Emily's Reasons Why Not by Carrie Gerlach

grandmother’s wedding dress down the aisle and the next she’s running out of the church. So I came on the trip alone. To try and sort it out. Maybe have some fun.”
    “Are you?”
    “Am I what?”
    “Having any fun,” I say, finishing my sentence with an “E.” He sits up, letting the moon light hit my little drawing in the sand …“KISS ME.” And at that point, he finally leans down, scoops my head into his hands, and …
    He lays a wet, soft kiss on my thirsty lips.
    We laid there kissing in the sand all night. We shared all of our war stories of relationships gone bad, of the crazy people out there.
    The sun comes up, the light of day, and I can’t help feeling like I really, really like him. I have only known him twenty-four hours. What’s wrong with me?
    Reason #3: He’s not who you think he is .
    Need help. Need distance. Need sanity. Instead I got Mom. She is thrilled, overjoyed that I, her permanently single daughter, the ultimate shitty man-picker, has finally found somebody nice to date her.
    My country-to-country call won’t go through to Grace andReilly. I wonder how Sam is doing at Grace’s. I wonder how I am doing. I try to go over it myself. This guy is on the rebound. He’s given me warning signs that his ex thinks he’s controlling, old-fashioned, and has a buttinsky family. Plus, he lives in Montana. That is so far from L.A. that I am not even sure where it falls on the map. I certainly don’t know what twenty below zero feels like. Let alone how it feels day after day for at least 200 days out of 365. Not to mention my friends, who I am NOT willing to give up, or my job, or my life. ‘Cause that’s where my little “Oohhh, I can’t eat, can’t sleep … Craig this, Craig that,” is taking me. Wake up, Emily! I pinch myself. The guy is on his honeymoon … alone! Ooh, there’s that word again, ALONE. It sounded nice when he was alone on the bus a day ago.
    Although it must be hard for him. I can’t imagine how I’d feel being alone on my honeymoon. My heart goes out to him and the pain he must be feeling. I could relate to the being-dumped factor. Fucking David the king of Prickville. Hmmm, maybe I am judging too quickly. Maybe I could help, maybe I could fix his pain and …
    Have fun, have sex … use a condom, I think to myself, but don’t try to turn Craig into my future husband. This is a fling, a tryst, a booty call. That’s all.
    “Why didn’t you listen to yourself?” Dr. D. probes. “Why couldn’t you just leave it in St. Croix?”
    “Couldn’t tell you,” I say. “I guess the ‘happily-ever-after’ dream was just too strong.” I continue my story.
    The phone rings. “Hello.”
    “Wanna go snorkeling?”
    A warm glow just washed through my body, making every doubt-filled thought about him disappear like a nightmare in the daylight. “Yes, I wanna go snorkeling.”
    “Meet me on the beach in a half hour. Oh, and bring Bitsy.” He hangs up.
    Bring Bitsy? Bring my mom? Ok, a nice gesture, but how about some underwater love? How can I do that if I bring Bitsy?
    I realize that Bitsy is standing in the doorway of our bedroom.
    “I see your night went well,” she says with a smirk and a hint of slur from her triple Bloody Mary brunch.
    “Get your bathing suit, we’re going snorkeling,” I say, jumping up and down on the bed. I launch off and land directly in front of her, doing a little touchdown-end-zone dance. “We’re goin’ snorkeling.” I thrust my hips. “We’re goin’ snorkeling … with my new boyfriend.”
    Snorkeling with Mom and Craig near the shore, we point at blue-and-yellow-striped fish swimming past us. An eel dangles out from beneath a couple of rocks on the ocean floor. Conch shells grow among the blowing sea grass. It is silent and perfect underwater. Craig grabs my leg and pulls me toward him. Taking our snorkels out of our mouths, we put our heads above the surface and before I can say anything, he kisses me. I wrap my legs