Chapter 21
Junie
The days drip by even slower now that Mason and Juliette are gone; we try to savor every moment of it.
New volunteers trickle in to take their places, but the sanctuary doesn’t seem to have the same spirit.
Steven and I avoid talking about it, as if that will make it hurt less that I’m going to leave eventually too.
My work is going well. We’re getting a lot of new followers on TikTok and even better, donations have been pouring in.
I ran a pledge drive called “Buying a beer for your turtle bud” that gained a lot of traction.
Donors pledged a dollar amount for every beer bottle we pulled out of the ocean on our last cleanup dive.
Everyone was blown away by the success of gamifying charity.
Thomas’s eyes lit up when I shared the analytics.
The reception to my content has been so good that I’m a little worried about the team losing momentum when I leave. I’m thinking about it this afternoon, sitting in the rehabilitation room and watching Jimmy float passively around his tank.
“It’ll be weird leaving here,” I murmur, tracking him through the glass. He’s the best listener. “I bet you’re excited to go home. I wish I felt the same.”
Saying the words out loud feels like a small weight off my heart, even if I do feel pathetic for talking to a turtle.
Maybe I could keep posting remotely after I get back.
Just to ease the transition for them. Would keeping my connection to Gili Telu help or hurt when I have to return to my real life?
What will Steven and I do? Long distance between New York and Indonesia just doesn’t seem realistic.
I don’t know. I feel Grannie’s hand in everything—like she truly led me here to realize what I’ve been missing.
Being with Steven is a fairytale. He still has his quiet, crabby moments, but he’s jumped into the role of my tour guide with both feet.
I’ve learned more about the island and its residents, both human and marine, than I ever would have seen on my own.
We eat most meals at the warung near his bungalow where Injah always ruffles his hair like a proud mother after filling us up with delicious food.
We play soccer in the sand with the neighborhood kids and snuggle at bonfires on the beach.
We scuba and snorkel and it continues to take my breath away. We really are living in paradise.
It sounds like he ended up in Gili Telu by chance, but thanks to Mike, it’s become a second home.
He’s only hinted at whatever made him leave Australia, and I suspect there was a woman involved, but I wonder where he found the confidence to go and never look back.
Without a work specialty and a job offer, I can’t stay in Indonesia very long even if I wanted to.
But do I? That seems crazy to even consider.
Mason said he’d be back to visit once he got his visa sorted out and I need to extend mine as well.
Mike gave my documents to an immigration service last week and I have to go in for biometrics on the mainland to get the official seal of approval for another 30 days, even if I’ll only use a few of them.
How did my romantic two week vacation with David turn into this? I wonder what Eva would think about everything. Between the time difference, the bad cell service on the island, and the lack of wifi in Steven’s bungalow, we haven’t had a chance to catch up in a while.
The visa extension will mean time away from the island, away from the sad absence of our friends. It’s wild how much they’ve come to mean to me in so short a time. But then I look at my gorgeous, brown-eyed scuba instructor and it doesn’t seem so crazy after all.
That night in bed, his body is turned away from mine and I need him closer. I snuggle in, roping my arm around his waist and pulling his warm back against my chest.
He twists in my arms, wrapping himself around me instead. It happens so often, I finally have to say something.
“Do you not like being the little spoon?”
I thought he might choke. He splutters, not forming real words as my eyes rake his face in the moonlight.
“Oh my god, do you think it’s like… unmanly or something? Are you afraid of receiving affection?” I’m partly joking, but the look on his face is priceless.
“I’m not afraid of receiving affection,” he finally says. “I’ve never had a woman do that before. I’m not used to it.”
“Well, do you not like having my breasts pressed up against your back?” I’m naked, my chest bright white in the dark around the crisp triangles of my tan lines.
“Nah yeah.” He avoids my gaze, zeroing in on them instead. “I like it better when they’re in my mouth.” He licks his lips.
“Don’t deflect!” I smack him with a pillow. “You don’t like being in my arms, letting me curl myself around you?”
“Of course I like it. Your skin is so soft. I want to feel you everywhere.” He runs a hand through my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear.
“Then turn around and let me spoon you, you big oaf. It makes me feel good too.”
