After Elias Read online

  “So you’re going to stay in Mexico and do what? Live off the land? Swim with the turtles?” He says this in that taunting tone I used to love but grew to hate.

  “That actually doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Anything is better than going home and dealing with this mess you’ve left.”

  I rub my temples in circular motions with the palms of my hands. “We’re supposed to be married in a week. Everything is ready. Maria is a master. I couldn’t have asked for a better wedding planner. She’s managed to make it all happen. Seven-course dinner with seafood caught right here on this island. Custom mescal cocktails. Wines from Baja. She was even able to book that band from Mexico City. And the trees! The trees are in bloom. Just like she predicted they’d be. This event was going to be unforgettable.”

  I stare at the ceiling and imagine his face. I can’t quite read the expression.

  “Why did you have to work that last flight?” I say into the air. “I wanted us to come down here together. Why did you let me go alone?”

  “It was only going to be a few days.” His voice is gentler now. “You weren’t going to be alone for long.”

  “You were wrong.”

  I feel the spite rise up my throat. I want to say something hurtful, but I swallow hard. “I’m going to stay right here. This island is paradise, don’t you think? Besides, we’ve already paid for the wedding. I may as well enjoy it.”

  I push myself up from the bed and walk past the vanity mirror mounted above the desk. My bags have only been partially unpacked, but I had taken the time to wedge our wedding invitation where the mirror meets its frame. Join us in paradise to celebrate the love of Coen Caraway & Elias Santos. The text sits above an image of us holding each other, laughing, with the city shimmering in the distance. The photo was taken on the rooftop of our apartment building. We must have taken hundreds of variations of the same basic pose. Most of them were contrived, but I think we were genuinely laughing in this one that we chose. I can tell because of Elias’s eyes. They’re sparkling.

  Then it comes to me. I have an idea. I wait for imaginary Elias to say something, to object.

  Silence.

  • • • • •

  Vivian Lo was born into a distinguished family from Hong Kong. Her father owned some kind of business related to international trade. The “importing and exporting of capitalist greed” is how Vivi often put it. They immigrated to Vancouver in the 1990s, right before Hong Kong’s future was handed over to China. I didn’t understand what her father did for work, but I did know that he was rarely seen wearing anything but an impeccably tailored suit.

  I met Vivi in high school when she was a peculiar girl who seemed to have no interest in people. We hit it off because I was equally awkward and we were both obsessed with photography at the time. We would spend hours in the dark room together, talking about the books we were reading while developing our negatives. Sometimes people would make jokes about the obscene things they imagined us doing in there until someone would remind them I was obviously queer.

  At our high school reunion three years ago, everyone did a poor job of hiding their resentment for us and how we turned out. We circulated through the room with such ease, such confidence. We had evolved into everything we weren’t as teenagers: attractive, charming, successful, while everyone else became so dull and suburban.

  Now, Vivi looks tired and pale. I can tell she’s been crying even through the grainy resolution of the video-chat window on my tablet’s screen.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” she says for the fifth time. “It’s a nightmare. This only happens in really shitty movies.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “This would be a really shitty movie.”

  “Come home,” she pleads. “Get your skinny ass on a plane and come home right now.”

  “I’ve already told you I can’t do that.” I look at her as she looks at me. Her eyes are conspicuously free of eyeliner, and I remember how I’m the only person who gets the privilege of seeing her without it. “Even thinking about home makes me nauseous. I need to be here for a while.”

  “In Mexico? On a deserted island, all by yourself? You don’t need to be there. You need to be here with me, with Decker, with everyone who loves you. We’ve been worried sick.”

  “This island is far from deserted. You don’t have to worry about me. Besides, I’m going to see all of you soon.” There’s silence as I pause for a long inhale. “I have an idea.”

  She shoots me a strange look, her eyes locked on mine.

  “I was thinking,” I say more tentatively than I intend. “The wedding was supposed to be in a week, right? We’ve already paid for everything, and we’re not getting the money back. The hotel is booked, as is the catering, the band, the staff … Guests are supposed to start arriving in five days, and none of you will be able to refund your flights and rooms. Everything is set. Plus, I’m already here.”

  “No,” she interrupts, shaking her head. “No, no, no, no, Coen. I don’t like where this is going.”

  “I want everyone to come here as planned,” I forge ahead, “except it won’t be a wedding. It will be for Elias — a celebration of his life. Everyone who should be there is already confirmed to attend the wedding. And he’s originally from Mexico. Imagine how beautiful that would be. It’s perfect.”

  “It’s not perfect, Coen. None of this is perfect. This is all the furthest fucking thing from perfect!” Vivi looks angry and almost ill. Her expression softens. She chooses her words carefully, alerting my defences. That’s unlike her.

  “Babe,” she says gently. “I’m sorry. I’m just concerned. You have received some devastating news.” Her slender fingers run through her hair, an angular helmet as black as carbon that ends just above her shoulders. She glances to the side before leaning forward. “You need to come home. You shouldn’t be alone. Forget about the money. That’s not important. What’s important is for you to be here, with us, so we can figure this out together.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I say in a tone I hope sounds immovable. “I’m not cancelling the wedding. You are all going to come to this beautiful island in five days, and we are going to celebrate Elias’s life together. That’s what he would want.”

