Page 74 of A Perfect Disaster

No matter how intently Helen is studying the recipe.

Her glasses are perched on the bridge of her nose, and her brow is furrowed. Her white officer’s uniform—a short-sleeved shirt with gold braiding and trousers—is spotless, for now, beneath the apron. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail that looks capable of withstanding a Category 5 hurricane on the high seas.

In other words, a real stunner.

“Now you can call it ‘Operation Citrus,’” she replies without looking up from the paper. “We have to be the best—we have no other choice. As officers and crew, we’ll set an example.”

I look at her in utter disbelief and let out a long sigh.

“Helen, sweetheart, this is uncharted territory for me. I coordinate the bachata classes and the bingo nights; I don’t know my way around the kitchen. So don’t ask the impossible.”

“The recipe has very clear instructions,” she insists calmly, holding the paper right in front of my face, as if having the text in 14-point Times New Roman were going to work the miracle of turning me into a chef.

“So do the Ikea furniture instructions, and once I had six screws left over and ended up with a bookshelf that looked like a modern art sculpture.”

She sighs as if gathering all the patience in the universe before answering.

“Focus, Maika. Just a little.”

“I’m trying, really, but I’m so distracted by the idea of causing mass food poisoning on board and having to quarantine the ship. Imagine the headlines back home.”

Helen finally looks up and pierces me with that serious gaze that, lately, doesn’t intimidate me as much anymore. On the contrary, it turns me on. Beneath her usual composure, I sense other things—things I love much more.

All around us, the other pairs take their places. The first officer, the chief engineer, some colleagues from my own entertainment team, and even the ship’s doctor are trying to break up what looks like reinforced concrete. Gonzalo walks past us with a glass of ice-cold white wine in his hand and a smile so smug it makes me want to throw a lemon right in his face.

“Enjoying your culinary date, my dears?” he asks sarcastically, delighted that he signed us up for the charity event.

“I’m going to murder you and throw you overboard while you’re sleeping, Gonzalo. I promise,” I threaten, grater in hand.

“Wow… the sexual tension is really high around here,” he replies, chuckling under his breath.

Helen clears her throat, visibly annoyed.

“Gonzalo, get out of my sight right now if you don’t want me to file a report against you.”

“Ooh, ooh… The security officer is getting aggressive. I love it.”

“You have three seconds,” Helen warns, starting to point a finger at him with a look that could melt the icebergs of the North Atlantic.

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving. But remember that this is for a good cause, that the funds go to the NGO. And, Maika…” He winks at me cheekily. “Please don’t set the deck on fire.”

Gonzalo walks away laughing out loud, disappearing into the crowd of sunbathing passengers.

“I hate him,” I mutter under my breath as I watch him walk away.

“No, you don’t,” Helen replies calmly, though I detect a hint of amusement in her voice. “He’s a pain, but he’s got a good heart.”

Helen sets the recipe on the table and begins organizing the ingredients. Her movements are methodical, almost hypnotic. It’s a delight to watch her in charge, honestly.

“Okay. We need sugar, freshly squeezed lemon juice, finely grated zest, cold water, crushed ice, and…”

“And a miracle. A miracle the size of an ocean liner,” I add.

“Maika, cut it out,” she scolds me.

“Hey, I’m helping out with emotional support. That should count toward the jury’s score, too.”

She looks at me for a long second, then shakes her head as a faint smile threatens to appear on her lips. Oh my God. I think I’m starting to rediscover all her smiles. And a few more besides. The small, resigned one. The ironic one she uses when something strikes her as absurd. The one she reserves for Gonzalo’s nonsense. And the one she tries to hide because she knows perfectly well the devastating, seismic effect it has on me.