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I may be lost at sea, but I am safe.
“Close your eyes, my child.”
“Who is that?” I ask in a whisper.
“Gaia,” a voice calls, enveloping me with warmth as my body is cradled in the sea.
“I don’t know who that is,” I say, fighting to keep my eyes open.
“You don’t need to know. You just need to trust.”
“Trust what?”
The beautiful creatures of the ocean swim with us, singing to us as we move.
“Your power,” Gaia breathes, her voice growing fainter. “Your destiny.”
“But I don’t understand,” I say, my head aching and my body tired, my entire person exhausted. “I just want to understand...,”
“Fight back,” she says, her voice moving farther away, the light surrounding me, the warm nest of love dispersing. “Harness what is already inside of you, Siren.”
I shake my head, crying out as I do, as the seaweed unravels around me, freeing me. I swim, reaching for the feeling that just surrounded me.
But it is gone.
“Gaia!” I scream. “Come back!”
But it doesn’t return.
Instead, my feet are firmly planted in the shallow sand.
I press my toes into the ocean floor, walking out of the sea, realizing I’m out of the eye of the storm, and that I have ended up right back where I started.
The beach where I was found twenty-one years ago.
----
I push my key in the ignition. My cell phone is long gone after last night’s swept-to-sea montage, but luckily, I kept my purse in the unlocked car and can get home.
What I really want, more than anything, is to crawl into my bed and sleep.
Maybe if I do that I’ll wake up and realize that this entire thing was a nightmare. A daydream?
Parts were amazing. Like when I gave my body to four men. Others not so much. The whole whirlpool thing really freaked me out.
I drive toward home, pressing an old beach towel from the back seat against my skull. The bleeding has stopped, and the cut is at my hairline. I can tell stitches won’t be necessary. Thank god.
But I still know my parents. While they expected me to stay out all night for my birthday--the plan was to crash with Chloe after--they will be worried sick if they see me with a head wound.
When I get home, I try to think through what I will say about the fact I am wearing nothing but a guy’s t-shirt. But my legs are still glittering green and it feels weird for them to see that. Is that weird? To be embarrassed by something I don’t even understand?
I dig into my back seat and find a rumpled pair of sweats. I pull them on, knotting the oversized t-shirt at the side like this is the new look all the cool kids in town are sporting.
Walking into the house, I call out for them as I shake out my hair, making sure it hangs in my eyes, so I can cover the cut.
Again. What am I trying to hide? And why do I want to hide anything anyway?
“Mom? Dad?” I walk straight into the kitchen. I swallow, expecting a scene. Maybe they are worried about me being gone all night. I’m not exactly a party girl.
But instead of seeing them, I just find a note.
Hello Sleepyhead,
Hope your night wasn’t too wild and crazy!
We have a trip today and don’t forget you’re driving the sunset cruise.
There’s a box of Leonard’s Malasadas for you!
Love you,
Mom and Dad
I blink back tears. Why did I ever think what I have here wasn’t enough?
I’m in a kitchen that smells like fresh lemons and where handwritten notes are left on counters and my favorite pastries are bought with intention. This is more than enough.
How could this life--this beautiful and generous life--ever leave me feeling hollow? Ever make me feel like I am missing something?
Because isn’t this everything? To love and be loved?
I pull back the box of malasadas and pick up one of the golden-brown Portuguese donuts. Taking a bite of the fluffy dough, I try not to cry.
The custard filling is delicious, and I feel like crap. Like my priorities are messed up and whatever happened last night, and this morning should be chalked up to a quarter-life crisis.
Except that when I was in the water I felt alive. When I was on the boat I felt powerful. When I looked into the selkie’s eyes, I felt seen.
So what is real?
I take the last bite of the donut and lick the sugar glaze from my fingers and try to steady my shaky breath.
Someone knocks on the door. I jump, startled by the noise.
“Harlow?” Chloe calls. “You alive?”
I bite my bottom lip, smoothing my hair. I am so not ready to divulge all the details of my night.
“Coming!” I pull open the door, knowing that avoiding my best friend is also totally lame and not exactly living the badass life I proclaimed yesterday.
