Chapter 2
jett
Sofía’s so excited she’s stopped speaking.
My idea is great, but I didn’t expect to stun her into silence.
Bright rays of California sun pour in from the large windows, illuminating the strands of her hair into soft molten-brown spirals I want to curl around my finger. I scan over her face—the high cheekbones and full lips, the long lashes batting over deep-brown eyes—as I recommit her beauty to memory.
Ice rattles in my empty cup while I spin the straw, waiting for Sofía to process. Ever since we finished production for the Aliens of the Deep documentary I helped fund and produce, I’ve been searching for a new project.
For a long time, I dedicated my channel to harmless pranks and small skits, but I’ve slowly changed direction and started sharing content I’m interested in, like deep-sea creatures. To my surprise, my viewers welcomed the shift with open arms and demanded more.
But since the documentary, I’ve been stuck.
No new ideas. No videos to post. The creative well is, well, empty.
I’ve relied on repurposed content and weekly highlights on nonprofit groups to keep myself relevant, but the anxiety of becoming a washed-up, irrelevant has-been is creeping up on me.
That is, until I saw a video of this dragon-dinosaur hybrid online. I was convinced it was AI, but it turned out to be a real bird found in the northern parts of Australia.
One spiral down the internet rabbit hole, a few podcasts, a nerdy conversation with Oliver about bugs, and the idea came to life.
A series documenting the unique, wild nature found in Australia.
Like with my deep-sea documentary, I knew I couldn’t execute it on my own, although the scale of the project wouldn’t be as large as convincing a research organization to let us use their boat.
I can film and produce this idea on my own without needing a production company to coordinate logistics and permits for the use of remotely operated vehicles.
While I don’t need a whole company, I do need someone who has experience coordinating large projects, keeping track of logistics, and, most importantly, who can have fun. Sofía was the only person who came to mind—the only one I wanted.
Doug, my videographer who met Sofía on the research vessel, told me I was batting out of my league by trying to convince her to work with us. She’ll never agree, he said. She has a great job she loves.
Well, she did agree (after a lot of begging on my part), and now she has an even more kick-ass job she loves.
Take that, Doug.
“We’re…what?” she finally says, eyes wide with excitement. Or uncertainty. I can’t tell.
“Headed to the Land Down Under. That’s my idea.
I want to highlight the nature and animals that live there.
” A new notebook appears out of thin air, and her hand flies across the page.
“My thought is we could spend a few weeks traveling around the country. It would give Doug and me enough time to film content and for us to also explore.”
I list off the animals or areas I’d like to visit, and she diligently takes notes.
This is precisely why I hired her. She has the skill set to take my ideas and bring them to life in a way I can’t.
Sometimes I can’t focus on a single task, torn between thirty different things I’ve started.
Other times, I become so hyperfocused that the world fades away.
The perks of having ADHD.
“When do you want to go?” she asks, clicking and unclicking her pen.
If it were only me and my camera, I would leave tomorrow, but to execute this properly, there needs to be a plan in place. An itinerary. Bookings and reservations.
“Sooner the better. How long would it take you to plan?”
“Depends on the budget, what you want to accomplish, the people going, visas, things like that, but I would guess a week to plan, and then once I have approval, I could book everything.”
“There’s no budget.” A laugh rips out of my lungs when she jerks back. “It would be me, Doug, Molly, and I want our friends to join us for a section of the trip.”
“So the people going would be you, Doug, Molly, Charlie, Mateo, Amy, and Oliver?”
It’s been far too long since I’ve seen all our friends, Sofía included, in one place—the last time being at the premiere for Aliens of the Deep a few months back.
Charlie and Mateo could only take a few days off from their PhD work, and Amy, Charlie’s best friend, couldn’t afford more than two days off from the café where she works.
Oliver, Mateo’s best friend from college, only stayed long enough for the premiere, having to return to England for a family event.
It’s about time we all hung out together again, and where better than Australia?
“Yep,” I confirm. “The whole group. Bully Oliver into coming if you have to.”
Her lips tug down, and I don’t understand why.
“Got it,” she says, her voice clipped. “I’ll reach out to everyone for booking information. This should take me about a week to put together. I can present my itinerary next Monday if that works for you?”
She shifts to her laptop, and my phone dings with a meeting invitation from her.
“I want to find a cassowary. It’s the creature that inspired the docuseries. They’re modern-day dinosaurs, and I read there’s a beach where you can spot wild ones.”
I pull up a few photos, and she gives them a cursory glance. Confusion and discomfort swirl in my chest.
“I’ll try to include that in your schedule.”
My schedule?
Her voice is doing the same thing it did on the research vessel when she was frustrated with the production or vessel crew. Shrill, like a dying bird.
“I think it could be fun to have everyone meet when we’re by the Great Barrier Reef since Charlie and Mateo study the ocean.
” The tension grows the longer I speak, but I can’t stop.
I don’t know why it’s weird, and my way of coping is to chatter.
“Don’t you think that would be fun? We could go scuba diving. ”
“I’m sure you guys will have a blast.” She types something on her laptop, then says, without looking up, “It would be helpful if you could give me a list of tasks to complete while you’re gone.”
“What?”
“While you’re in Australia,” she clarifies. “Since you’re going to be gone and there’s a time difference, I would appreciate having a set list of tasks to have accomplished by the time you all return.”
