Float Plan(40)
“I’ve never seen so much Christmas.”
Eamon laughs. “It’s a bit like old Saint Nick shite himself.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say, and I’m struck by the idea that I could stay here. Get a job at Starbucks and live in a colorful apartment overlooking a cobbled alley in a town that looks like it was transplanted from Europe. But every place I’ve visited has offered something new and unexpected. And there are so many islands I have yet to see.
“How does tapas sound?” Keane brings me back to the moment, outside a restaurant with sidewalk seating. “There are other people with dogs here, so I reckon they don’t mind.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Eamon orders a pitcher of red sangria and our first round of small plates—ham croquettes with a guava rum glaze, seafood flatbread, and seared octopus salad—and it takes a second for my brain to catch up with my body. I am more than a thousand miles from home, sampling new foods with two men I wouldn’t have met if I’d stayed in Fort Lauderdale. It’s wild and exciting. If Ben were here, none of this would be happening. I can’t even speculate anymore on what my life would be like with Ben because all I have is now.
“Everything okay?” Keane gives my hand a gentle squeeze beneath the table, and when Queenie notices the movement, her wet nose reminds me that tonight is about new memories.
“Yeah.” When I smile, I mean it. “Everything’s great.”
We share the food, kill the pitcher of sangria, and Eamon orders more. The night grows softer until the world twinkles around me, and the ring of my cell phone startles me. It’s been silent for so long. The screen says MOM and I realize I forgot to call her back.
“Hi, Mom. Check this out.” I press the FaceTime button and pan my phone along Calle San Francisco so she can see Old San Juan. I introduce her to Keane and Eamon, who lift their glasses in a toast, and lower the phone so she can meet Queenie. Then I turn off FaceTime so she can’t worry about my bruised cheek. “I know I forgot to call you back, but—”
“You’re not coming home, are you?”
“Not until after I get to Trinidad.”
“And you’re really happy?”
“More than I’ve been in a long time,” I say. “How are you?”
“I’m watching Maisie tonight,” she says. “Your sister is on a date. He seems like a real nice guy.”
Rachel and Brian—Maisie’s father—have been fighting and reuniting for years. Maybe my sister deserves some new memories too. “I hope he is.”
“I’m still going to worry about you.”
“I know.” The waiter returns with beef-and-chorizo sliders, garlic shrimp taquitos, and another pitcher of sangria. “There are worse things in the world than having a mom who loves me enough to worry. We’ll talk soon, okay? Ich liebe dich.”
While we eat, Eamon tells me about his job, working for a geospatial information firm that provides data for GPS and satellite navigation systems.
“Does that mean you drive the Google Earth car?” I ask, and Keane nearly chokes on his sangria and says, “I’ve asked him the same thing.”
The brothers tell stories about growing up, trying to out-embarrass each other. I laugh a lot and wish I had more to offer in the way of stories, but all my best stories involve Ben. Until now.
It’s after midnight when the taxi drops us off at the marina. I’m loose-limbed and sleepy, and when Eamon suggests we crack open the whiskey, I decline. “I’m going to bed.”
As they settle into the cockpit with plastic tumblers of Green Spot, I change into my pajamas and crawl into bed. Their quiet laughter mixes with the soft lap of the water against the hull and the musical chime of the halyard clanking against the mast, composing a lullaby that sings me to sleep.
headfirst into life (20)
The sun is wide-awake when I get up the next morning, but the Sullivan brothers are not. The cabin reeks of whiskey breath. Eamon is passed out in Keane’s bed while Keane sleeps scrunched up on the side berth like a little boy. I carry Queenie up the companionway ladder, clip on her leash, and we hustle across the busy highway that runs in front of the marina. On the other side, we stop-sniff-and-pee our way to the pedestrian fishing pier sandwiched between the spans of the Two Brothers Bridge. From the pier, I call Carla.
“It’s about time you called,” she says, but I hear the smile in her voice.
“Sorry it wasn’t sooner. I had zero bars in the middle of the ocean.”
“Where are you?”
“San Juan.” Now that I have a strong signal and time to sit, I tell her everything. She offers best friend outrage over Bimini Chris and demands to see Queenie. I put her on FaceTime, and she calls me a badass when she sees the bruises on my cheek.
“I feel like I don’t even know you anymore,” she says. “When you left, I thought you were running away, but here you are, running headfirst into life.”
“Trust me, I’m just as surprised.”
She laughs. “And this guy, Keane. Are you…?”
“Two weeks ago I was so angry at Ben that I was screaming my lungs out on a deserted beach, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be over him,” I say. “Keane is … a friend.”