Page 19 of Deep In Love
The song’s bass rattles the wall, and I’m sure we’ll have a passive-aggressive note on our door for the sound, but the walls are thin. If I have to listen to my neighbors rock the bed every night, then they can listen to our perfectly curated playlist of pump-up jams.
“At least forty pairs of underwear,” Amy yells, and I rush to my dresser and dump my bucket of granny panties into the large duffel bag on my floor. “What if you shit yourself a bunch?”
Fuck, so true.
The possibility that I become incontinent and soil myself isn’t zero, thus all the underwear is coming with me.
It took two hours to recover from the shock of my meeting with Cheryl, Dan, and Mateo. I’m not sure I’m fully convinced any ofthis is happening. If it weren’t for the contracts I signed and the plane ticket on my phone, I wouldn’t believe it at all.
Three weeks on the SeaStar vessel is a dream come true. State-of-the-art research facilities, two remotely operated vehicles, submarines, and complete access to their labs. The only downside to the whole thing is that Mateo’s involved, but even that disappointing fact isn’t enough to squander my joy.
The last forty-eight hours since the meeting have zipped by in a blur, and now I’m panic packing only an hour before Mateo picks me up to head to the airport.
I shove a few pairs of pajamas into a packing cube, followed by a handful of tops and long pants for the days we’re in the lab. With one swoop, I slide the crystals off my dresser and into a small pouch, then toss it into the duffel bag.
Amy bounds into the room, a platter of taquitos and chicken nuggets in her grasp.
“Eat,” she demands, dropping the plate between us. “Airport food is expensive.”
I snatch a T-Rex dinosaur nugget and pop it into my mouth as I continue to shove what I need into the duffel. Deciding to pack the morning I leave was a poor choice. I have no idea what I need to survive as an ocean explorer.
“Are you excited?” Amy asks, chomping on a taquito.
“If I think about it for too long, I get light-headed.”
What I’mnotthrilled about is the flight to get to California. I’ve never enjoyed flying, and after my accident, I’ve avoided it at all costs. Instead of flying home for the holidays, I take the train from Rhode Island to Philadelphia, even though it takes hours longer.
Airports teem with people, and people love to stare, and no matter how many times someone tells me turbulence isn’t a big deal, I still get nervous.
I’m packing up the last of my toiletries, including my trusty vibrator—three weeks at sea is a long time for manual mode—when Amy extends a tote bag.
“This is for you.”
I dump the contents onto the bed, and tears threaten to fall. A box of lemon sugar protein bars. Chocolate. The balm that helps when my joints ache. Another pouch full of crystals. Three different alien romances that Amy swears are the best books ever written.
“It’s an at-sea survival kit. It has everything you could ever need.”
I crawl beside her and throw my arms around her neck, forcing back my tears. If I cry, I’ll flush, which is the last thing I need when I’m seeing Mateo so soon.
“I’m going to miss you,” I admit.
This is the longest time we’ll have spent apart since I went home for Christmas last year. Even though I love my parents—and wouldn’t be here without them—it was the most boring two weeks of my life, and I learned that Amy and I have separation anxiety from each other.
“You’re gonna have the experience of a lifetime, and I’ll be right here when you get back, ready to hear all about it.” Tears brim on her bottom lashes. “Don’t kill Mateo while you’re there. Orange isnotyour color.”
Flight attendants pass along the aisles, checking seat belts and chatting with passengers to prepare for take-off. My knee bounces as I buckle up, pulling the strap as tight as possible while I can still breathe.
I’m not a great flier, preferring to keep my feet on solid ground, and sitting in a tin can in the sky is a torturous form of immersion therapy. Sitting in any moving vehicle for prolonged periods sets me on edge, but airplanes are the worst.
I figured cars would be my big issue, considering I was nearly smashed while driving, but when I was released from the hospital, my father forced me into the passenger seat of his car. It took us an hour to drive five miles. He drove slowly, and my mom fed me chocolate the whole time while asking obscure questions about the ocean to keep my brain occupied.
If it weren’t for them, it might have taken months to get into a car, let alone drive one.
Planes are a different beast, and the sky adds a greater terror: the plummet back to earth.
The aircraft jerks forward, beginning to taxi, and my nails dig into the plastic armrest. Shallow, uneven breaths fill my lungs as I focus on the safety briefing and catalog the emergency exits.
Flight attendants find their seats for take-off, and the plane rattles as it picks up speed. Mateo sits quietly beside me, unfazed by the concerning sounds. We lurch from the ground and into the sky, and my arms flail outward, swatting him in the chest, before I scramble to find his hand and clutch it.
