Static in the Palm Trees

The cable TV was supposed to be fixed at noon. By 3 PM, Elena was still sitting on the hotel bed in her robe, watching the static fuzz in and out of existence, waiting for the maintenance guy who'd probably forgotten her room number entirely.

She should have been by the pool. That was the plan, the one she'd sold herself when she booked this weekend away. Pool time, cocktails, maybe actually reading the book that had been gathering dust on her nightstand for six months. Instead, here she was, still in the room, phone face down on the duvet because she'd already checked it twelve times in the last hour.

The knock on the door made her jump.

"Cable repair," a voice called through the wood, muffled and impatient.

Elena tightened the sash of her robe and opened the door.

It wasn't the maintenance guy.

It was Sarah, wearing that sundress Elena had always hated, the one with the tiny palm trees printed all over it. Sarah's hair was shorter than Elena remembered—chopped into something sharp and modern, the kind of cut that said "I'm doing fine, actually" better than any words could.

"I asked at the desk," Sarah said. "Which room you were in."

Elena's palm went to her throat, where her pulse was suddenly racing. "Sarah. What are you—"

"We were supposed to meet here," Sarah said, not quite meeting her eyes. "Two years ago. After what happened with Marcus. You said, 'If we're going to talk about this, let's do it somewhere neutral. Somewhere with a pool.'"

"And you never came," Elena said, the old anger flaring hot and familiar.

"I was afraid."

"Of what? That we'd have to admit what really happened?"

Sarah looked up then, and Elena saw it—the same terrified uncertainty she'd been carrying around for two years. The same question: had they destroyed their marriage, or had their marriage already been something fragile waiting to shatter?

"I missed you," Sarah said softly. "Even though I shouldn't. Even though you're the reason he—"

"The reason he what?" Elena stepped closer. "The reason he finally told the truth? That he'd been sleeping with both of us for six months and neither of us knew?"

Sarah's laugh was bitter. "God, we were such good friends, weren't we?"

"We were never friends," Elena said, and for the first time, the words didn't feel like an accusation. Just a fact. "We were two women who made the same mistake with the same man."

Sarah reached out, her fingers brushing Elena's wrist. "So what now?"

Elena looked past her to the hotel corridor, where a housekeeping cart was parked with its door open. Beyond that, through the window at the end of the hall, she could see the blue water of the pool shimmering in the late afternoon sun.

"Now," she said, "we could go get that drink. Two years late."

Sarah's hesitation lasted only a moment. Then she nodded, and for the first time, Elena noticed the tiny silver hairs beginning to show at her temples—just like her own.

"Only if I can pick the cocktails," Sarah said. "I've been thinking about what I'd order for two years."

Elena smiled, and it felt like the first real one in a long time. "Deal."