Page 24 of Date and Switch

“I’ll let you hide behind here for a song or two,” he laughed into the microphone, “but a dress that gorgeous needs to be appreciated beneath the spotlight.”

“It was a gift from my boyfriend,” I pointed in Bryce’s general direction, blinded by the spotlights, “doesn’t he have fantastic taste?”

I don’t know what possessed me to say it. The celebratory mood, the fact that he’d just minutes before said he had fallen for me, somehow I got caught up in the moment. After a few holiday songs, and with clock turning past midnight, our little party began to disburse. The buoyancy of performing, the excitement from my birthday, generally feeling surrounded by warmth and affection—all those emotions went cold the moment the spots cleared from my eyes and I saw Bryce.

“Is everything okay?” I whispered, gathering my bag, and exchanging goodbyes with the ladies at our table.

Bryce extended his hand, and led me from the dining room, up two floors to our suite.

“Hey! Even though Esther sent kitten heels, they’re still heels! You know me, I’m the Birkenstock girl, so can we please slow down?”

We arrived at the suite at nearly the same time I finished my entreaty. Panting, closer to passing out than I thought I would be after taking two flights of stairs in heels, I could barely remain upright once we crossed the threshold.

“I’m not your boyfriend.”

Where I’d been nearly doubled over, desperately trying to calm my diaphragm a moment ago, suddenly I was fully upright and ready to sing the Queen of the Night aria from the The Magical Flute.

“I’m sorry. Did you seriously just drag me up two flights of stairs, in heels because I called you my boyfriend?’

He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if I was the trying one.

“What should I have said? ‘Oh yeah so the guy I’m on the ship with, see we committed like ticketing fraud to get me on board because really it should be some other chick named Sarah with an A-R-A-H. Anyhow, you see he offered me to take this trip with him and we’re not really much of anything but he keeps kissing me like he wants to fuck me, and saying shit like “maybe I’ve already fallen for you,” but then drags me up two flights of stairs in kitten heels because god forbid I use a simple explanation when I’m publicly thanking him for his kindness.’”

He just stared at me. His face could have been chiseled in stone—there was no movement. Not a lip twitch or even a squint to tell me he was processing what I said. Fucker.

I marched past him into the bedroom. After gathering my things to get ready for bed, I stormed into the bathroom. Never one to just say my peace and move on, I found I had another round of opinions to lob at him from behind the closed door, with my toothbrush still in my mouth.

“And let’s not forget the fact that you all but marked your territory when Mae even hinted that someone else might be interested in me. But the worst offense of the evening goes to me for daring to say thank you and not labeling you properly.”

I whipped open the door to find him still standing in the same spot, though he had removed his jacket, bow tie, and cufflinks.

“Just so we’re clear for future reference, so we don’t have to experience this kind of conflict again. What should I call you? A friend? A travel partner? What? You tell me. Because this hot and cold shit is getting really old.”

“Sera, I can see I upset you, and I’m sorry for that. But with all due respect we barely know one another. Not to mention the tumultuous end to the previous relationship I was in. The moniker carries a lot of weight I wasn’t prepared to examine.”

Valid points. Though I wasn’t ready to cede. And, I still had no clue how exactly to refer to him.

“Ladies and gentlemen this is your Captain speaking from the bridge. We’ll be pushing off shortly headed towards Buenos Aires and on to Antarctica and Cape Horn. The temperature of the water will shift significantly over the course of the next twenty-four hours, therefore we want to remind to you to use hand rails when walking in hallways and up and down stairs. While the ship is equipped with stabilizers, dramatic shifts in ocean temperature do tend to bring about some hairy storm events. We do our best to avoid them but sometimes have to navigate through them. Be sure that all of your items are stored securely and anything breakable is in secured shelves or cabinets. I want to be the first to wish you a Merry Christmas, and we’ll be pushing off at approximately zero one hundred.”

“Thank you for all that you did for my birthday.” I gathered my things from the bathroom, pivoting to the bedroom without looking back. “I’m heading to bed.”

It wasn’t the crashing and shattering of glass bottles that woke me up, but rather the choking, cloying smell of all of my perfumes diffusing throughout our space.

“Oh no,” I groaned, trying to get out of bed and realizing gravity held me to the wall as if possessed by a poltergeist.

“It’s just a storm,” Bryce grumbled from beneath his pillow. “It will pass.”

It was then that the rest of my senses joined the party. Lightning so bright and rapidly striking it made the entire cabin look as if a fluorescent bulb had been left on somewhere. Thunder chased its partner as if engaged in the final moments of a game of Marco Polo. The entire ship protested to being tossed around in waves that I could see cresting over our balcony.

When we’d departed in Miami, they warned us about these sudden storms. We’d been briefed we’d probably experience quite a few of them, especially as we traveled between the southernmost and northernmost oceanic ports. Something with wind, or air pressure, or who the hell knows. I’m no Al Roker. The staff told us not to panic. To keep everything stored in shelves and tied down—failed on that one—and to know that our navigational team and ship commanders had a combined five hundred plus years of experience. All of that went out the window. I’m sure the same as every other sensible human being who didn’t want to drown in the more than likely cold as fuck water, with waves that were hitting my balcony on the twelfth floor.

“I’ve only been thirty-five for a day.” I said to no one really. “It’s funny but like ironic funny not ha-ha funny because the thought of two hundred people squishing into those shoes they call lifeboats up on deck, when none of us have any muster experience other than sitting in the dining room and staring at one another…that’s the not funny ha-ha of the situation. We’re all going to have to cram into a boat, in the rain, with the boat practically laying on its side while we try not to die or fall overboard. Also, maneuvering into said boat without slipping, skidding, or generally injuring our personhood.”

Speaking into the cacophony of sounds pushing against my ear drums seemed to let some of the tension out.

“I’m staring at a wall of water, pretty much just waiting for it to swallow us like we’re fucking Pinocchio and it’s the damn whale. I’m on a ship, with a semi-stranger, who has more mood swings than a teenager.

“We’re going to sink like the damn Titanic. And Jack could have easily shared that fucking door. Like what kind of woman is like ‘Hey paint me naked! I love you! I can’t live without you.’ and then is like ‘Oh about that living thing, sorry float next to me while me and my ten thousand skirt layers hang out on this fucking door.’”

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