10. Luca
"What the fuck's the matter?"
I spin around on the balcony, still wet, still naked. I haven't bothered doing anything about either of those two things. I'm too…unbalanced.
Travis is glaring at me. He's just as wet and naked as I am.
"Nothing."
"Bullshit." His nostrils flare as he stomps over to me. "Storming out of the bathtub like that is not nothing."
"Okay. It's bullshit." I try to move past him.
He grabs my arm. "Talk to me. Please."
I look around.
His suite is on the second floor from the top so it's not like anyone can see two crazy naked idiots, but still, it's more out in the open than I'm comfortable with. "Let's go inside and dry off."
He follows me in.
We dry off, put on our boardies, and sit down at opposite ends of the couch.
"Not hearing a lot of talking over here," he says when I'm quiet for too long.
I bite my lip. "You really want to be an oyster farmer?"
"I do."
He stares at me with a passionate intensity, his green eyes fiery, almost like he can sense what my issue is before I even say it.
And, fuck, I really don't want to say it because it'll make me sound like a horrible person, which in turn, will force me to deal with the fact that maybe I am a horrible person, and who the fuck wants to actually deal with their shit?
He lifts his chin. "That a problem for you?"
Yeah, it's a problem.
A huge fucking problem.
Not ready to admit that aloud yet.
I blow out a breath. "Why?"
"Nuh-uh. You answer my question first."
He's pushing hard, and I recognize we're heading toward our first argument in Luca and Travis version whatever-number-we're-up-to.
Or…
Maybe I can tackle this differently, and maybe it could lead us down a different path?
I sweep a hand through my hair, the tension building in my chest. "Because I think you're better than that."
There, I said it. In a roundabout sort of way.
"Excuse me?"
"Why would you want to be something as basic as a fisherman? You could do so many better things with your life."
"Like what?"
"I don't know, literally anything that's not that."
He shakes his head. "How is what I'm doing now any better?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, kitesurfing is hardly saving lives, is it? It's a sport. You could make a good argument that the majority of pro athletes are self-centered and egotistical maniacs who never learned to grow up and are lucky to do something they love and make tons of money doing it, while real people in the real world do real jobs that actually make a difference."
"Oh. I've never thought of it like that."
Yep, it's official. I'm the worst.
All these years, I've wanted more for my father. He's smart and such a hard worker, I never understood why he didn't do something else, something that, in my mind, was better. But hey, at least he can say his work contributes to people's lives. What does me executing a killer double handle pass do to help anyone feed themselves or their families?
Travis shifts down the couch, getting closer. "This isn't just about me, is it?"
"No."
He lets out a breath but doesn't say anything.
I drop my head. "I'm an asshole."
"Yeah. You are." He scooches down some more and takes my hand. "But you're my asshole, and we are going to figure this out together."
Years of pent-up shame, guilt, and anger swirl inside of me—I don't even know where to begin.
"Just start talking about anything that's going on for you right now."
"I feel guilty." I meet his eyes. "When they sprang Dad on me in the interview today, I was…"
"Less than thrilled to see him?"
I nod. "Was it obvious?"
"No. Not to anyone else. But I know you. I could tell you were uncomfortable with it."
"My father is the best man I know. He raised me. Clothed me. Fed me. Supported me. Loved me unconditionally." My chest churns, but I keep releasing what I've locked away inside for so many years. "I hate that he's a poor fisherman. I hate that he lives in that run-down shack. I hate that the tournament flew him out here and paraded him in front of the world like, Look at us, we're so great. We're helping the poor, brown people."
"Hey, hey, hey. Mate. I'm the last one to defend the tournament, believe me, but I really don't think that was their intention."
"Maybe it wasn't. But that's how it feels, okay? I know you didn't grow up with money, either. But believe me, being poor and white is a lot different from being poor and brown."
"I'm sure it is. I have a privilege that you don't, and that's completely unfair. But Luca…"
He waits until I look at him.
