My husband had meetings. I had breakfast.
For a while, this seemed like an excellent arrangement.
We were at the Marquis Los Cabos in December. His work had brought him there, and I had come along as his plus-one, which sounded like a small role for someone enjoying quite so much of the resort.
The Sea of Cortez was right there, blue enough to make December feel like something happening to other people. Marquis was an adults-only, all-inclusive resort. I had taken the second part rather personally.
I would leave the room with sunglasses and very little sense of urgency. Beside me, he would be checking whether he had everything for the day. We were dressed for two different versions of the same place.
In the mornings, I liked the pause after breakfast, when the cup was empty but I had no reason to get up. Beyond the tables, the light was already bright enough to make me reach for my sunglasses.
My husband would check the time. I would move my chair a little further into the shade.
“See you later.”
“How much later?”
He would tell me. I would try to remember, then ask again before he left.
It was a holiday, except when it wasn't.
We had time together before work began and after it finished. Sometimes we managed to meet during the day, briefly belonging to the same trip again.
Once, when he came to find me between sessions, I moved my things off the chair beside me before he had quite reached it.
“Have you got time?”
“A little.”
I could work with a little. I turned my chair towards his.
Then he would have somewhere to be.
I could forget the work part for whole stretches. He couldn't. Even when we were sitting together, there was occasionally a next thing waiting for him.
Our flight home was on December 8, United through Houston to Toronto. That was one schedule we would both have to follow. Until then, I was trying not to count the days in meetings.
There was plenty to enjoy on my own. I just liked it when he could join me.
Then, one morning after breakfast, I went back to our room.
There was a cockroach.
I realise that is a short sentence. It was not a short experience.
This was not the discreet sort of insect you could pretend you hadn't seen. To me, it looked enormous. I had been quite happy having the room to myself.
I called my husband.
He was in a meeting.
I called again.
And again.
He left the meeting early and hurried back.
By the time he arrived, the hotel staff had already taken care of it.
“Where?” he asked.
I pointed.
There was nothing there.
“It was there.”
He looked at the empty patch of floor, then at me. I began describing the size with my hands. He looked at my hands.
“Really?”
“Perhaps a little smaller.”
I brought them closer together, reluctantly.
Before he left again, I checked the floor beside the bed. Then the other side.
“All right?”
“Yes.”
He reached the door.
“Leave your phone on.”
A few more views I kept.
There was rather a lot to look at between meetings.
Select a photograph to see the full view.