Page 21 of Into the Deep Blue

Slivers of light shine through the edges of the blackout curtains.

Nick’s still fast asleep, even though doors outside have been slamming for at least an hour.

A toilet flushes from the room beside us, and our air conditioner kicks on with the force of a jet taking off.

I was awake most of the night because of the noise, but Nick can sleep like the dead wherever he is.

Today is the first anniversary of Mom’s death.

When I told Grace I was thinking about this trip in the spring, she worried my expectations were too high.

I’m not sure what I’m looking for.

Closure? Something life changing? So, yeah, I guess they’re pretty high.

I quietly scoot down the bed with my phone in hand, and sneak outside to the corridor.

The view is even more spectacular in the morning light.

The parking lot concrete really glistens under the rays of the sun.

There aren’t any messages from Dad, so I start to text him but stop. Today warrants a call.

“Hello.”

He sounds chipper.

“Hey!”

“Who’s this?”

“The sea king holding your daughter ransom. Send ten thousand bucks, or you’ll never see her again.”

“Pro tip, sea king, I’d pay at least fifteen.”

I nestle into one of the filthy white plastic chairs outside our door. “Noted.”

“So what magic is in the water in Monterey that makes you get up this early?”

“The noisy air conditioner.”

“Ah. I’ll pick one up today for your room.”

“Ha, ha.”

He falls quiet, and I’m not sure if I should say anything about Mom because he hasn’t.

“Nice place?”

he finally asks.

“The parking lot looks pretty special.”

“Well, be careful.”

“I will.”

“How’s Nick?”

“Still sleeping. Glad he came, though. Nice to have company.”

I smack my phone against my forehead. If I could rewind and swallow my words, I would. I’ve entirely abandoned Dad today. It’s not like we made plans, but the guilt of leaving him is hitting me hard.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“You kidding me? Got some of the guys coming over to watch the game tonight. Red Sox and the Dodgers, going to be a good one.”

I want to believe him.

“That’s great. Sounds like fun.”

There’s a pause on the line.

“Try to have a good time. It’ll be over before you know it.”

Does he mean this day or the weekend?

“I was just heading out to the store,”

he adds.

“Gotta get some things for the game.”

“Oh, okay, I’ll let you go. Love you.”

“Love you too. Send me some pictures of the beach.”

“I will. Bye, Dad.”

My heart sinks when I hang up. It wasn’t enough of a conversation, but I didn’t want to push him.

When I go back inside, Nick is pouring water into the coffee machine.

“Coffee?”

he asks, stifling a yawn.

He doesn’t mention my call, but he must have heard me. These walls are paper thin.

“Yes. Just not this coffee.”

Nick eyes me, confused.

“Hotel coffee machines are full of gross bacteria.”

“Fi, hotels are full of gross bacteria. Especially this kind. This room is probably covered in jizz.”

“Coffee pot included. You’re literally about to drink jizz.”

Nick smiles. He shakes his head and puts the cup down.

“Hey, Siri, where’s Starbucks,”

he says in his radio voice. Nick studies the map.

“Ten blocks?! Fuck it, I’m taking my chances. You in?”

“Yeah. Fine. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“It’s totally fine,”

he says, pressing the brew button.

“Why are you up so early, anyway?”

He raises his arms in a stretch, and his T-shirt rises a little, showing the slightest glimpse of his skin. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, but being alone in a motel room makes it feel a million times different.

“Funny you should ask. I woke up, you were gone, and I had a slight panic attack that you drove me all the way down here so you could ditch me in Monterey.”

“Mmm, that would be an expensive Uber home, for sure.”

“Then, I heard you outside.”

I nod.

“How’s Bob?”

I’m glad he left out the Zombie part.

“Good question. Acting like it’s any other day.”

“That’s just how he is. You know he’s thinking about it.”

“Yeah.”

Nick fixes my coffee the way I like it—two sugars, a dash of cream—and hands it to me.

It’s times like this I wish Dad could see how wrong he is about Nick. Today, Nick is the rock, and I’m the TNT.

“So, what’s the plan?” he asks.

Other than going to The Narwhal, I don’t really have a plan.

“Wanna go to Carmel?”

“That’s my favorite thing to do in Monterey.”

He raises his paper coffee cup, and I knock mine against it.

***

Carmel is only a ten-minute drive, but it feels like a different world. The quaint cottages, with their gently sloping rooftops and curved doors, could be torn from the pages of The Hobbit.

A warm breeze from the ocean sweeps through the streets, and a light fog clings to the morning air as we stroll down Ocean Avenue.

We’re surrounded by couples, an army of twos, with their hands intertwined. If there’s any place meant for handholding, maybe not in the world, but on the West Coast, it’s here. It doesn’t bother me that we’re not one of them. Who needs a hand when he packed Minou?

Nick and I take turns pointing out all the cool things we see. The stonework leading to alcoves, the scrolling wrought iron on the doors, the thatched roofs. A million details line the streets.

We duck into a shop called The White Rabbit, and it’s like stepping into Alice in Wonderland. The place is brimming with Cheshire cats and red queens. Nick buys a small backwards clock for Max. We take a few selfies, and I text them to Dad.

I drag Nick into every pastry shop, and we eat our weight in carbs. We walk until we’re at the cliffs overlooking the sea, and we’re so high up it feels like we’re at the edge of the world. We spend the rest of the day drunk off ocean views. Part of me wants to forget about The Narwhal and stay here all night, but as the sun dips lower, Nick drags me back to the car.

***

Tonight is finally happening after months of imagining this day. I’m nervous and don’t know why. I turn off the shower and wrap myself in a Caribbean blue towel.

