Page 6 of The Last Sunrise

“It’s only been one day since we arrived, Ry,” she coolly responds, pushing a gold earring through one ear, then the other.

I pace a little around her room, noting that it looks like no one is staying there; not one thing is out of place or on the counters. She’s already made her bed, perfectly tucked corners and arranged pillows. Not a wrinkle or crinkle in sight.

“I know, but I want to make each day count. You told me this was my summer to experience life and Spain, remember? Don’t make me beg. Please.”

I reach out to touch her hands but stop short as she takes a step back from me. Physical affection has never been our thing. Well, her thing. I wouldn’t know if it’s mine or not.

“Okay. Okay.” She sighs through her nose. “I get it. Just make sure you use the driver; I’ll get another one. And don’t take anything from anyone, even if they say it’s free, it’s not. And wear sunscreen and don’t smile at anyone; they’ll target you as a foreigner straightaway.”

I let her go through her list of warnings as if I don’t have any street smarts, nodding along and smiling in agreement. Her phone buzzes, interrupting her, giving me the perfect escape.I wave at her as she snaps at someone on the other end of the line and dip out of her room as fast as I can.

I find myself dancing around my room, my feet gliding across the cool concrete as I turn the shower on, lay out my bathing suit and tote bag. The essentials—a book, sunscreen, sunglasses, my phone, and wallet—get tossed into the tan woven bag, another hotel freebie, biodegradable bags made from recycled straws. As I close my suite door, freedom rings in my ears, a beautiful melody.

Half dancing, half walking through the hall, I rush to the elevator just in case luck isn’t on my side and I end up with my mom. When I get to the lobby, I find Amara behind the desk, looking down at her phone, scrolling with her index finger, looking bored out of her mind.

“Good morning,” I greet her quietly, not wanting to startle her.

Her phone crashes onto something behind the barrier and she jerks up.

“Sorry! I tried not to scare you,” I tell her, my hands in the air.

She bends down to grab her phone and laughs at herself. “It’s okay. I thought you were my boss, and we aren’t supposed to be on our phones…” She looks up toward the ceiling. “Even though there are cameras everywhere, he never watches them.” She winks at me, waving her hand toward the red light on the ceiling.

“Wait… are you actually doing something fun today?” she asks, noticing my bathing suit peeking out of my cover-up.

“I am!” I can’t contain the excitement in my voice. “I’m going to the beach. Which is why I’m here, to ask you where the best one is. I want to go somewhere without my mom’s co-workers swarming around.”

Amara’s fingers tap on the counter, and I can almost see her ideas flying through the air, full of excitement. She must really, really enjoy acting as the local tour guide. Her petite body bounces as she taps her index finger against her temple.

“I know the perfect place. Let me see your phone.” She holds her hand out and I notice a small moon-shaped tattoo just under the cuff of her sleeve. I unlock my phone with face ID and place it in her open palm.

“Thanks.” I look at the directions she put in my phone: only an eighteen-minute walk. Perfect.

“I hope you had fun with your friends last night. Sorry I couldn’t join.”

“Ugh, you didn’t miss out on much. One of my friends—the only local one—he caused a scene and ruined everyone’s night.” She takes a gulp from her own water bottle the hotel provides. Tilting the bottle toward me, she says, “Spoiler, it’s not water. Want some?”

I shake my head, thanking her anyway.

“Is there another exit I can use?” I nudge my head toward the door where my driver is standing, waiting, looking grumpy today and more like a watchdog than a driver.

Amara’s face breaks into a smile, the light above reflecting onto the light freckles dotting her cheeks. They’re fainter than mine and add to her cuteness.

“I really like you!” She smacks her hands together and helps me escape.

The moment I step outside one of theEMPLOYEES ONLYexits, the sun dancing across my skin feels like a gentle kiss. I put my sunglasses on and follow the directions on my phone. The June sun is unforgiving, and I reach into my bag to spray sunscreen across the tops of my shoulders and face where I always burn. Each summer, I get at least one sunburn that turns into a tan, but the first is always the worst. Throbbing, peeling skin and all. I rub my hands over the white dots of sunscreen on my skin and keep walking toward the smell of the ocean. Does my mom notice I’m gone without the driver yet? The thought keeps crossing my mind, so I check my phone. No texts. What a relief.

The neighborhood my hotel is in is clearly designed for tourists. I have to keep myself from stopping at all the little tents full of jewelry, pottery, notebooks—all the things I want to buy while here, but not today. Today is my beach, and beach only, day.

The closer I get to the water, the breeze picks up. I cross the street and finally see sand. My heart swells. I don’t know why, but I’ve always felt so at ease, so touched and welcomed by water and its surroundings. I’ve only been to the ocean once, on a trip with my old neighbor and her family to Galveston when I was in grade school. It was gray the entire time, but I couldn’t stay out of the water. Pools, lakes, rivers. So much so that my mom bought us a boat and promised to take me to the lake every weekend.

As time passed and she got promoted and promoted again, and again, we gradually went less and less, and the boat just sat there for months at a time, full of cobwebs and promises that never came to life. The last few memories I have fromgoing on the boat with her are full of phone calls, her frustration over the bad cell service, and her snapping at me when I accidently got her laptop wet when I climbed back onto the boat from the water. During my formative years, she morphed from a hardworking woman to the typical stereotype of a “Boss Babe” whose life doesn’t exist outside her job, forgetting to teach me anything but how to put her career before herself and her daughter.

By the time I was sixteen, my mom sold the barely used boat, saying that the lake was too crowded now that tourists had found it, and the drive “wasn’t worth it.” Even though the highlight for me was stopping at Buc-ee’s, a Texas staple that’s essentially a gas station as big as a supermarket and has everything you could ever need, from snacks and coolers to clothes, as well as everything you absolutely don’t need, like a beaver-shaped yard sign. I loved getting to choose all the snacks I wanted, from fresh beef jerky to brisket sandwiches, drinking so much soda that my stomach hurt, and listening to old songs in Spanish that reminded my mother of her childhood. All of that was worth the drive to me, anyway.

What she really meant when she said it wasn’t worth it, was that she valued her time for work more than taking me to the lake or spending time with me. The boat sold in one day, and I still remember the taste of the salty tears that fell down my cheeks as I watched from my window as it got hitched to a big red Ford and disappeared down the street.

My mother hasn’t mentioned it since. There’s a framed photo sitting on the fireplace mantel of us on the boat from when I was about ten, I guess to remind her that we once had done something together. I’ve always loved that picture,though it caused me pain, because it permanently stamped one of my favorite memories. My mom had less worry etched into her face, more emotion in her eyes. I was tanned and happy, unaware of how much would change as the years went on. Ignorance truly is bliss.

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