Page 72 of A Perfect Disaster

“I’m practicing accepting compliments without feigning modesty. The ship’s medical team says it’s very healthy,” I joke.

“I should add that to my to-do list,” she plays along.

“Why do you want that job so badly? As far as I can remember, you’ve never told me why.”

The question comes from the heart. Helen looks out onto the street, where a man walks by carrying boxes of lemons and a motorcycle revs up.

“To be honest, Maika… I’m tired of living cooped up in a floating metal structure,” she replies, stroking the edge of her napkin. “For a long time, I thought sailing was the best thing ever. At first, it fulfilled me; it made me feel like I was moving forward. But lately…” She swallows. “I feel like the ship is moving, but I’m stuck in the same place.”

Something inside me softens.

“I want stability,” she continues. “An office on dry land, a team that doesn’t leave when their contract ends, making decisions that last longer than a cruise season. I don’t want to keep feeling like my whole life fits into two suitcases and a cabin.”

I understand her perfectly. Those of us who choose this job spend months isolated from reality. Your social life, your schedule, and your space are measured by the length of the contract, and sometimes, that instability eats away at you from the inside.

“Even if it’s a great opportunity. I want that position because I need to feel like my feet are on solid ground and not on something that comes and goes with the tides.”

My grandmother’s voice gets stuck in my head. “And why didn’t you take that step?” It’s strange that I’ve never told her about her, and that I’m still unable to do so now.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, noticing I’m distracted.

“Nothing… Well, I’m just realizing how important this is to you,” I say.

Helen doesn’t seem entirely convinced by my answer, but she’s kind enough not to press me.

“It is,” she says.

I nod and take a sip of what’s left of the wine to swallow the words I’ve decided to keep to myself.

“I don’t want to take your dreams away from you, Helen. But I can’t pretend that I’m not interested in that promotion either. I’d never thought about it before, but now that the opportunity has presented itself…”

“You shouldn’t pretend,” she interrupts me. “I think we can both compete for the same office without having to tear each other apart in the process.”

“That would be suspiciously mature of us,” I joke to lighten the mood.

“I’m maturing, I told you.”

We smile. The breeze rustles the awning above us, and the waiter brings us a couple of tiramisu, on the house. Palermo is still alive, loud, and beautiful all around us. And for the first time in many days, I don’t feel like we’re on opposite sides of a war.

“What if we let them decide?” I suggest, resting my fists on the table.

Helen frowns, intrigued.

“We could just do our jobs as best we can on board, and let them decide whatever they need to decide. After all, that’s why they came aboard incognito.”

Helen fiddles with the stem of her glass, deep in thought.

“You know that, whatever decision they make, one of us is going to get hurt, right?”

“Of course it’ll hurt, Helen. But it’ll hurt a lot less if we haven’t torn each other apart before we hear the shipping company’s decision.”

Helen looks down at the table, moved.

“I don’t want to ruin whatever it is we’re building.”

My heart skips a beat. “Whatever it is we’re building.” Coming from a woman who lives constrained by rules and safe distance, that’s almost a full-fledged declaration of love.

“Me neither,” I confess.