Page 62 of A Perfect Disaster

As soon as I step into the crew mess hall, I come face to face with her. Maika is sitting at a small table in the corner, a cup in her hands and her gaze lost in a porthole through which the horizon is barely visible. She’s wearing the standard entertainment staff uniform, though today she seems different. Her gaze doesn’t shine with that electric intensity she usually radiates; it’s as if she’s inhabiting her own world.

I walk over to her and smile.

“Good morning,” I say.

All right. Point one completed. I didn’t sound like a security inspector. I think.

Maika looks up. She doesn’t smile, nor does she throw a snide remark my way or hide behind one of her usual jokes. She just looks at me. It’s as if her brain has gone into a loop.

“Good morning, Helen.”

I stand there a second too long, my hands slightly tense at my sides. I should sit down. A normal person sits down and shares a table. A human being doesn’t just stand there in front of their colleague as if they’re about to confiscate their breakfast.

“Can I…?” I ask, pointing to the empty chair across from her.

“Sure.”

I sit down and silence settles between us. If there’s ever been a moment when I’ve wished a crack would open up beneath my feet and swallow me into the ocean, it’s right now. I clench my hands on the table and feel my pulse throbbing in my wrists.

“I wanted to know how you’re doing,” I continue, remembering point two.

Maika tilts her head, more surprised than suspicious.

“Tired,” she replies.

I nod and force myself to stay silent.

“And a little hurt,” she adds after a moment.

Of course, because there was no way she wouldn’t tell me.

My stomach clenches immediately. But right away, I take a deep breath, just as step five says.

“I’m sorry,” I reply bluntly.

Maika blinks, visibly shocked. I’m also surprised that I blurted it out like that, without preamble, without excuses, and without a PowerPoint presentation titled “Extenuating Circumstances for My Behavior.”

“About yesterday…” I continue, before losing what little courage I have left. “What I said to you… my tone… the way I turned a real crisis into something that seemed like it was all your fault. I’m truly sorry, Maika.”

She looks down at the cup she’s holding in her hands, running her fingers along the rim.

“Thank you,” she replies simply.

Is that it? “Thank you.” Well, what a shitty thing this is, being human. But as Emily Charlton would say: “May the bridges I burn light my way.”

“I… I don’t know how to do this very well, obviously,” I confess.

She looks at me again, analyzing every inch of my expression.

“Apologize?”

“No. Acting like a normal person,” I clarify, trying to force a smile that probably looks like a nervous tic.

The corner of her mouth twitches slightly, breaking her seriousness.

“Yeah… I’d already noticed a bit of that,” she reminds me.

“I’m working on it,” I reply, and for the first time I feel that it’s not a company goal, but something of my own.