Page 7 of Dibs on the Chef

“Don’t even start this,” I said. “You always do this. Whenever I tell you how I feel about something, you make it about you. It’s like you don’t even hear or care how I feel.”

“That’s not true,” Jessie says. “You just don’t like hearing how I feel! All of our fights are always so stupid. You always act like I’m the one who makes your life hard, Heather, but I just want my friend to actually be a friend!”

As usual, Jessie’s voice had grown along with her temper. Realizing she’d spoken too loud, I looked around, nervously, to see who might be looking back at us.

There were several. An elderly couple at a far table. Lissa, making her way through the crowd, Esme the server—and, standing at the door to the kitchen, Matteo.

His eyes met mine, and I felt nothing but shame. He had just witnessed my best friend in the world call me selfish and tell me I was no friend at all. She was crying. I had to look like an absolute monster to him.

There was a tight squeeze in my chest. My face began to flush.

I stood up and ran to the stairs, back to my cabin, and slammed the door shut behind me. I made my way to the toilet and threw up.

I should have known I’d not make it through this cruise without suffering at least one panic attack. I sat on the bathroom floor and breathed deep until I was able to draw breath normally once again. Then, I stood up and walked to the sink to wash my face.

I stared at myself in the mirror. My smudged make up on my tear-stained face, my bloodshot eyes, my windswept brown hair made messy by sweat and anxious fidgeting. My tiny frame stared back at me through the glass, as if squaring off for a fight.

I always felt and looked so small when I was struggling with these, especially when Jessie was the source. All my life, she’d had the uncanny ability to make me feel like the most important person in the world one minute and the smallest and most insignificant the next.

I thought about her, still seated up in the dining area—no doubt lamenting to one of the other girls about what a terrible friend I was being. No doubt being loud enough that everyone within earshot would hear her, sympathize with her, and think the worst of me.

How would I face those people tomorrow? How would I face Matteo, who had seen every bit of what had just happened?

I crawled into bed, still crying, and hugged my pillow. I drifted off into a restless sleep. In my dream, I was trying to make my way through a crowded supermarket. I knew I was there to buy something specific—I just didn’t remember what. I scoured every shelf, hoping to find something that would jog my memory.

At the end of every aisle stood a crowd of strangers, blocking the path.

“Excuse me,” I’d say, timidly, trying to make my way through them. They did not seem to hear me at all.

I screamed out for help, shaking the grocery cart in frustration as I did. But no one could hear me.

I couldn’t even hear myself.

Chapter 5

I awoke from my nightmare in a cold sweat, my heart slamming in my chest. Where was I? The white walls of the yacht came into focus, and the small, circle window gave me access to the sea. I was just in bed. On a ship. I was okay.

I looked beside me at the clock on the nightstand. 3:23 a.m. As early as it was, though, I couldn’t make myself want to go back to sleep. I sat up and pushed the blankets off me, desperate for the touch of the cool air. I was so sweaty the sheets clung to my skin as I pulled them away, so I scrambled toward the bathroom, putting myself in the shower to rinse off.

Trying to calm myself, I watched the water run in tiny streams down my frame, between my small, pert breasts, over my navel, and off the curves of my hips. I watched the pools form between my toes on the shower floor as they overflowed, making way for the drain.

The tiny insignificance of things had always helped ease me. The mundane sound of a far off lawnmower running. The way water beads on the outside of a glass on a hot day. The rhythmic pulsing of Christmas lights.

Even as a child, panic had gripped me. When my mother would take me along to fashion shows or try to have me participate in photo shoots or other “fish bowl” functions where I had felt especially seen. I’d look for these boring, mind-numbing pieces of atmosphere to distract myself from how nervous I’d feel.

I got out of the shower and slipped on an airy maxi-cut cotton nightgown. Then I threw on my favorite cardigan. At this hour, there would be nobody up on deck to see me, so I ventured out my cabin door and up the stairs to stare at the stars twinkling over the dark waters of the moonlit sea.

I got cozy in a lounge chair near the dining area and looked up, trying to map the constellations in my mind. I lost track of time, breathing in the fresh ocean air and arguing with myself about the correct placement of Orion.

I was startled when I finally heard Matteo’s voice.

“It’s quite early,” he said jovially. “I can have you a cappuccino ready in swift order, though, if you like!”

I smiled at him and blushed, suddenly remembering how under-dressed I was. I pulled my cardigan closed in front, feeling very modest.

He noticed and averted his gaze from me.

“I am sorry!” he said. “I am surprised to see you here!”

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