Thankfully by the time we actually reach Hawaii, Afton and I are both in better moods. It’s hard to maintain a foul mood in Hawaii. It’s too beautiful to sulk.

“This hotel is ah-mazing!” I exclaim as we drag our suitcases through the door of our suite. The room has all the major amenities: big-screen TV, mini refrigerator, bar. Tropical but tasteful decor. Fluffy white comforters on the queen beds, which sport high-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets. Granite countertops in the spacious bathroom. A walk-in closet. A Keurig. A large mahogany desk. It’s definitely a contender for one of the best rooms we’ve ever stayed in, and we’ve stayed in some epic hotels.

But what makes it ah-mazing is the view.

The far wall is one big window—well, a sliding glass door that opens to the balcony and one big window. Palm trees frame the glass, their silhouettes dark against the bright sky. The water shimmers blue and silver in the distance against the rich green of the hotel lawn.

Right away I go out on the balcony. Our room is on the sixth floor, and far below me there’s a long stretch of close manicured grass and a twisting stream (part of a golf course?), then a paved path that leads to the beach and a gentle hill topped by two benches and a large statue of Buddha that gleams white in the afternoon sun.

My fingers itch for the brand-new set of watercolors I brought along.

“We should go rub his belly.” Afton steps up beside me. She tilts her head back and breathes deeply, taking in the fragrant sea air.

It’s all going to be okay now, I think. The trip will be what we both need. I’ll get some distance between me and Leo, spend some time in the sun, paint a bunch of landscapes, relax, eat, drink, and be merry, and yesterday’s humiliation will fade away like it never happened. Afton will forgive me for the offensive thing that I didn’t actually say, and we’ll go back to normal.

“I don’t see any cute boys I want to have sex with,” I say with an exaggerated sigh.

Afton’s perfect forehead creases in the middle. I hold my breath, waiting to see if she’ll take my comment for what it is: a tentative peace offering.

“Well, we only just got here,” she says after a minute. “There’s still time.”

Of course she doesn’t mean it. I certainly don’t mean it. But we act like we do.

Satisfied that I’m making progress with her, I go back inside. The connecting door to Mom’s room has been flung open, and Abby is jumping between Afton’s bed and mine.

“This . . . is . . . nice,” Abby gasps.

I nod. “You’re right, bug. This is nice.”