As I wiggle up behind him and nestle my chin in the crook of his neck, I feel another one of his walls come down. Something in my chest loosens as well. This feels like more than island fling, but soon there will be an entire world between us.
But not yet, I remind myself. Right now, you’re here. Living this moment. Feel it all.
That’s the point of meditation, right? It’s not avoidance, it’s mindfulness.
It’s sucking the marrow out of every moment I get to spend here, writing the story of my life.
I don’t know how a connection this intense is possible in such a short time, but I’m not going to squander it by questioning it now.
*****
The next morning dawns too bright and too early when we wake up tangled and sweaty.
We save water by taking a cold shower together and pack for a night on the mainland in Bali.
My personal tour guide has offered to chauffeur me around the island and show me some of his favorite spots.
I’m fluttery and excited for our first time alone together away from the sanctuary.
“Are you excited?” I ask, shading my eyes as we wait on the pier for the ferry.
Steven’s smile is like injecting sunshine into my veins. He’s opened up so much the last few weeks, I feel like I’m finally cracking through his hard shell.
“Yes and no. Sitting around the immigration building is always a drag, but I have a few ideas of where to take you once your extension is granted.”
The twinkle in his eye is devilish. His dimple always seems more pronounced when he’s up to something mischievous.
“What did you have in mind?” I ask, even though I’ve never been disappointed by one of his surprises yet.
“You’ll just have to trust me.” He winks and pulls me closer. I love his scent of sun, salt, and sweat. I bury my face in the soft fabric of his over-washed tank top.
“I trust you,” I murmur, thinking the words will get lost on the wind, but the way he squeezes me tight lets me know he heard.
After two hours on the ferry, we’re both anxious to move around. We’re supposed to hop into a shuttle bus Mike booked, but Steven looks at me beseechingly.
“What do you think about driving a scooter?”
The motorbikes are all over Bali. I rode on the back a few times with Eva, but only short distances. Between the crazy traffic and driving on the left side of the road, there’s no way I feel safe driving one myself.
“Umm,” I can’t help biting my lip and Steven sees my concern.
“I’m a great driver, and I’ll get us there safely and much faster. To be honest, those vans kind of make me feel ill.” He clutches his stomach.
I know exactly what he means. I’m prone to carsickness and I didn’t love being jostled around the shuttle bus on the way to Gili Telu. God, that feels like a lifetime ago.
“Okay,” I concede. “But we both need helmets.”
“Absolutely.” The tilt to his lips makes my core burn hot. “Wouldn’t dream of driving in Bali without one.”
A few minutes later, Steven procures a bike and two flashy helmets.
“Seuksma,” he says, bowing his head slightly to the shopowner.
The Balinese have their own language distinct from the Indonesian used in the Gillis and other parts of the country.
Somehow I’m not surprised to learn Steven is familiar with it too.
“Ready to feel the wind in your hair?” he asks, straddling the bike and holding out my helmet. “Metaphorically, of course. It’s about two hours to the immigration center in Ubud.”
I swing my leg around the scooter and realize how close we’ll have to sit. I snuggle against his back just like last night.
“Too bad there’s so many clothes between us,” I joke, and I love the rumble of his answering laughter.
“Behave back there.” He checks his mirrors and starts the bike, pulling confidently and competently into traffic.
The chaos of the wind and noise overwhelms me. After a few weeks on the peaceful island, I’m shocked by how loud and bright everything seems. I’ve gotten used to falling asleep to the gentle sounds of the ocean waves or the soft strumming of an acoustic guitar.
Bali is traffic—horns blaring and people shouting—and the smells of fresh food carts and incense mingling in the air. Dogs nip at our tires, fearless. I snuggle closer to Steven’s back and breathe him in.
It’s better with my eyes closed. I feel safe and warm when he’s all that I focus on.
Soon, despite the crazy choreographed weaving of traffic, I could fall asleep on the back of a motorbike going 40 kilometers per hour.
To be honest, I have no idea what that is in miles—I assume it’s fast because the wind whips our clothes around and chaps my lips.
“You okay back there?” he asks, squeezing my thigh. It tickles and I instantly perk up from half-dreaming.
“Yeah. You’re a really good driver. I’m not scared at all.”
“I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” The words send butterflies dancing in my belly. “We’re almost there.”