Page 4 of The Vacation Mix-Up
“They’re not?”
I shake my head vehemently. “No, but my boss loves them.”
We join the check-in line and are immediately directed to counters beside one another.
“Do you have your boarding pass?” our attendants ask simultaneously.
We both hand over printed tickets.
“Welcome, Riley,” they once again say in unison.
My face scrunches with amusement—he’s a fellow Riley. I laugh. “How homonymous.”
He cocks his head as if he has no idea what I just said, and by the rugged, blue-collar look of him, he probably doesn’t.
“May I have your passport please?” my attendant asks as she clicks her computer mouse.
“Yes. Of course.” I rifle through my bag, snag the important little book, and hand it over.
She glances at the other attendant’s screen, then back to hers. “Oh. You only need one of us to check you both in.”
Seems peculiar, but perhaps this is a new system put in place to streamline the embarkation process. I’ve always wondered how cruise lines manage to get thousands of passengers on board insuch a short window of time, so processing multiple people concurrently is feasible… I guess.
She hands my paperwork to the other attendant and then calls for her next passenger, so I awkwardly scoot closer to the other Riley.
“I love that you both have the same name,” my new attendant says as if she’s delighted. “It’s cute, but I’m guessing it’s sometimes confusing.”
Other Riley pulls a what-is-she-smoking face, and I shrug. A lot of people have the same name, so how it’s confusing is beyond me.
“Funnily enough,” she continues, snort-laughing, “I went to school with two Jane Does.” She swishes her hand at us. “Don’t worry, they’re both alive.”
This time, I pull a what-is-she-smoking face, and the other Riley chuckles.
The woman merrily processes our check-in, then hands us both cabin cards attached to lanyards. “The suitcases you checked in downstairs will be delivered to your room before the ship sets sail. Once you’re through security and on board, you’re free to explore the ship and grab a bite to eat on Lido Deck. It is, however, a requirement that you watch the safety briefing video in your room and report to your muster station before we leave port, so please do not forget to do so.”
I nod.
“Any questions?”
Other Riley and I shake our heads.
“Excellent! Enjoy your cruise.”
We thank her, take our lanyards, and then make our way to the security line, where I’m held up because of what—or who—is in my bag.
“I have a letter from the crematorium,” I explain when the officer carefully lifts Momma’s urn.
He reads the document together with her deathcertificate, then carefully inspects the small pot. My stomach lurches, fearful he might drop it and scatter her remains across the terminal floor and not in the ocean as she requested, which would be disastrous and, quite frankly, horrifying.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says, placing her back inside my bag before handing me my paperwork.
I nod, my expression somber. “Loss” is hardly an adequate adjective for the death of a loved one. Someone who is lostcould potentially be found. I haven’t “lost” my mother. She was taken. She’s gone. And although it’s lovely for him to offer his condolences, he shouldn’t be sorry for my “loss.” He should be sorry for life’s only certainty—death—and that her death was premature.
“Ma’am?”
I blink. “Yes?”
“We’re all done here. You may board the ship now.”
