Page 5 of Beautifully Wild

Yasmine smirks. “Not Rio and getting shot or at the very least mugged for your purse?”

“Oh, he’s already warned me of those dangers.”

Yasmine blows air into her cheeks. “I’m glad my mother stays out of my business.”

“You have the privilege of not living at home.” After living with Ethan for eighteen months, I found it difficult to adjust to living with my parents again. I was distraught and desperate and needed somewhere to live after throwing the key at him and storming out. “If I weren’t saving every last cent for this holiday, I’d be out already.” I refill my glass, emptying the bottle, and then signal the waiter to get us another.

“Same. I mean it’s great to save money, but my little sister’s drive me crazy. The other day Alex used my expensive nail polish on her bloody dolls,” Amy exclaims. “As soon as I receive a permanent teaching contract, I’m moving out, hopefully with my new Brazilian boyfriend.”

We giggle at Amy’s optimism and clink our crystal flutes.

“On that positive note…” Yasmine says, “… I want to talk about our first days in Salvador. There’s something that interests me, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“I’m interested in what would make us uncomfortable because I’d be surprised if anything does.”

“Butting in there, I’ve booked my last laser and then a tan appointment. I. Am. Ready.” Amy angles both hands toward her pelvis.

“It’s a wonderful thing to be comfortable in your own skin.” Yasmine smiles at Amy. “I want to point out our holiday will be an adventure, and we’re filling it with wonderful experiences, and not all experiences are good.” She shrugs. “Not bad either. Some could make you uncomfortable. What I’m saying is if an experience isn’t enjoyable, it isn’t reason enough not to do it. It’s all about opportunities and trying different things. Some we love, some we don’t. The important thing is to do it. Try everything and give your inner courage a chance to bloom.”

Eden

Salvador, Brazil

Three Weeks Later…

Wearrivedonthefirst day of February in time for the Candomble tradition. Attending the festival of Iemanjá is a tick off Yasmine’s bucket list. It reminds me of the times we celebrated Yemaya back home.

“What time is it?” Amy moans. White foiled strands of hair fan over her pillow, giving an angelic impression.

“Eight thirty.”

A steady drumbeat creeps closer, accompanied by unapologetic singing.

She pushes up onto her elbows and stares toward the window. “Sounds as though the festival is underway.”

“Yeah. I can’t wait to be part of it tomorrow.” Plucking a brochure from the table, I flop back on the bed.

“Pelourinho,” I say. “It looks interesting.”

“I’m keen,” Amy says, now upright.

“You sure? It’s the historical center of the city, and I don’t expect you to obsess over the architecture with me. I can take a bus.”

“We don’t go out alone,” she reminds me. “Bree’s rules.”

I smile at Amy because I know she’s making an effort for me. This isn’t her thing. I already knew Yasmine and Bree were staying at the hotel for Yasmine to prepare for the offering. Preparation for these ceremonies brings out Yasmine’s creative side, and she enjoys doing it. So, I expected to go out alone. Shit. It’s only day one, and I’m contemplating breaking a group rule. Who the hell am I?

A short time later, Amy and I are squished like sardines in a bus, our skin similarly smeared with sweat since there’s no air conditioning on the bus. Staring out the open window, her blonde hair blows wildly around her face, uncaring about knots when it’s the only source of air. As the bus chugs up sloping hills, pastel-hued buildings snare my focus, the mismatched colors beautiful in their uniqueness. I’m enchanted with the people and their bright clothing.

Baroque churches are our first stop on my list of tourist sights, and here, it isn’t a case of ‘you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.’ Even the photos I take on my phone are jaw-dropping. The Cathedral Basilica, trimmed with gold, is considered one of the finest examples of the wealth of Portuguese Baroque architecture.

“There’s something about the beauty of a church,” I say from the street and turn to take one last shot with my phone. “It’s inspiring and calming.”

“Architecture… inspiring and calming.” Amy holds out a hand as if weighing something on an imaginary set of scales. “Working for your father and slaving away at the family business… busy and demanding.” She tips the scales and pretends to overbalance, and I laugh.

My chest warms, knowing I have eight weeks to discover the beauty and thrills of this country and learn a little more about me.

Time gets away as we wander through walls of art, mesmerized as though we have time-traveled to another world. Here in Salvador, I sense I’m going to lose track of time every day.

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