Page 18 of The Vacation Mix-Up
“Welcome, cruiselings!” a male voice blasts throughout the room. “My name is Paul, and I’m your cruise director.”
I jump out of my skin, cup my junk, and turn in a circle, searching for Paul, when the speaker above my head crackles.
“We’ll be setting sail in just a few minutes, so I hope you’re ready for a fantastic vacation. While the captain navigates us out of the harbor, the party is about to get started on Lido Deck. So head on up, grab yourself one of our delicious cocktails, and put your dancing shoes on. I’ll see you all soon.”
Sounds like a plan, so I unzip my suitcase, rifle through it for a shirt and pair of pants, and get dressed. Roni took me shopping for “cruise clothes” a few weeks ago, because apparently plaid shirts, varnish-stained denim, and work boots aren’t appropriate for a vacation. I put up a fight to begin with, but as always, my sister was right—I would have looked like an idiot if I packed what I usually wore.
Gathering my new suit and shirts, I make my way to the closet and open the door. “For fuck’s sake!”
Dresses, blouses, and more girly shit occupy almost every hanger apart from three on the end, one of them broken.
“Not gonna happen, sweetheart!” I shove her clothes across the rail, bunching them together, before hanging my suit and one shirt. If she thinks she’s going to hog our entire cabin, she’s sorely mistaken.
Krystal used to pull this shit as well—assume I wear the same thing day in and day out and therefore require no hanging space. Granted, back at home, I do wear the same thing day in and day out, but that’s not the point.
I’m supposed to be getting away from this shit. Bachelor lifestyle, remember?
Glaring at Riley’s clothing, I pull one of her shirts off the hanger and replace it with my own, and then I close the door and lay hers on her bed, happily rubbing my hands together before opening the top drawer in the closet to find it full as well.
“Fuck me!” Steam practically billows out of my nostrils until I wrench open the next drawer, which is empty.
Drawing in a deep breath, I hold it, count to three, then slowly exhale.
Calm the hell down, Wilson. She hasn’t completely disregarded you. She’s not Krystal.
I close my eyes and crack my neck, then head out onto the balcony and stare over the bay toward Lower Manhattan, where my ex is currently working. A disgusting smog floats on the horizon, nothing but concrete, glass, noise, and traffic below it. New York City is a smokescreen, full of rats and contamination, and I sure as shit can’t wait to get out of here. To escape and explore other places.
When Roni suggested the cruise for “sowing my wild oats,” I instead grasped the opportunity to further my knowledge for work. That said, I reluctantly embraced her objective as well, because she often knows me better than I know myself.
Maybe I do need to put myself out there again. Maybe not. Regardless, I’m looking forward to a change of scenery.
The ship’s engines rumble, the water below bubbling like a murky jacuzzi. Seaweed floats to the surface amonga slick of oil and some empty plastic bottles and potato chip bags. I scoff, grinning at the garbage—not because it’s polluting the water, but because it’s reminiscent of this cesspool of a city.
“Good riddance,” I mutter under my breath to a place I resent and a woman I once loved.
Good riddance to bad garbage and bad people.
By the timeI’ve reached Lido Deck, every man, woman, kid, and crew member has also made their way outside, the sailaway atmosphere now in full swing.
A band plays nautical-themed music while kids run around the pool, ice creams in hand, crewmembers mopping up in their wake. I dodge passenger after passenger, avoiding their novelty drinks with useless paper umbrellas.
Hopefully, when we’re out to sea, everyone will disperse, scattering to the many hubs of the ship. The kids will go to kids’ club, the gamblers to the casino, the shoppers to the shops, and the sun lovers by the pools. Once that happens, and I pray it does, I’m sure it won’t feel so crowded and suffocating, because I need to let go and breathe—something I haven’t properly done for many years.
Spotting the Verrazano-Narrows bridge looming ahead, I take the stairs to deck sixteen and walk closer to the bow, when I catch sight of Riley, shielding her eyes from the sun, ready to look up as we pass beneath it. Her denim shorts hug her ass, showcasing her sexy legs, her T-shirt snug against her breasts. She has a body that could make a grown man cry, and if I were a crier, no doubt I’d be sobbing where I stand. But… I don’t cry—not anymore. My tears dried up four years ago, and they haven’t fallen since.
I wander closer, wanting to speak to her, because she’s the only person I kinda know, but also because I was a dick to her in the bar and don’t want things to be more awkward than they already are. Apart from her barking orders at me and hoggingninety percent of our cabin, she isn’t all that bad to be around. So I step up beside her, the noise of the traffic on the bridge roaring overhead, then echoing as we sail underneath it.
I read on a forum that theOasis of the Seasis too tall to pass under the bridge, even at low tide, and the only way it can is because it has a retractable funnel. Our ship isn’t as tall, but I do know there’s not much more than ten feet from the tip of the radar mast to the road deck of the bridge. It’s impressive, or maybe stupid. There’s not much room for error.
I open my mouth to speak, then close it again, because it’s useless—she won’t hear me anyway. So I watch her instead as she sucks in a nervous breath before smiling her relief as the shadow of the bridge disappears and the sun once again hits her face. She’s cute, her eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning, her cheeks forming into little apples.
“Holy shit!” she whispers, clasping her chest. “That was close.”
I lean down, my mouth hovering near her ear. “Lucky it’s low tide.”
Riley shrieks and stumbles, so I reach out and grab hold of her to prevent her from falling on her pretty ass, pink sugary shit spilling from the glass she’s holding.
“Jesus!” she says, her wide eyes searching mine as if I’m either Superman or a sexual predator. “You scared me.”
