“Yep,” I confirm. “The whole group. Bully Oliver into coming if you have to.”
Her lips tug down, and I don’t understand why.
“Got it,” she says, her voice clipped. “I’ll reach out to everyone for booking information. This should take me about a week to put together. I can present my itinerary next Monday if that works for you?”
She shifts to her laptop, and my phone dings with a meeting invitation from her.
“I want to find a cassowary. It’s the creature that inspired the docuseries. They’re modern-day dinosaurs, and I read there’s a beach where you can spot wild ones.”
I pull up a few photos, and she gives them a cursory glance. Confusion and discomfort swirl in my chest.
“I’ll try to include that in your schedule.”
Myschedule?
Her voice is doing the same thing it did on the research vessel when she was frustrated with the production or vessel crew. Shrill, like a dying bird.
“I think it could be fun to have everyone meet when we’re by the Great Barrier Reef since Charlie and Mateo study the ocean.” The tension grows the longer I speak, but I can’t stop. I don’t know why it’s weird, and my way of coping is to chatter. “Don’t you think that would be fun? We could go scuba diving.”
“I’m sure you guys will have a blast.” She types something on her laptop, then says, without looking up, “It would be helpful if you could give me a list of tasks to complete while you’re gone.”
“What?”
“While you’re in Australia,” she clarifies. “Since you’re going to be gone and there’s a time difference, I would appreciate having a set list of tasks to have accomplished by the time you all return.”
This conversation is shattering my brain. “What time difference?”
She takes a deep, calming breath, though I’m not sure it worked with the way her nose twitches. “I will be in LA. You will be in Australia. That’s a nineteen-hour difference.”
“Why will you be in LA? Did you not want to go?”
“It’s not a matter of what I want,” she says.
A tornado has sucked me up and spit me out with how turned around I’ve become in this conversation.
“Wait a minute.” Shaking my head, I hold up a hand. “I’m confused here. Can we rewind?”
“Sure. What part are you confused about?”
“Why don’t you want to come to Australia with us?”
Sofía plays with the edge of her notebook, flipping the paper back and forth.
“Idowant to go, but I’m not one of the people you listed. I respect your decision.”
All at once, understanding dawns on me. A smile hits my cheeks, and she frowns. I almost chuckle at her blatant “I respect your decision” lie.
“Obviously, you’re going. I saidwe, like, six different times. I should have been clearer. You’re the first person on my list.”
Her lips tug at the corners like she’s trying to hide her delight. The apples of her cheeks pinken, and when she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, I have to focus on the condensation of my drink instead of the loose strand.
Months apart, and I forgot how pretty she is. I mean, I didn’tcompletelyforget, but the pictures and videos she posts online don’t hold a candle to real life.
On social media, she’s beautiful.
In person, she’s magnificent.
The conversation we had on the ship when she was tipsy replays like a scratched record in the back of my mind, a reminder that, while I may view her that way, I’m nothing more than her friend.
