chapter one #2
Wincing, I mouth, “Thanks,” and as I pass him, he leans down and murmurs, “Your cookies sound delicious.”
I blink all the blinks. “Excuse me?”
“Your stress-relief cookies.” He smirks, his neatly cut moustache and trimmed beard lifting, the skin around his lovely eyes crinkling. “I could use a few myself.”
“Oh.” I nearly choke on my laughter. “Trust me, they’re not delicious.”
“They’re not?”
I shake my head vehemently. “No, but my boss loves them.”
We join the check-in line and are immediately directed to counters beside one another.
“Do you have your boarding pass?” our attendants ask simultaneously.
We both hand over printed tickets.
“Welcome, Riley,” they once again say in unison.
My face scrunches with amusement—he’s a fellow Riley. I laugh. “How homonymous.”
He cocks his head as if he has no idea what I just said, and by the rugged, blue-collar look of him, he probably doesn’t.
“May I have your passport please?” my attendant asks as she clicks her computer mouse.
“Yes. Of course.” I rifle through my bag, snag the important little book, and hand it over.
She glances at the other attendant’s screen, then back to hers. “Oh. You only need one of us to check you both in.”
Seems peculiar, but perhaps this is a new system put in place to streamline the embarkation process. I’ve always wondered how cruise lines manage to get thousands of passengers on board in such a short window of time, so processing multiple people concurrently is feasible… I guess.
She hands my paperwork to the other attendant and then calls for her next passenger, so I awkwardly scoot closer to the other Riley.
“I love that you both have the same name,” my new attendant says as if she’s delighted. “It’s cute, but I’m guessing it’s sometimes confusing.”
Other Riley pulls a what-is-she-smoking face, and I shrug. A lot of people have the same name, so how it’s confusing is beyond me.
“Funnily enough,” she continues, snort-laughing, “I went to school with two Jane Does.” She swishes her hand at us. “Don’t worry, they’re both alive.”
This time, I pull a what-is-she-smoking face, and the other Riley chuckles.
The woman merrily processes our check-in, then hands us both cabin cards attached to lanyards.
“The suitcases you checked in downstairs will be delivered to your room before the ship sets sail. Once you’re through security and on board, you’re free to explore the ship and grab a bite to eat on Lido Deck.
It is, however, a requirement that you watch the safety briefing video in your room and report to your muster station before we leave port, so please do not forget to do so. ”
I nod.
“Any questions?”
Other Riley and I shake our heads.
“Excellent! Enjoy your cruise.”
We thank her, take our lanyards, and then make our way to the security line, where I’m held up because of what—or who—is in my bag.
“I have a letter from the crematorium,” I explain when the officer carefully lifts Momma’s urn.
He reads the document together with her death certificate, then carefully inspects the small pot. My stomach lurches, fearful he might drop it and scatter her remains across the terminal floor and not in the ocean as she requested, which would be disastrous and, quite frankly, horrifying.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says, placing her back inside my bag before handing me my paperwork.
I nod, my expression somber. “Loss” is hardly an adequate adjective for the death of a loved one.
Someone who is lost could potentially be found.
I haven’t “lost” my mother. She was taken.
She’s gone. And although it’s lovely for him to offer his condolences, he shouldn’t be sorry for my “loss.” He should be sorry for life’s only certainty—death—and that her death was premature.
“Ma’am?”
I blink. “Yes?”
“We’re all done here. You may board the ship now.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
Once again hugging my bag to my chest, I shuffle forward, cross the gangway onto the ship, and enter the lobby.
Brass rails glitter under slightly dimmed lights, a myriad of crew in white uniforms together with passengers scuttling about.
I step out of their way and tilt my head way back.
“Wow!” I whisper, exhaling as I slowly turn in a circle, absorbing the extravagance of the grand atrium and the glass elevators moving between various decks.
“Can I direct you to your cabin?” a steward asks.
My cheeks stretch, excitement over my expedition finally hitting me for the first time. “Yes, please. I’m bound to take a wrong turn. This ship is colossal!”
“Don’t worry,” he assures me. “You’ll find your way around quicker than you think.”
“I hope so.” I show him the card on my lanyard, seeing also for the first time that it has my photo and all sorts of other information on it.
“You’re on Deck Ten, midship.” He points to his left. “Head toward the stern to the elevators opposite Guest Services. When you step out, turn right into the corridor. Your cabin is port side.”
“Which side is port side?”
He chuckles. “It’s the left side of the ship when facing forward. Starboard is the right side.”
“Port is left, starboard is right,” I mutter to myself.
He kindly pats my shoulder. “Enjoy your cruise.”
Heading in the direction he instructed, I make it all the way to my cabin, slide my cruise card into the lock, and push the door open, straining under its solid weight as I enter the room.
This is nice—quaint, but not too quaint.
Desperate to see the view from the balcony, I gently place my bag on the perfectly made, queen-sized bed and then step outside, taking in the Lower Manhattan skyline across the bay.
The air no longer smells of fish and apprehension.
Well, maybe a little fishy still, but it’s more fish and liberation now, which is ironic considering the stony presence of Lady Liberty in the distance.
“Oh, Momma,” I say, blinking back tears as I grip the balcony railing. “I wish you were here with me.”
Time is a delicacy we take for granted, and I’d give anything to wind it back and share this trip with her.
To go on an adventure and see the world with her by my side, laughing, conversing…
living. In a morbid way, she will be with me, but it’s not the same.
She won’t see a glacier or eat at a patisserie in Paris.
She won’t hear the chime of Big Ben or potentially see the Northern Lights.
She won’t experience the slices of life pie she insisted I devour.
Wiping my damp cheeks, I will myself to stop crying. Mom wouldn’t want me to be sad. Her hopes and aspirations were for this trip to be a happy one—for me to step outside of my work bubble and see the world. And at the very least, I owe it to her to try and achieve that.
“Okay, Riley.” I fan my face. “No more tears. You’re here. You’re ready. You’re going to have an amazing time.”
Nodding, more to myself than to Lady Liberty, I hear the sound of a toilet flushing, followed by a door opening and then closing behind me.
A chill stiffens my spine, so I spin on my heel, swipe the curtain aside, and step into the cabin…
coming face to face with the tattooed stranger from check-in.
“What are you doing in my cabin?” I yell. “Get out!”