Change of Plans

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When I began planning the trip, the idea was to be big and luxurious; it was our honeymoon after all. After my fiancé broke things off and after he begged and cried and after I reminded him that he wanted other things, I began the sad process of cancelling our reservations —the caterer, the baker, the candlestick maker. When my finger ran down the list, it passed by the travel agent. Again and again I looked right past it and went about cancelling other plans, lamenting with my mother about lost deposits and crying about my newfound loneliness.  

Soon the only item on the list was this grand cruise. This wonderful once-in-a lifetime voyage that our favorite band was hosting. This fantastic opportunity that caused us to change our wedding date and rearrange our finances so we wouldn’t miss it.  I tapped my finger on the page, on that listing. I rewrote the information on a new, unmarked piece of paper and called.

“How much if I travel alone?” I asked. “How much if I change to a smaller room—one without a balcony?”

I told them I would call back.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I called my mother, crying. “Momma, go on a cruise with me?”

By the end of the week, she was going. Her husband and another couple and some guy they knew had made reservations, but I was still going to be by myself in this big suite with a wide-open balcony.

That’s when I thought of Lenna. I guessed she had never been on a trip and if anyone deserved a week of pampering, it was Lenna. In her mid-forties, she supported herself and a teenage daughter by cleaning houses. She was always saving for this or trying to catch up from that.

The cost of traveling alone versus bringing along a roommate was nominal. With a year to go before the launch date, I knew Len would be able to cover her plane fare and incidentals.

We met for dinner a week later. She wanted to discuss the details, wanted to make sure I was serious. After a little convincing and some cheesecake, she was in, and the planning began.