She didn't call. In fact, she never called back. And we didn't pursue it.
We took it as a sign that we needed to wait. Needed to keep waiting. Besides, we would have had to reapply for a spouse visa and start the whole process over, which would have been my nightmare. And at least we'd always have our fake beach-side wedding with our new friends to look back on.
That week marked 15 weeks since Cayden's visa had been refused. The Embassy said it could take 16-22 weeks at the longest, so there was a chance we'd hear back at any moment. We checked his email every day, in hopes that we'd get the word that our wait would one day soon come to an end. Until then, the unlimited margaritas would help pass the time.
We spent our days lounging on rafts in the relaxation pool or attempting drunken crossword puzzles by the beach. The sun baked our skin until we were both a dark shade of caramel. I was in heaven, and I never wanted to leave.
"Who wants to go for a swim?" David asked one night, pulling his shirt over his head before any of us had answered. We were all standing on the beach in front of Courtney and Chandler's room. The next thing I knew, his stark white butt was running toward the water.
We all looked at each other and shrugged. Vicky, Courtney and I stripped down to our bras and thongs, and I'd never been more grateful for the seven months of yoga I'd done. Chandler and Cayden jumped in with just their boxers. At some point Chandler ditched his boxers as well because there were two full moons in the water and one crescent moon overhead. Cayden pulled me against him and kissed me, and I couldn't help but think about the scene in Twilight: Breaking Dawn when Bella and Edward go skinny dipping under the stars on their honeymoon. But unlike Breaking Dawn, I didn't wake up the next day pregnant with a demon baby.
On the fifth night, Cayden started to feel the effects of our all-day binge drinking. Luckily, I came prepared with every type of nausea/heartburn/anti-diarrhea/constipation/etc medicine known to man. I didn't want to risk either one of us to spending one second of our honeymoon with a case of the shits. We'd learned our lesson after the food poisoning incident in 2010 when we both thew up jalapenos out our noses.
So that night we filled his belly with crackers, Tums and a combination of other goodies from my magic medicine bag and spent a sober night in, curled up next to each other in bed. We talked about our trip and how we wanted to rent jet skis and go into town before we left. We talked about how wedding and how we had to find a way to make room for our new friends on the invite list. We laughed about Chandler wiping out on the catamaran and about how so many people had heard our story on Kidd Kraddick's Love Letters to Kellie.
The only English channel on the TV was playing Zathura, a crappy space movie for little kids starring The Hunger Games's own Josh Hutcherson, in which he plays a little bitch like he does in most of his movies. Zathura was like a poor man's Jumanji. Cayden fell asleep before the riveting turning point, and I stayed awake just so I could tell him how it ended. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.