This conversation is shattering my brain. “What time difference?”
She takes a deep, calming breath, though I’m not sure it worked with the way her nose twitches. “I will be in LA. You will be in Australia. That’s a nineteen-hour difference.”
“Why will you be in LA? Did you not want to go?”
“It’s not a matter of what I want,” she says.
A tornado has sucked me up and spit me out with how turned around I’ve become in this conversation.
“Wait a minute.” Shaking my head, I hold up a hand. “I’m confused here. Can we rewind?”
“Sure. What part are you confused about?”
“Why don’t you want to come to Australia with us?”
Sofía plays with the edge of her notebook, flipping the paper back and forth.
“I do want to go, but I’m not one of the people you listed. I respect your decision.”
All at once, understanding dawns on me. A smile hits my cheeks, and she frowns. I almost chuckle at her blatant “I respect your decision” lie.
“Obviously, you’re going. I said we, like, six different times. I should have been clearer. You’re the first person on my list.”
Her lips tug at the corners like she’s trying to hide her delight. The apples of her cheeks pinken, and when she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, I have to focus on the condensation of my drink instead of the loose strand.
Months apart, and I forgot how pretty she is. I mean, I didn’t completely forget, but the pictures and videos she posts online don’t hold a candle to real life.
On social media, she’s beautiful.
In person, she’s magnificent.
The conversation we had on the ship when she was tipsy replays like a scratched record in the back of my mind, a reminder that, while I may view her that way, I’m nothing more than her friend.
You’re nothing like Tommy.
I don’t know who Tommy is or who he is to her, but the comment killed any delusions I had of her becoming something more to me.
“What else do you need from me?” I ask, attempting to shift my focus before I hyperfixate on the thought.
The front of her binder flies open, and she hands me a stack of papers, tabs sticking out in varying colors. She pushes it forward, pauses, and then rips it back to her chest.
“I was going to ask you to fill it out, but…” She trails off, and I know what she wants to say, or rather, guess.
“I have pretty severe dyslexia,” I admit. “It would take me a while, but I can do it.”
There are at least ten pages of paperwork, with dozens of questions on each page. Even if they were short, simple answers, I could only handle completing a few at a time before the letters jumble and sentences shift, and I would get lost and have to start again.
It may take me countless hours, but I’d get it done. I don’t want her to think I’m unintelligent.
Ink bleeds across the page as she scribbles something down, then slams her notebook closed before I can get a good look.
“That’s not a problem. I’ll read them out, and you can whisper any sensitive information. What’s your full legal name?”
Pen raised above the paper, she’s ready to write, but I am not ready to confess my legal name. Not ready to hear her laugh at it. At my silence, she raises a brow.
“Do you need it?”
“I need whatever name is on your passport to book a plane ticket.” Shit. “Do you have a middle name, or is it just ‘Jett Parks’?”
“Jett is not technically my given name.” I scratch at the back of my neck. “My legal name is Ulysses Ford Parks.”
Her jaw falls open. “Ulysses,” she drawls, beginning to write, then pausing. “Uh, okay. I—uh, I don’t think I spelled that correctly.”
“I’ll send you a picture of my passport later,” I mumble, desperate to move on before she can get a jab in. “What’s the next question?”
“Is there a reason your parents named you Ulysses Ford?”
“There’s no way that’s on the paper,” I deadpan.
She huffs a laugh before taking a sip of her green drink. “It’s not, sorry. I’m curious. We can move on.”
“My mom is a Roman history and literature professor, and my dad loves old Ford trucks. Odysseus is referred to as Ulysses in the Roman telling of The Odyssey, and, well, Ford like the company. My mom won the coin toss on who got to choose the first name.”
The information rushes out, quick and garbled, but Sofía nods as if she’s memorizing every word. The intensity of her focus sends a shiver creeping down my spine.
Her lips pull together before she declares, “I like it. Has character. Why Jett?”
“I thought it was cooler than Ulysses,” I admit, though I hate my name a little less knowing she thinks it has character.
She offers me an infectious laugh. “I don’t know. I kinda like the name Ulysses. It’s cute.”
The rest of the questions are much easier to answer, some about Doug and Molly’s positions, how we operate and prefer to communicate, where Sofía fits into our team, and even a few questions about my favorite things.
Food: pepperoni pizza.
Color: brown.
Movie: Ice Age.
Ice cream flavor: birthday cake, but only if it has the cake chunks and sprinkles. Otherwise, it’s chocolate.
When she’s done, she knows everything about me, and I know nothing about her.
“What about you?” I ask. “Are you filling one of these out?”
The ice in her empty cup rattles as she sets it on the table and closes her laptop. In one efficient motion, she swipes all of her things into a massive purse and hikes it over her shoulder.
“I think I have what I need,” she says, ignoring my questions while rising from the table. “I should get going so I can work on the itinerary. See you on Monday.”
“Oh, I—Um.”
I didn’t expect her to leave so soon. In my head, we would chat a little, catch up on what’s happened the last few months. I also hadn’t anticipated the crisp professionalism.
Or her blazer. The official prison of shoulders.
I refrain from frowning at the offending clothing in case she takes it as judgment against her.
“Let me know if you need anything from me before then,” she calls out. Sofía is halfway to the door when she spins back to me, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Catch you later, Ulysses.”
My heart slams against my rib cage as the bell of the door rings and she disappears from sight.