Mom’s face cream is on the bathroom counter. I want to take a part of her with me tonight, so I pump it twice into my palm, but nothing comes out. I press the pump again, but there’s still nothing, so I shake the bottle, and all that comes out is air. My chest tightens. This isn’t happening, not tonight. My fingers travel up and down the sides, but the cylinder is seamless, there’s nothing to unscrew or cut open, and whacking it against the counter doesn’t help. Bottles are never empty, there has to be something inside.

Nick knocks on the door.

“Everything okay?”

I fling it open.

“It’s not working. This isn’t working.”

He eyes me wrapped in the towel, then glances at the bottle. When you’re mad with grief, it’s easy to recognize the madness in others.

“You need to open this!”

I thrust the bottle toward him.

He takes the bottle and struggles with the cap the way I did.

“I tried that already.”

I reach for it, but he holds it away from me.

“Give me a second!”

He bangs the frosted tube against the desk, repeating what I’ve already done.

“Forget it, give it back. I’ll do it.”

“Chill. You just gave it to me.”

“Don’t tell me to chill. You don’t understand.”

“I do understand.”

I sit on the edge of the bed and bury my face in my hands.

Nick wields the bottle like a weapon, pacing the room for something—anything. Then, he drops it on the floor, picks up the wooden desk chair and smashes it over and over again.

The bottle shatters.

Pieces of glass scatter everywhere—they may as well be my heart. He calmly lowers the chair, kneels down and collects them, carefully scooping out the rest of the cream clinging to the edges. Then he kneels in front of me and gently dabs it onto my nose, chin, forehead, and cheeks. He annoints me with cream.

How has a year passed? She disappears more and more each day.

He places the rest of the pieces on the bedside table.

“I think you broke my mom’s bottle.”

“Looks that way, yeah.”

I’m a little relieved it’s gone. Maybe it was meant to happen here.

My fingers are cold against my cheeks as I press the cream into my skin, inhaling the fresh, marine-like scent one last time.

“I know, I’m crazy.”

My words are barely a whisper.

Nick fiddles with a notepad on the desk. He faces me.

“You’re not crazy. I get it. I mean, I can’t ever watch ‘The Lord of The Rings’ again.”

The Jane Goodall book on his desk. The name of her chimpanzee. His mom’s trip. “Frodo,”

I say quietly.

“It’ll get ugly,”

he says, heading for the bathroom.

“Give me ten minutes.”

The shower turns on. I get up and root through the bag he packed for me. Everything’s a revelation. There are clothes here I’ve never worn before. My fingers brush against something satiny at the bottom, and I pull out an emerald camisole. It shimmers in the light like a jewel. The thin straps are worn and a little fuzzy, and there’s a small dark stain along the hem. It’s been hanging in the back of my closet forever. It could work with my dark blue jeans.

When Nick comes out of the bathroom, he’s holding a towel around his waist, and he freezes at the sight of me. The camisole dips in a v, showing off more skin than I ever have. It’s a far cry from my usual T-shirt, sweatshirt look. I’m leaning over the desk, putting on lip gloss in the mirror, and suddenly feel self-conscious like I’m more naked than he is.

“What? Is this stupid?”

I ask, tucking the gloss in my bag.

“No,”

he stutters.

“It’s perfect.”

Things haven’t been this awkward since the night of our fight.

“Thanks. You packed it.”

“Yeah, but it’s all you, Fi.”

The part of me that watches love stories in movies knows this should be a moment, but I’m on edge, thinking about what tonight will bring. A huge part of me wants to bail on the entire evening.

“Maybe we should just stay in.”

Nick grabs his jeans and a black tee. He smiles.

“We’re going.”

“But . . . ”

He disappears into the bathroom.

“I already ordered an Uber.”

When he comes out a minute later, I pretend to be asleep on the bed. He grabs my hand and pulls me up. He freezes at the door, and I crash into him.

“The album. Are we bringing it?”

I blink, panic filling my eyes. I was thinking about burying it there. Nick suggested burning it, but now I’m not sure about either. I feel like I’ve let go of enough for one day.

“Forget the album. Let’s just do this,”

he says, reading my mind.

Outside, a salty breeze from the ocean rustles my hair. Our Uber pulls up and Carly, our driver, doesn’t even need The Narwhal’s address. She knows it well.

As we settle into the back seat, Nick pulls a small white box from his pocket and holds it out to me.

I eye him, confused.

“What’s this?”

“Open it,”

he says like it’s obvious.

On top of the box is a small sticker with scalloped edges and a white rabbit in the middle. He must have bought it when he got the clock for Max. I wriggle the lid free. Nestled on a bed of pale blue tissue paper is a necklace, a tile of Alice with the Cheshire cat, and the words.

“We’re all quite mad here.”

Beside the tile is a miniature compass, and it all hangs on a silver chain.

A Cheshire cat. It’s like he was in my room all those times I imagined him. This is some next-level kind of connection, and I can’t tell him, either. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I talk to him when he’s not around.

He downplays the whole thing.

“I know you don’t ever wear this stuff. You don’t have to wear it. It just spoke to me.”

“I love it,” I say.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You have no idea how perfect this is.”

He gives me a curious look.

I hand him the necklace while I turn slightly. He dangles the charm in front of me, his fingers lightly brushing against my neck as he carefully fastens the clasp. It seems to take forever yet doesn’t last nearly long enough.

We’re quiet for the rest of the drive. I trace my fingers over the tile and watch the streetlights go by in a blur out the window. Carly turns up a narrow dirt road leading to a hill. A blue glow pulses from the top, and as we climb higher, a building rises from the horizon like a vision in the Sahara.

The Narwhal.