"What's wrong with being a fisherman? What's wrong with your dad living the life he leads? And also…" He exhales heavily. "Isn't judgment of any kind for any reason wrong? Isn't judging your father for the way he leads his life a bit fucked up, too?"
Whoa…
I fall back onto the couch and turn my head. "Have you always been this smart?"
"I have." He nods. "Don't feel bad. My cock is huge…ly distracting."
I muster a faint smile. "I feel like the worst person ever."
"You're not. You're just a person. We all think bad things. We all have feelings we wish we didn't from time to time. None of that makes us who we are, though. Who you are is about working through your internal shit and, ultimately, it's about what you do. How you treat others. How you behave when no one's looking. How closely you follow your truest values and beliefs even when it might be easier to abandon them."
"Wow."
He leans back next to me and runs his hand up and down my arm. "Don't be too hard on yourself."
"How can I not be? I've been so terrible to Dad."
"That's a solvable problem."
"You really think so?"
"I know so. He loves you with everything he has. When you're ready, talk to him. Properly. Use the guilt and shame and whatever other yucky feelings you have and do something positive with them."
My mind is officially blown.
I've heard that expression a lot but I've never understood what it means. I do now. I feel like the massive glass shield I'd built up has been shattered into a thousand little pieces.
Travis is absolutely right. I'm not my bad emotions, I'm what I do about them.
"I'm sorry for how I reacted to your Big Dream."
"It's okay."
"No. It's not. Your dream is great. My reaction was crap. I own that, and I'm sorry."
"Thank you." He threads our fingers together. "Want to know something kinda fucked up?"
"I'm scared."
He smiles tightly. "It's not that scary. But…I had a feeling you'd have an issue with it."
"Is that why you didn't tell me?"
"It is."
"Shit…"
Didn't think it was possible, but I feel even worse now.
"I'm not saying that to make you feel bad. I'm just being honest and communicating, because that's what we agreed to do this time, isn't it?"
"We did."
"And that's going to mean having difficult conversations. Like what happens if we face off in the grand final. Or when unresolved childhood trauma comes up. Or…" His eyes narrow. "Anything else."
I don't know if he means anything else, but I'm too consumed by what we're currently dealing with to give it any further thought.
What I do know is that I need to have a serious conversation with my father, but before I do, I need to make this right with Travis.
"Tell me more about your big dream," I say, settling in against his body.
He wraps his arm around me. "What would you like to know?"
Hearing the smile in his voice makes me happy. Yeah, I fucked up, but we're talking and getting through it. This shit really does work.
"Where did you get the idea for oyster farming?"
"It's something I used to do with Grandpa as a little kid. Loved it. He was a cool old dude. Probably one of the coolest people I've ever met in my life. Then he had a fight with Dad, who banished him from our lives. Wouldn't even let us go to his funeral when he passed."
"I'm so sorry."
"Just another fucked-up thing on my father's never-ending list of fucked-up things." Travis exhales loudly. "Anyway, I got consumed by kitesurfing. It became my life. But I never forgot about my grandpa. He was the type of man I wanted to be when I grew up. Strong. Independent. Fearless. Street smart. Hilarious and completely inappropriate. You should've heard some of the stuff that came out of his mouth."
"Ah, so that's where you get it from."
Travis chuckles. "Totally. He was the best. Then my brothers and I found that piece of land. About a year after that, I heard a story."
"What sort of story?"
"A new kitesurfer had moved into town. Late twenties, hippy-looking dude. Completely chilled and laid-back. We started chatting and got along great. After a surf one day, Troy and Terry went back home, and he and I got to talking."
Travis lets go of me and hooks his hands behind his head. "He was Swedish and traveling the world, doing whatever the fuck he wanted to do."
"That sounds really cool."
"I thought so, too. He's the one who told me the story. I've seen it on social media a few times in the years since so you might have heard it. It's about a fisherman and a businessman. Have you come across it?"
I think about it. "Don't think so, no."