  “Is it? Is that what he would want? They haven’t even found him yet, Coen!” I can almost see Vivi’s softness evaporate like steam. “He might still be alive for all we know. Elias would want you to be here with the rest of us, not alone on an island.”

  “I am not going anywhere,” I say again, believing myself this time. “You can stay at home, or you can meet me here. That’s your decision. If everyone thinks I’m crazy and nobody shows up, that’s fine. But this celebration is happening, even if it’s just me and my wedding planner and the jazz band.”

  “Fine,” she says in surrender. “Then I’m heading to the airport. I’ll be on the next flight out.”

  Her bloodshot eyes follow mine, and I can’t remember the last time I saw her like this. She is usually so poised. Her face appears simultaneously younger and older than usual, something vulnerable and resigned settled within the lines of her skin.

  I smile. “As much as I would love for you to be here with me right now, it’s going to burn a hole through your wallet to change your flight at such short notice. Besides, I know you have that gig tomorrow. I’m not letting you cancel it on my account.”

  “Coen …” she says, trailing off.

  “I will see you in five days. You’ll be here before you know it. Until then, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me, please. I’m a big boy.”

  I flash her the most masculine, grown-up expression I can muster, and I’m relieved to see her laugh.

  “Take care of yourself, okay?” she says. “If you need anything, call me. It doesn’t matter what time, day or night.”

  “I promise.”

  She strains a smile, her lips pulled tightly at the sides, but her eyes look like they’re studying me, searching for something.


  IONA BEACH

  Two days before the crash

  “I wish you could stay.” I gave him a rueful look, as though I could change his mind with the power of my eyes.

  It had been a warm afternoon in Vancouver, but the warmth seemed to vanish with the light. Now that the moonlight flickered along the waves that lapped at our feet, we shivered back into our jackets. Mexico felt so far away.

  “I wish I could stay too,” Elias said, his eyes lingering on the wool blanket we sat on as his hand traced circles in the sand. It seemed like he meant it, though I could never really tell with him. “But there’s nothing I can do about it now. Just another few flights. Then it will be over.”

  “It feels wrong to be flying down to our wedding alone.”

  “You won’t be alone for long.”

  “Maybe I should just wait for you to return from Germany.” I winced, hearing how my voice brightened with hope. “We could fly down together.”

  He ran his palm along the surface of the sand, smoothing over the circles he’d drawn, and shifted closer to me. The calmness on his face was undisturbed, no trace of the impatience I had braced myself for.

  “You said yourself that you want to be there early to make sure everything is set. You can help Maria with the preparations; enjoy some peace and quiet before the circus arrives. You could even work on tanning that milky body of yours.”

  He flashed me a mischievous grin before I wrestled him to the ground, playfully jabbing him in the ribs. He laughed as he counterattacked, pinning me to the beach with ease. We were more or less the same size, but there was never a contest when it came to strength. My legs started to ache, but I didn’t care.

  We stayed like that for a while, hearts beating and breath panting, covered in sand with the blanket twisted around us. The bottles of beer we’d brought were now scattered along the beach. I looked up at his silhouette, the moonlit sky behind him, and he kissed me gently. I noticed something different in his eyes, an unfamiliar expression. Then it was gone, and he collapsed on his back beside me.

  “I’ll get a tan as long as you get your hair cut before the wedding,” I said. His heavy black mane was almost silver in the light, spilling from the edges of his forehead.

  “Have I ever broken a promise?”

  “I’m serious. Cut your hair.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice tinged with that patronizing tone he liked to use. “I’ll be more handsome than I’ve ever been in my life. The women will faint at the sight of me. Some of the men will too. You will be blinded by my beauty.”

  “Don’t disappoint me,” I said, my lips curled up slightly at the sides.

  A deep laugh rang quietly from his throat. “I wouldn’t dare. I’m more concerned about this hotel of yours. Good luck to them, living up to your expectations.”

  “It’ll be perfect.”

  “Nothing is ever perfect, dear.”

  The sound of the waves was closer as I turned to him. “The hotel, the event, you — it will all be perfect.”

  A soft smile broke through his uneven lips, but he didn’t respond. He simply looked at me, like he often did, as I stared into the shining orbs in his dark eyes, waiting.

  With an inhale, Elias turned his head to face the night. “What’s it called again?”

  “The Ōmeyōcān Hotel,” I answered. His lips moved, silently repeating the name to himself. “There are thirteen heavens in Aztec mythology. Ōmeyōcān is the highest one. They’re setting some pretty high expectations themselves with a name like that.”

  “I wonder what the Aztec gods think about a fancy resort branding itself as heaven.”

  “This place is flawless,” I said. “I accept the risk of angering the gods.”

  I knew I’d be married at the Ōmeyōcān Hotel the moment I spotted it in a travel magazine last year. Surrounded by elaborate gardens, it resembles a Spanish conquistador’s palace standing watch over an immaculate stretch of sand on the northern coast of Isla de Espejos, a remote island in the Gulf of Mexico. The curious combination of colonialism and indigenous mythology didn’t strike me as troubling at the time.

