Honeymoon for One: Gay Romance
: Chapter 4

“Why did I think this was a good idea?” Ethan muttered to himself as he stepped off the elevator into the lobby of the hotel. A couple gave him a strange look, which likely meant he was talking too loudly. Another of the awesome perks of being hard of hearing was not realizing when he was talking louder than he thought. He tried to smile at them, his stomach churning.

At least he’d been able to check in early and have a quick shower and shave. He was exhausted, but knew he had to stay awake the rest of the day to fight jet lag. The flights from New York to LA, then to Brisbane, and finally up to Cairns—which Aussies seemed to pronounce “Cans”—hadn’t had any major delays, but he felt as though he’d been traveling for days. Which he probably had? He wasn’t sure.

It had been dark for almost all of the flight to Brisbane, an endless night he’d tried to sleep through since the movies didn’t have captions. If his phone had enough storage, he could have preloaded a few movies and watched them with the sound going right to his hearing aids via Bluetooth, but he only had less than a gig left. In the end, he’d dozed fitfully, and with his hearing aids off, he barely heard the baby wailing in the row behind.

They’d hit a few spots of turbulence, and Ethan had read the emergency card repeatedly and reminded himself that the closest emergency exit was six rows behind him. He’d counted the seat backs when he boarded, knowing that if the cabin was dark or filled with smoke, he’d theoretically be able to grope for the seats and count his way to the exit.

Theoretically.

Of course when they were over the ocean, the odds of surviving a water landing were about nil, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared. He imagined Michael’s eye-roll, telling him he shouldn’t have watched that plane crash investigation show.

There was another slice of pain, so sharp he had to catch his breath. He could get distracted and blissfully forget about Michael and Todd for small snatches of time, and then he’d remember and experience it all again in a rush—hurt, humiliation, fury, despair.

Along with the stark, undeniable truth underneath it all, that he’d only proposed to Michael out of some misguided attempt to fix what was wrong in their relationship. In his life. This little cycle had played out repeatedly, the momentary relief of distraction followed by the crushing return of his new reality.

Are they thinking about me? Or are they too busy fucking?

Now here he was—alone in Australia. He thought he might puke. It was humid AF, and sweat already dampened his palms as he scanned the lobby for the tour group, his nerves not helping. He kept a bandanna folded in his pocket to dab at the sweat around his ears, making sure his aids didn’t get too wet. He had to sweat a lot for it to really be a concern, but the tropical humidity had him on guard.

His itinerary had said to meet in the lobby at one-thirty, but as Ethan gazed around, he didn’t see any groups or someone holding up a sign. When he poked his head outside and was hit by a fresh wall of humidity, he realized the DL Tours bus was there, the door standing open. Ethan’s heart skipped. Shit, was he late? He peered in tentatively.

Sitting behind the wheel on the right side of the bus was a man probably in his early forties. Sexy in that rough kind of manly way, with short brownish hair and a neat beard and mustache, wearing navy uniform pants and a short-sleeved white button-up shirt bearing the boxy DL Tours logo over the breast pocket.

“Ah, mumble,” the driver said.

A man Ethan assumed was the tour guide appeared atop a few steps that led up to the bus. Early thirties or so and stocky, he had brown skin and short dark hair, and his teeth gleamed in a wide smile. “G’day! Come on in.”

“Hi. I’m Ethan Robinson.” He gave the driver and guide a little wave. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I thought it said one-thirty?”

“Nah, mumble mumble,” the guide said, moving back a few feet into the bus and handing him a DL Tours tote bag with stuff in it.

Ethan joined him in the narrow aisle, aware of dozens of eyes on him. “I’m sorry? I didn’t catch that.” Ethan turned his head, motioning to one ear. “I’m hard of hearing.” Ugh. He hated giving this spiel. “If you could speak slowly and clearly and look straight at me while you do, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Sorry! Mumble mumble.”

Ethan shifted uneasily. He was tempted to just nod and smile and pretend he’d understood. He was used to Michael or Todd being there to help fill in the blanks, and he felt flayed open as everyone watched. “Sorry, that was still too fast. It’s hard with the accent.”

The guide leaned closer, his demeanor shifting to that of a person talking to a child. His eyebrows went up, and he put a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “Can you. Understand me. Now?”

Wishing the ground—or bus floor—would open, Ethan nodded, his skin crawling with the stares of everyone else on board.

“Great!” Now the guide yelled as well as talked down to him. “I said everyone else were early birds. You’re not late.”

Ethan wanted to tell him that shouting wasn’t necessary—and in fact could be painful because of the amplification in his hearing aids—but he already squirmed under the scrutiny of his fellow tourists. At a glance they all looked at least forty years older than he was, and it hit him like a ton of bricks.

Oh my God, I’m on a seniors’ tour. Not that I have anything against old people, but…

The guide leaned to the side and peered out the door. “Is Michael coming along in a minute?”

Ethan’s heart plummeted into his gut with an acidy thud. He’d emailed the tour company and told them it was only going to be him, but apparently that memo had been lost. Before he could formulate an answer, the guide gave him a grin and joked, “No wonder that the honeymooners are the last on board!”

