Page 4 of The Last Sunrise

She laughs, that unique sound filling my ears.

“Actually, no. I’m German; a bit of a nomad, really. But I’ve been learning English since I was a kid and watch tons of American shows. I tried to live there once, in New York, but it was not my vibe.” She shudders, speaking a million words a minute. “Have you been there? I bet you’re from LA; you have that West Coast vibe.”

I try to count how many times she’s said the word “vibe,” but laugh instead.

“I’m from Texas, actually. I’ve been to New York once when I was a kid,” I tell her, not wanting to go into detail of why my trip there was anything but a vacation. I spent it hooked up to wires for six days and got to see the Brooklyn Bridge only on our drive back to the airport.

“Texas? I wouldn’t have guessed. But I haven’t met anyone from Texas before. You seem so sweet compared to the news.”

“Everyone seems sweet compared to the news, no matter where they’re from,” I tell her, wondering what the rest of the world is saying about Texas, but it’s easy to guess. The news is the news no matter where you live or what you believe. Hysteria caused by negativity boosts ratings, which in turn boosts money for the mouthpieces in front of the camera.

“True, true. Anyway, I know every inch of this island if you get bored with corporate life.”

“I’m already bored with it,” I admit, looking toward the lobby door and immediately spotting the driver my mom has designated to mildly babysit me this summer. He tips his hat to me, and I politely smile back.

I can’t drive myself, but I’m sure I can figure out the public transportation here. According to the social media research I’ve done, nearly every country in the world has better public transportation than the US. In Dallas, everyone I know drives. It’s impossible to get around without a car or a driver.

“If you want a cure for your boredom, I’m having a few friends here tonight if you want to join us. The garden in the back; we hang there and drink and talk. We all love to meet new people and we’re from all over. Only one of us is a local, but he barely comes around anymore anyway. Blah, blah, blah, I’m probably overwhelming you.” Her bright eyes meet mine.

The very garden that my mom’s suite overlooks, I realize with disappointment. “I… can’t tonight, but rain check?” I should have taken the other room.

“Rain check… like, next time, right?” she clarifies.

“Exactly.”

“Deal. Rain check. Even if you’re not the social type, I know the best food and views, anything you want to do, just ask me. I’m your girl.” She raises her hand to a salute at her forehead and we share a laugh.

“Ry.” My mother’s voice cuts through our cheer.

I spin around to see her with two men in suits and Lena, her robotic executive assistant, at her side. Lena arrived here a week ago to get everything moving. I’ve known her half my lifeand she’s never missed a beat. Lena hugs me, placing both of her hands on my shoulders and squeezing gently. She smells like bergamot and red wine. She’s less of a machine when it comes to me, but I’m doubtful there’s a warm, flowing human brain in her skull if it were to be cut open.

“Are you settled in? Do you need anything? How’s your room? Did you choose the street view or the garden view?” Lena asks with a comforting smile, trying to remember all the questions she asked.

“Street. I’m totally settled in. Thank you, though. What about you? Are you liking it here so far?”

She nods with enthusiasm, an emotion she rarely shows. “It’s so beautiful here. I love it. We have a lot of work to do, but it’s incredible, even the weather.”

I wouldn’t know…

“Are you ready for today’s schedule?” she asks me.

“Yep. Am I dressed alright? Or should I change?” I ask Lena, but glance at my mom as well.

“Your outfit is perfect.” My mom is the one to respond. As I take her in, she’s wearing nearly the same outfit I am, a striped blue-and-white shirt, but hers is sleeveless and V-neck, and instead of shorts, she’s wearing white pants. On her feet are strappy low heels, almost identical to my brown sandals.

“Thanks,” I tell her, pulling my shorts down a little.

Not that I’m not used to her compliments about my appearance, but sometimes I wish she would praise something about me that wasn’t surface level. I guess something is better than nothing.

“Try to have fun while you’re here, okay?” Lena whispers to me just before she leads us to the banquet room. It’s huge. Bigger than I realized this hotel could hold. The high vaultedceilings, the floor-length windows, like the ballroom itself were carved out of stone from an ancient fairy tale, yet clean and almost modern. Metals and woodwork pieced together to create a sleek but warm space, full of texture. Plants and trees are scattered throughout the room. There’s so much to look at, but I’m entranced by the plants hanging from the corners of the room, the massive tree in the center. Everything’s immaculate and smells real. I study one of the closest hanging leaves and touch it with my thumb and forefinger. It’s silky and is in fact real. Wow.

As I take it all in, my mom starts rambling off work stuff, telling people where to go and what to do, and I wait for her to ask my opinion on something. It finally happens as one of the event planners lines up six white chairs.

“Eggshell, Bone, Vanilla, Seashell, Snow, Ivory.” She lists them as she walks behind them, her hand running along the edge of the fabric draped over them.

As I step closer, I try my damnedest to find a difference in them. I want to be involved in planning the event, not only because the causes—art and children—are obviously great, but I want to feel like I’m doing something to make a difference here. Not just taking up space while a team of planners line up chairs, and my mom, who’s crankier than ever since landing in her hometown, points and scoffs for hours on end. I want to be part of something important, part of something helpful, but choosing between white and white wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.

“Um, bone?” I say, noticing it has a tinge of gray.

---