"Okay. It's a bit long so bear with me. But basically, it's about this fisherman who lives in a small, coastal town. He's poor, but he's happy with his simple life. He enjoys fishing. He loves his wife and kids. And he has a couple of mates who he hangs out with. That's pretty much his whole life."
"Right."
"So one day, he's out fishing in his little boat when he spots a fancy-ass yacht in trouble on the water. He rushes over and saves them, taking the small group of people onboard safely back to shore. The owner of the vessel thanks him, and they start talking. It turns out he's a super successful businessman. He notices the small haul of fish the fisherman has caught and asks him what he plans to do with it. The fisherman says he'll take it back home to his wife, she'll cook it up, and then he'll spend the rest of the day with her and their kids and he might hang out with his mates after that. The businessman, who's probably some problematic straight, cis, finance bro—I'm adding this part in myself."
I smile. "I figured."
"He's all cocky and goes, 'You should catch more fish.'
"'What would I do with them?' the fisherman replies.
"'You could sell them and earn money. Then, with the money, you could buy nylon nets. With the nets, you could catch even more fish and make even more money.'
"'Why would I want to do that?' the fisherman asks.
"'So that you can buy a bigger boat than you've currently got. That would allow you to go into deeper waters and catch more fish, which you'd sell for even more money.'
"'And why would I want to do that?'
"By this stage, the businessman is starting to get pissed off by this dumb fisherman. 'So that you can expand your business. You could own two boats, maybe three boats. Eventually you could have a whole fleet of boats and be rich like me.'
"'And why would I want to be rich like you?'
"The businessman finally loses his shit. 'Don't you get it? So that you could have enough money so that you don't have to work. You could spend time with your wife, your kids, and your friends. You could really enjoy life.'
"The fisherman looks at the businessman and says with a sly grin, 'And what do you think I'm doing now?'"
I smile, nodding my head. "Wow. That's a great story."
"When I heard it, it struck a chord, you know? For the first time, I knew what I wanted from my life. Not what my father expected me to do, but what would make me happy. And it wasn't surfing. It was something much simpler. Like buying some land and doing something I love like oyster farming."
"Doesn't kitesurfing make you happy?"
"It does. Massively. There's nothing else like it in the world. But I saw firsthand from Dad's experience that you can't surf forever, that there are many more years after pro life than there are of pro life. Kitesurfing, this stupid show, all these sponsorships, they're a means to an end."
"Wow."
"That's the second time you've said that."
"Well, I'm having a few wow moments over here." Understatement of the century…my mind keeps getting blown over and over again. "You know, when we first met, I had you pegged as someone who was chasing fame and attention."
"That's what most people think, but I've always had my eye on a much bigger prize. All of this media circus is just noise. And it's a really hard, shitty thing to navigate. I don't get why people want to be famous. It's isolating. People hate you or are envious. You can't trust anyone. Everyone has an agenda and wants something from you. It's so fucked up. I just try to drown it out as much as I can."
Wow.
I don't say it this time, but I give myself some time to take it all in.
Love is an amazing thing, isn't it? Just when you think you know everything there is to know about someone, they manage to surprise you.
It's almost enough to make me think I could broach the one topic I've never raised with him.
Almost.
I'm doing so well with the moderation thing, there's really no need. Is there?
Or…am I just being a wimp and not wanting to face the reality that I'm probably an addict who's gotten really good at deluding himself?
It's option B, isn't it?
Fuck.
That's two super hard conversations coming up in my near future. I can't decide which one is going to be worse.
Apologizing to my father for feeling shame and pity for his life when I should have been kissing his feet for the excellent upbringing he gave me, spending what little money he did have to ensure I had kitesurfing gear, could travel to tournaments, and have all my needs taken care of?
Or the conversation with Travis where I confess I've been addicted to opiates since I was sixteen?
After a few minutes of silence, Travis brushes his hand up and down my arm. "You okay, Luca?"
I'm not. Not until I do what needs to be done.
Maybe after that I'll be okay.
Maybe?