  The arches and columns that line the grand halls of the hotel surround a vast courtyard. One side opens to the beach and ocean beyond through an arched gateway framed by a cascade of bougainvillea. The opposite end of the courtyard sits beneath two sweeping baroque staircases that curve toward each other as they climb upward, meeting at a terrace that overlooks the shamelessly dramatic setting.

  What had really caught my eye were the trees. The glossy pages of the magazine revealed large magnolia trees arranged evenly throughout the open-air space. Their sprawling branches were covered in flowers shaped like teacups, creating a canopy of pale pink and creamy white. Maria confessed it was an impractical choice considering they bloom for only a handful of weeks each year, but that was part of the allure. Beauty is more beautiful when it’s fleeting.

  “If I were a god, I’d know better than to mess with Coen Caraway on his perfect day.” He nudged my ribs with his elbow, his lips pulled into a teasing smile.

  “It doesn’t seem real, does it?” I asked, trying to spot the stars hidden behind the haze from the city lights. “Marriage, in just a few days from now.”

  He chuckled. “I still wonder how we got here. I never imagined myself being married, especially so young.”

  “Thirty-three isn’t that young,” I said, returning his teasing smile.

  “You’re right,” he admitted. “This never used to be part of the plan though, to be domesticated like a dog. I guess life happens quickly and people change. Now we’re just like everyone else. Normal.”

  “That is so romantic,” I replied with Elias-style sarcasm.

  “You used to agree!”

  “Sure, but I’ve never compared married people to dogs. Although Decker and Samantha do resemble a pair of well-groomed golden retrievers most of the time.” We laughed at the visual. “So loyal and codependent and stupidly content.”

  “That will never be us,” he said with conviction.

  “No,” I agreed. “But maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.”

  “To be trained like a dog?” He looked at me with an incredulous grin.

  “To be stupidly content. Perhaps people would be better off enjoying the good things and ignoring the rest.”

  “Sure,” he said. “That’s fine for you. I’m from Mexico. I’m not wired to think that way.”

  “It has nothing to do with where you come from.”

  “Of course it does,” he said before I could go on, his tone more serious. “You’re telling me that a girl from the slums has the same chance at happiness as someone like you? To be happy and oblivious is a privilege available to a very exclusive set of people.”

  I knew it was a path to avoid. I wasn’t going to win this debate.

  “I’m just trying to comment on the human race as a whole.”

  “There is no human race,” he responded darkly. “The two people I described — the girl from the slums and you — might as well be different species.”

  “Does that make the two of us different species then?”

  “Perhaps.”

  I took a deep breath. “Even so, look at us. We’ve managed to build a life together. In a few days, we’ll be married. Why do it if not for a chance at happiness?”

  “Because it’s practical, and because we can.” He turned his face away from mine and looked up at the darkness. “The concept of happiness is ambiguous. It has no meaning.”

  “That’s the point. It’s different for everyone. It gives people something to define for themselves, something to strive for. What’s the point of living if not to be happy?”

  He responded without hesitation. “To be free.”

  I suppose I knew this would be his answer, but it wasn’t the answer I cared to hear. There were more questions I wanted to ask him then. They flashed through my mind but didn’t make it out of my mouth.

  I wondered how the m
ood had shifted so suddenly, as I often did. Elias was a prairie sky, switching from sunshine to storm clouds without warning. When the clouds arrived, there wasn’t much to be done but wait for them to dissipate.

  “I guess if we’re going to succumb to the shackles of domestic life, at least we’ll be doing it in style,” I said as I felt my body stiffen.

  He sensed the displeasure in my tone. “Come here,” he said, placing his arm around my neck. “The only reason I want to be married is because I want you.”

  I relaxed into him. “I want you too.”

  “And you’re right. We are going to do this in style. It will be unforgettable.”

  Elias always knew the right things to say, though he wouldn’t always say them. His words were deliberate. They had intention. Even so, I loved him more when he told me what I wanted to hear.

  “How does it feel to return to Mexico after all these years?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant as I held my breath for his answer.

  There was a pause. “I feel nothing,” he said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I feel nothing about it. It’s been thirteen years since I left. I have no desire to go back, but there’s no use avoiding it forever.”

  It had come as a surprise when Elias agreed to choosing Isla de Espejos for the wedding. I had been nervous about suggesting it. I gathered as much courage as I could before making my pitch, preparing myself for an argument. He just shrugged and complied. No objections. Nothing. It was so easy.

  “You’re not even the least bit excited? Nostalgic?” I asked, unconvinced.

  He had heard these questions before, so I expected him to get annoyed. He answered coolly. “No. Not at all.”

  Another heavy pause followed. He was stretched out on his back, staring at the sky with his head close to mine. I decided to be bold.

  “And your family? You’re sure you don’t want them there? We could still fit them in. The invitation would be a nice peace offering. It could bring some closure.”

  “I don’t want them to be there,” he said, his voice calm and decisive. “They’re not my family anymore.”