The murmur of laughter from everyone and a few probably good-natured comments swirled into a mess of sound. Ethan’s cheeks were hot, and he contemplated turning around and escaping back to his room to hide. “I… We…” Fuck. “There’s no honeymoon!” he blurted. “We broke up right before the wedding. I’m here alone.” Like a pathetic loser.

In the sudden silence, the guide’s jaw dropped. “Sorry, mumble. Didn’t realize.”

Ethan’s face was so hot his head might explode. “It’s okay. It’s fine. I’m fine!”

“Of course you are!” the guide agreed, and the other passengers nodded vigorously. “Here, take the front seat. Best view as we mumble mumble!”

Eager to not have to see all the expressions of pity, Ethan dropped into the seat. His gaze locked with the driver’s, and the driver gave him a sympathetic half-smile before turning back to the wheel. Ethan slid to the window seat and debated again whether or not he should abort and run back to his room.

He’d been a complete fucking idiot to think coming on this trip alone was a good idea.

The guide picked up a microphone and said, “Now that we’re all here, let me do a quick introduction. I’m Shiv Chatterjee. I grew up in Melbourne, and defected for uni and became a Sydneysider. I love working in tourism. It’s great meeting new people and showing you this beautiful country.” He seemed to be making an effort to speak clearly, so at least that was something.

Shiv went on, “And that’s Clayton Kelly behind the wheel. He’s from what we call the back of beyond—in his case, the Queensland outback. Used to work in the mines as a mechanic, and that has come in handy once or twice, although these buses are top of the line, don’t worry. Clayton doesn’t say much, but still waters run deep. You’re in good hands.”

Still holding the mic, Shiv took the seat across the aisle and continued his welcome speech. It was easier to hear the lower tones of a man’s voice, but with an Aussie accent, the different, broader vowel sounds were already proving a challenge. Consonants were always the hardest for Ethan to hear, and Shiv seemed to drop them altogether on some words, especially the letter “r,” although he couldn’t be sure since he didn’t have Michael to ask.

Are he and Todd together? Todd’s probably moved in already. Do they miss me? Do they even care that I’m on the other side of the world? Or are they glad I’m gone? Did they just really want me out of the picture for years? Was that poly stuff only an excuse?

Unbidden, a memory of his mom crowded in. It was when she’d been moved to a hospice. He’d been fourteen, and she’d tried to reassure him about her own impending death, even though he was the one who should have been comforting her. Her hand had seemed so thin as she squeezed his, her skin papery in his sweaty grasp.

“It won’t always hurt this much. All things fade. It doesn’t mean you forget, but the pain won’t be there in every breath, sweetie.”

Eyes burning, Ethan cursed himself. Like he wasn’t upset enough already, he had to go thinking about his mom too? God, if only she was there with him. She’d wanted to come to Australia so much, and he’d planned to enjoy the fuck out of it for her as well as himself. So far he only wanted to crawl into a hole.

The tours in Australia had seemed to be either for backpackers or seniors, although since this one hadn’t had “senior” or “golden” in the title, Ethan had hoped it might attract more of an in-between crowd. The backpackers would have been more his age, but Ethan didn’t want to party and stay at youth hostels in dorm rooms. He could imagine the wall of sound and how he’d fight to hear any conversation. At least the seniors wouldn’t be blasting music.

Through the large windshield, Ethan looked out at the white plumes of surf where the ocean met the rocks at the bottom of the cliffs, the road curving north as they left Cairns. He realized Shiv was talking and that he’d tuned it out without having to turn off his hearing aids.

Be in the now. Listen to the tour guide. Fuck everything else.

Ethan watched Shiv speaking in the seat across the aisle, talking about the geography of the area and the wet season. Apparently they’d lucked out by arriving on a day when the sun was peeking out from the clouds, shining on the blue-green water of the Pacific. It really was amazingly beautiful. After being on planes for what felt like days, it was surreal.

After a few minutes, Shiv gave him a nervous smile, and Ethan turned away, heart skipping. It could make people uncomfortable, the way he’d watch them intently when he was trying to hear every word. He opened the tote bag and pulled out a welcome package with the itinerary and two name tags that attached with a magnet instead of a pin. His hands shook ridiculously as he attached his to his T-shirt. He tossed Michael’s back into the bag. Maybe he’d burn it later.

And I’d probably start a fire and burn down the hotel because I’m cursed. Or maybe—

Trying to clamp down on his thoughts before he spiraled into an anxious litany of what-ifs, he looked out the window and hoped he caught most of the commentary as they drove the winding road north to Port Douglas. Ethan had never been on such a fancy bus. Much better than Greyhounds, the windows taking up the whole upper half of the vehicle so everyone had a good view.

I’m really here.

He wanted to be thrilled. He was finally in Australia, living his dream—really his mom’s dream, but something they’d shared. Maybe his mom was watching in heaven and seeing it all with him. He wasn’t sure if he believed that, but it was a nice thought. She’d made him promise to go to Australia for her one day, and at least he was fulfilling his vow. That was something.

Fuck, seriously, DO NOT START CRYING.

