My Last Continent: A Novel(39)

Turning back toward the bay, I glimpse the round black back of a penguin as it swims by, revealing its white belly when it streaks out of the water. I keep my eyes on it as it porpoises along, and I don’t notice that Kate is next to me until she speaks.

“So there are no penguins on this island?” she asks.

I turn toward her. “Not right here. There’s a big chinstrap colony on Baily Head, over on the eastern side.”

“It’s probably for the best,” she says with a sheepish smile. “I assume Thom told you.”

“Told me what?”

“During the tour the other day, I wandered off,” she says. “I sat down near the beach, and a penguin came up to me. It seemed really friendly, so—I reached out to pet it.”

I shake my head. “You could’ve gotten a nasty bite.”

“I know. Thom read me the riot act.”

“Maybe you should stick with the group next time.”

“I know,” she says, then adds, “It just felt so nice to get away.”

“Get away? You don’t get any farther away than here.”

“I meant, from all the people,” she says. “It’s ironic—you’re down here in the middle of nowhere, but you’re still surrounded by people.”

“That’s the nature of a cruise.”

“How do you deal with it?” she asks.

“I drink,” I say, only half-joking. Keller and I always used to share a drink at the end of a long day, but without him here I haven’t had a drop. Then it hits me, as it keeps hitting me—I can’t drink. I’m pregnant.

Kate smiles. “That seems to be Richard’s solution, too, these days. At home, he usually doesn’t drink at all. It’s fun to see him get tipsy. Loosen up a bit.”

“That’s what vacation’s for, right?” I say.

“I guess.”

I look at her. “Aren’t you having a good time?”

“Sure I am,” she says. “We both are. It’s just—it would be nice to have a little space sometimes.”

“Any particular reason?” Normally, I wouldn’t engage her like this, but she clearly wants to talk. And I’m curious about how a couple deals with the fact that one person wants a baby and the other doesn’t.

“We’re so fortunate, it’s embarrassing to even hear myself complain. My husband sold his business, and now that he’s retired, he wants to start a family. Simple, right?”

“Not necessarily,” I say.

“I’m not sure he should’ve retired so young,” Kate continues. “He’s a workaholic, which isn’t really so bad—I admire his work ethic, all that he’s accomplished. But when it came to getting away, taking a break, I always had to drag him out of the office. And now he faces a lifetime vacation. I’ve never seen him so restless.”

“Why’d he retire if he likes to work?”

“It’s more like he can’t stand still,” she says. “The ink had hardly dried on the deal before he signed up for rock climbing, surfing lessons—all these things I don’t have time for, since I’m still working. So he says, ‘I know what we can do together. Let’s make a baby.’ ”

“Is that what you want, too?”

“I just wish I had more time,” she says. “I would never tell him this, but part of me wishes his business hadn’t sold. He worked so hard for it—we both did—but I have a feeling it all happened too soon. That we’re just not ready.”

“What do you do for work?”

She waves her hand as if to brush off a pesky gnat. “Oh, I’m in marketing. For a beverage company in San Diego. They make organic kombucha, juices with chia, stuff like that.”

“Do you like it?”

“It’s okay,” she says. “I don’t know, maybe having a ridiculously successful husband makes a girl feel inadequate. I’ve bounced around a lot, work-wise, mostly because I love to travel. Maybe it’s because I have no idea what else I’d do if I ever had to get serious about just one thing.” She looks down at the sand, digging into it with the toe of her rubber boot. “Maybe what bothers me most about Richard’s rush to have a baby is that I feel like we’re not enough anymore—you know, just the two of us. Like I’m not enough anymore.”

She turns to watch a few passengers walk past. “I’m the only woman I know without kids. Some of my friends have kept working, some haven’t—but I’m just not a part of their lives anymore. It’s not their fault—they probably don’t think to invite me to every toddler’s birthday party, but those are the only times they get together, which means I never see them. And to them it’s so normal, so I feel like I must be the crazy one. You know? Because even though I feel left out most of the time, I still can’t picture my life like that.”

She stops then and turns to me. “I’m so sorry,” she says. “I should’ve asked. Do you have children?”

“Me? No.” I feel my face flush with heat.

“I guess you can’t exactly put them in a stroller and take them on the landings, can you?”

“No. You can’t.”