Theresa was pissed, yet resigned in the way of a woman accustomed to disappointment but determined not to let it get to her. I was tired and increasingly disturbed. “Trust me, I know David,” I said. “I can read him like a Kindle. He’s wondering where the hell I am right now, and it’s killing him. But what I don’t get is why isn’t he coming to look for me? What the freak is with that?”
When the men relocated to a seated area 30 feet from the bar, I found myself repeating Theresa’s sentiment: “Oh, no he didn’t.” I thought I knew my man. I tried working myself into a hissy by tossing up a hypothetical: “What if I’d gone back to where we were at the bar and couldn’t find him? What then?” Theresa shook her head, an inherently female gesture meaning, “Men.” “That’s it,” I said, literally putting my foot down as I stood. “I’m going over there.”
Despite my mask of indignation, my irritation was unable to penetrate the indestructible barrier of trust that runs deeper than my five senses. Regardless of how things may have seemed, I was absolutely certain of two things: 1, neither David nor I would leave without the other, and 2, we both understood number one as a fact of life. Therefore, I concluded, it must be the case that David had a good reason for sticking by that guy’s side. Still, I read him the riot act while Theresa confronted her nascent hubby. Despite my rambling about “courtesy” and “thoughtfulness,” I knew David’s intentions, whatever they were, would vindicate him in the end.
Even as I was laying into him, the look on David’s face was one of immense relief, and its effect of melting my resolve was complete. Before he had a chance to respond, I noticed Theresa running off again, and I bolted after her. David followed me. I’m not sure what had been said between the newlyweds, but by the time I caught up with Theresa, she was already outside, fast-walking away from the club. When she said she was over it, I inherently knew she meant more than this evening — that for whatever reason, her honeymoon thus far had not been as she’d imagined it would be.
Without a second thought about Chris, whom we knew would be okay because he had his wallet and spoke Spanish, David and I escorted Theresa back to her hotel. Once we were finally on our own again, winding our way back through the narrow streets to our hotel, David and I shared what had happened while we were apart. I told him about watching him from the landing, and he explained why he didn’t go looking for me. “Chris is really, really drunk; he’s doing the kind of stupid things that people often regret. And they’re on their honeymoon, so I wanted to help. I was talking about how we are and how he needs to be a lot less ‘me’ and a lot more ‘us.’ You know, like you and me.” David smiled and held my hand as we continued walking.
“Damn, I knew it,” I said. “The whole time I was sitting up there, appalled that you weren’t thinking enough about me, when in fact you were down there talking about me.” As we continued along, I couldn’t help but muse that to anyone watching, we must have looked like the ones who’d just gotten married.