It was bad enough everyone else on the bus probably thought he was not only late and therefore irresponsible, but that he was a pathetic loser going on his honeymoon alone. Fuck, did they all assume he’d been dumped?

Ethan tamped down on his brain sternly before he could spiral too far down that road and experience the anger and hurt and humiliation and fear again. Regardless of what they thought, he didn’t need to start freaking crying on top of it. He already stuck out like a sore thumb.

Fortunately, they stopped at a lookout and Ethan was able to get out of his head for at least a few minutes as he took in the view. The oppressive heat was more bearable up on the cliff road than it had been in the city, although Cairns was tiny. Must have been the breeze, which caused one lady’s hat to go flying.

Ethan dove for it, snagging the floppy brim just before it sailed over the ledge of the stone wall along the lookout. “Here you go.” He handed it back to her.

The woman exclaimed something he couldn’t hear over the rush of wind and another tour bus rumbling by on the road. She was small and white-haired, and her husband wasn’t much bigger. They wore fanny packs and running shoes and wide smiles. Their accents were English, Ethan thought.

“Good man,” the husband said, clapping Ethan on the shoulder with a surprisingly strong grip. His name tag said he was Clive, and his wife was Sylvia according to hers.

Ethan nodded and smiled, then went back to the view. He hadn’t gone near his Instagram or Facebook, but maybe he should post a pic. Show Michael and Todd and their friends that he was having a GREAT TIME without them. The best time! He didn’t need them.

Turning his back to the glimmering ocean, he took out his phone and tapped the icon to flip the camera toward him. Holding out his right arm, he cursed himself for not getting one of those Pop Socket things that were supposed to make it easier to take selfies. At least he’d gotten a new SIM card at the airport so he wasn’t paying astronomical roaming fees.

With the different SIM, his phone number had temporarily changed, so Michael and Todd wouldn’t be able to reach him even if they wanted to. Maybe there were dozens of texts floating out there in the cloud. Maybe they were sorry, and begging him to forgive them.

Ethan wasn’t even sure if he wanted that. And suddenly the thought of posting on social media—of the confused and sympathetic comments that would likely follow since word had surely spread about the non-wedding—was way too much.

Ethan dropped his arm. The wind was causing a whistling in his hearing aids, and he fiddled with them impatiently as someone said something. He looked up and blinked at the driver, who stood a few feet away.

Turning his head a couple inches and jutting his chin forward, Ethan put his hand behind his ear. “Sorry?”

The driver stepped closer. They were about the same height, just over six feet, but Clayton was more muscular, his shoulders broad. His hair had looked mostly brown inside the bus, but in the sun his beard gleamed ginger. “Asked if you’d like me to take a snap for you. Unless you want to do it yourself.” His voice was a low rumble.

Even if he didn’t post on Insta, Ethan should still take a few pictures, right? Might regret it later if he didn’t. He held out his phone tentatively. “If you’re sure you don’t mind?”

Clayton said something that was probably “Not a bit” or words along those lines since he took the phone. Ethan tried to tame his hair, then smiled. But Clayton gave him a dubious look, eyebrows drawing close.

“Try to look like you’re on holiday, not lining up for the firing squad.” Then he seemed to think better of what he’d said. “Sorry, mate. Imagine things are tough at the moment.” He quickly added, “Unless they’re not. Look, I’ll just shut up and take the pic.”

Ethan smiled, genuinely this time, a little burst of warmth flowing through him. “It’s okay. I’ve never been on a honeymoon alone. Or with anyone else, for that matter. So I’ve definitely had better days.” Shut up, the guy is just being nice by taking your picture. He doesn’t want your sob story!

Ethan squared his shoulders and tried again to smile. This time he was able to as Clayton lined up the shot, very serious about his photo-taking duties as he tapped the screen. Then he handed the phone back, his rough fingers brushing Ethan’s.

Ethan smiled again. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.” He glanced around at the rest of the group, broken off into twos along the lookout area. There seemed around twenty other people. “Might have to get you to take more pictures as we go. I think I’m the only one by myself.” Also the only one without an AARP membership.

“No worries. We have single people taking the tour all the time.”

As they all filed back onto the bus, Ethan wondered if that was true. The word “single” also echoed in his mind.

Single.

He was probably a dumbass, but it was really the first time he’d actually thought about the fact that he was single again. He’d been part of a couple for so long he could barely remember not having a boyfriend. He’d had a couple of flings in high school, but those years were also clouded with grief for his mom. He’d kept everything casual, going to parties and not getting too close.

Then his dad had died suddenly from a heart attack in Ethan’s freshman year of college, and grief had taken over again. It wasn’t until Ethan was a sophomore and Michael had burst into his life—so fashionable and hip and different from everyone Ethan had grown up with—that he’d ever gotten serious about a guy.

And now here I am. Single.

They stopped in the little nearby town, where there wasn’t much to do and Ethan walked around by himself looking in stores and pretending to be interested in discount golf wear and tourist souvenirs. Eventually, the bus headed back to Cairns. Shiv said a few more things about the rain forest or something, and Ethan caught some of it, not really listening as he looked out his window at the sea, grayer now that dark clouds were moving back in.

He was finally in Australia, and he’d never felt so single in his life.