top of the can with a disinfectant wipe before putting her lips to it.

“It tastes funny.”

“Of course it does, you just wiped it with chemicals.”

“I had to.”

“It’s fine, just drink it.”

“You drink it.”

“No, I just had a beautiful fresh orange juice,” he lied.

Barbara put the can down.

They sat in silence while they waited for the bus and John eventually pulled out his book. Barbara followed.

The road back to Cancun was windy and took three hours. Once there, they booked into the most secluded five-star hotel the tourist office knew of.

New rules were established and with an absence of buses and spider webs, John and Barbara sank into a comfortable rhythm. Their hotel room quickly became their home and the hotel restaurant, their kitchen. Breakfast of muesli, fruit, and yogurt each morning followed by scuba diving lessons. Their world exploded underwater into beautifully colored coral and previously unseen living things.

On the fourth day, he found himself having a late lunch with Barbara after a snooze, thinking about how relaxed he was and how much he was enjoying himself. They were now having a great time in each other’s company, they’d had sex the last four days straight, and the relationship felt strong and close again.

Lying by the pool, he thought back to the surly dreadlocked girl. It made him feel good about Barbara. She fitted into his world. She was like him. She was beautiful, attractive, and smart and knew what she wanted in life. She didn’t suffer fools gladly. Just marry her. It came at him again, like a bolt of lightning and he stiffened up immediately.

“What’s wrong?” Barbara asked.

“Nothing,” he said, slouching back down.

John tried to process it. Impulses like that had never come to him with respect to anyone else before. It was unnerving, but the relationship felt so right. And not that he’d admit it, but he felt comforted by a girlfriend for the first time in his life. Feeling unsettled with Annie and Hank moving and Rob’s retirement, that was exactly what he needed.

For seven straight nights, John and Barbara ate seafood, drank cold beer and passable wine, and made love. John felt like he was in heaven and started to feel comfortable talking with strangers. He managed to bum a detective novel off a fellow guest, which became his sixth book of the trip.

On the plane from the home to New York, they sat holding hands. “Babe, what a great vacation, wasn’t it?”

“It was. I had a great time. I wasn’t too much of a princess for you, was I?”

“Well, there were moments, but that’s fine. We did go a bit off-road.”

She leant across and gave him a long kiss.

John’s heart was ready to explode. It was unlike any feeling he’d felt before and he knew it was going to come out one way or another. He considered going to the toilet to calm himself down.“Marry me, Princess,” he blurted out, almost without thinking.

She looked at him in shock. “Yes. YES!” she exclaimed and then beamed. Tears started to run down Barbara’s cheeks and they kissed again. His eyes threatened to water, but didn't. He was a cocktail of emotions: relief, love, yearning, happy, with only a hint of apprehension at what he'd just done.

John ordered two glasses of champagne, which tasted awful, but neither of them complained.

Once they returned, Barbara spent 48 hours on the phone calling her family and friends. John was happy she was so ecstatic. He was also surprised how important it was for her to share the news straight away. An email would have been much more efficient. Whilst tempting, he decided to tell his close friends over breakfast at Moroc. It was a first; he'd never introduced them to each other before let alone shared something as momentous as this.

"Barbara and I are engaged," he announced.

“Congratulations, mate,” Liam said.

“Welcome to the club,” said Michael.

“You putz,” Mac offered.

They all laughed.

“Seriously, it’s only been six months,” Mac continued. “She’s a great chick, but wait a while.”

John stiffened fractionally. “It’s a done deal. I’m crazy about her. We fit together.”

“So, how does waiting hurt?” asked Mac.

John saw he was being serious and looked at Mac incredulously. “I know she’s the one, so what’s the point in waiting?”

They stared at each other before Mac finally smiled. “Sell-out,” Mac mumbled through his grin before raising his glass. “I mean, congratulations!”

“Whatever. You’re all groomsmen, so put on a happy face or I’ll make sure you’re paired with an ugly bridesmaid.”

“I’m happy if you’re happy. Are you happy?” said Mac.

“Yeah I’m ecstatic.” It was a half-truth. John was all of happy, in love, a little unsure, and trying not to think too far ahead.

“Really?” queried Mac.

“Can’t you just be pleased for him?” asked Liam.

“I am. I’m just sad to be losing a homey.”

“This won’t change a thing,” John said.

Liam, Mac and Michael laughed in unison.

John looked at Michael. It was an interesting point. Would things change? Michael is definitely under the thumb. But Michael and Sarah are different to Barbara and I.

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