"The resort isn't far. Traffic permitting."
Ayla said with a hand on the steering wheel and another on the gear shift.
"I read the itinerary. A couple hours to Ponce and then a ferry ride."
Renée nodded and watched the woman's reflection in the window. She wasn't really used to seeing her in work attire, but seeing her well manicured fingernails - still done short, almond shaped with a soft coral color tone - was another blast of sentiment.
Renée looked down at her own nails. They were currently painted a royal blue. In the past, they were not as well maintained as they were right now. She remembered that it had been a bit of a shock to Ayla at the beginning of their relationship... that the writing student preferred her nails cut back fully and natural shaped.
Of course, in the years since the breakup a bit of self-care was part of her growth plan
"I hope traffic is light. It would be nice to get to the hotel and rest up a bit before dinner."
Simon spoke from the backseat. The comment reminded Renée that he was even there. She had started to get lost in memories and comparisons.
"I've heard the food here is great."
Her voice felt a little stiff and she cleared her throat. Neither of them seem inclined to pay special attention to the behavior. It simply turned into a suffocating quiet other than the sound of the vehicle's engine, A/C, and the occasional horn noise from outside.
"Ms. Bozkurt. I hate to bother you while you drive, but can I get your thoughts on-"
Simon's phone rang and he answered it. Renée watched the road ahead, her head leaning against the window. Her fingers drummed lightly against her own thighs as she decided whether to find a way to break the silence or enjoy it while it lasted.
"Is that why you brought your notebook here for? Work?"
Her ex asked her out of nowhere a few minutes after ignoring the man's conversation. Renée's eyes snapped over to her profile as she drove and saw the woman's lips tightly pursed. It wasn't the most relaxed or happy expression. It might even be called cold by some.
"I do owe my editor some updates. And you?"
"I'm here because... Marcus invited me. He and Simon have become quite friendly."
The response was cool and matter-of-fact. She didn't say anything more and the writer let the silence linger again. The last time they saw each other had been pretty awful. Renée had a lot of time since then to reflect on that experience.
The fact that Ayla was willing to treat her cordially enough to make small talk was already more than she hoped.
"Have you visited San Juan before?"
The conversation began again in her polite and detached tone. Her ex used to be quite warm around her, but this was otherwise her [default state]. The other woman responded in kind, with her hand lazily on her cheek.
"No. I still haven't done a lot of travel. It's mostly been to the same few cities. What about you?"
"Only once. To a conference during my graduate studies."
The conversation stalled again. They both retreated quietly as if neither dared to speak. It was hard for Renée to keep herself from staring at the woman. Even in distorted reflections or blurry periphery - it was all that much more real than memory.
The way she sat in her seat. How her hand rested on the stick shift as she changed gears. How her fingers wrapped around the leather-wrapped wheel. All of it made her eyelids droop further, like it would hide the sort of feelings that might show in her eyes.
In the back seat, Simon reviewed some documents just sent to him on his phone. It left his attention conspicuously elsewhere. With Leana involved in some attempt to place them together, she wouldn't put it past the journalist to have sent him something to look over.
[Something that gives him an excuse to ignore our need for a buffer.]
"Did you get any sleep on the plane?"
"Hm? No, it was less than a handful of hours."
"...I see. You just looked tired, with your eyes half closed."
The drive to Ponce passed in relative silence, broken only by Simon's occasional dry comments about passing landmarks. The two women seemed to take turns returning the sudden chatter. Overall, Renée spent most of it watching the landscape pass through her window.
[Silly. I'm more nervous about looking at her than looking at the road.]
When she thought about it, Ayla was a better driver than most even in the past. The writer always found being a passenger nearly as stressful as driving herself... but that had eased within her as they dated. At least, back when her ex was the one driving them somewhere it had been easy to jot down some notes without a fear of pulling her eyes away from the road.
But she couldn't bring herself to take her notebook out today. She was sure she would start writing strange things. It was as rude to write directly about people right next to you as it was to draw their portrait without informing them.
But she couldn't bring herself to take her notebook out today. She was sure she would start writing strange things. It was as rude to write directly about people right next to you as it was to draw their portrait without informing them.
The ferry terminal in Ponce was smaller than Renée expected, but busy enough that staff had to guide them to the correct parking area. As soon as Ayla pulled into a spot, Renée was opening her door.
"Restroom break."
She managed to spit out while already shouldering her bag. She caught the slight nod from her ex out of the corner of her eye as she headed for the terminal building to ask for directions.
The women's room was mercifully empty. Renée locked herself in a stall, sank onto the closed lid, and pulled out her notebook. Her hands were steady as she opened to a fresh page and ran her fingers along the edge of the paper. But her chest felt tight due to emotion.
In a giant flowing script, she wrote across the page:
/ Ayla, I'm sorry. /
She stared at the name and two words. They looked different on paper than they felt in her head - more real, somehow... and much more inadequate. She had rehearsed with her therapist the kinds of things she might say if confronting someone who had been affected by her struggles.
Even though she could think of so many things, so many ways to explain, it all felt wrong. After a moment, she simply closed it without adding anything else.
[Two hours stuck beside her in a car and imperfect words is all I can manage.]
Knowing it would be hard and experiencing how hard it was... Renée felt the difference. And the ride here was only the beginning. They would be locked together on the ferry ride. The island. The resort. The wedding.
It truly would be awkward if her explanations were not handled right. Not because she was an author who should be better with words, but because she was Ayla's ex. The woman did the deed she ostensibly came this way for and murmured to herself as she washed her hands.
"If you just start off with a sorry, anyone would imagine you are trying to win them back..."