Page 14 of We Shouldn’t Do This Again

She seems genuinely relieved.

“Thank goodness…”

I raise an eyebrow and look out at the sea stretching just a few meters from the road, its hues shifting from turquoise to deep blue.

“That said…” I say, pointing toward the water with my chin. “I hope you’ll give me a little time to take a dip. I can’t wait to feel the cool water on my skin.”

As the car drives along the coast, I feel something I didn’t expect to feel so soon: a sweet, deep lightness. As if everything were exactly where it’s supposed to be, including me. I suppose that’s how it feels when the people you care about are close by. Because yes, in the end, your home is where the hearts of those you love are, and I know that, the day I have to go back, it will hurt a lot to leave everything behind.

CHAPTER 7

THE UKULHAS FERRY

Barbara

It is 6:42 p.m. when the ferry pulls away from the pier in Malé and begins to glide over the water with that uneven rocking that turns my stomach. I know this because I check the time every two minutes, and not just out of impatience—well, yes, a little—but because I’m trying to convince myself that the end of this ordeal is very near. I’ve never liked boats, not in my whole life, not even when I was a little girl and my father insisted on going out to sea while I feigned enthusiasm I didn’t feel and clung tightly to the railing as if the sea were waiting for the perfect moment to swallow us all up.

The ferry moves forward, leaving behind a white, foamy wake stretching across the waves, and the constant noise of the engine vibrating beneath my feet constantly reminds me that I’m floating on something unstable, something ominous for someone like me.

I lean my back against one of the metal seats on the deck, close my eyes for a moment, and try to match my breathing to the gentle rocking of the boat. Though I realize my mistake when the rocking itself intensifies and my stomach clenches, bringing the little I ate on the plane up to my throat.

“Perfect, Barbara,” I whisper to myself ironically, covering my mouth with one hand. “You shouldn’t have eaten anything.”

I open my eyes and look toward the horizon, because that’s what people who don’t get seasick recommend, though in my case I very much doubt it’ll work.

The sky begins to take on a soft, warm orange hue that reflects on the water’s surface as if it were a painting. Around me, several tourists pull out their phones to capture the moment while a couple speaks in hushed tones with that magical, unspoken complicity shared only by lovers, and a group of young people laughs heartily, completely oblivious to the ferry’s rocking motion.

“How I envy them right now…” My stomach churns again, and suddenly I feel the food rising back up. I press my lips together tightly, swallow, and focus on breathing slowly and deeply.

The trip, I was told, shouldn’t take too long. That’s what the man at the ticket window assured me after I’d scoured half the port asking around until I managed to get the last ticket available for the day. At that moment, I would have accepted anything that floated just to reach the island as soon as possible.

“Although right now, I wouldn’t have minded hopping on one of those seaplanes either…” I murmur, running my hands over my face.

The wind blows harder as we move farther away, ruffling my hair and making it even curlier; it carries with it that intense, pungent smell of saltwater that under any other circumstances I would find pleasant, but which right now does nothing to soothe my queasy stomach.

I lean forward slightly, feeling a cold draft brush against my back, and rest my elbows on my knees.

“Come on, Barbara, don’t even think about throwing up here…” I scold myself, feeling a chill run down my spine. “No, please…”

Suddenly, an older woman sitting right across from me leans over and places her hand on my back.

“First time on a ferry, isn’t it?” she asks me in English.

I can’t tell if it’s a question or more of a statement based on my obvious discomfort.

“Is it that obvious?” I reply with a smile that probably looks more like a forced grimace than anything else.

She nods.

“Stare at the horizon; it always helps in these situations.”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to do for a while now.”

She doesn’t say another word, but she gives me a warm, understanding smile that, unexpectedly, manages to calm me down a little amid all the unease.

The ferry continues on its way, and over time, the orange hues turn to pinks and purples that blend into the deep, dark color of the sea. I try to truly appreciate the scene unfolding before my eyes, but my mind is focused only on how badly I want to reach dry land, take a hot, relaxing shower, and rest in bed until the next morning.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, driven by my need to talk to Ingrid, but I have no signal. The last time we spoke was a few hours ago; she tried to hide the fact that her nerves were keeping her awake and used the excuse that she isn’t used to sleeping without me, but I know not having me nearby for the team’s last game has her upset. Besides, she must be wondering if I arrived safe and sound, if everything went smoothly, or if I got lost in some airport—something that happens to me all the time. My stomach churns again, and I need to take a couple of deep breaths, even stand up to let everything settle back into place.