Page 17 of Total Dreamboat

Hope

The green apples backfired.

I got up so many times in the night that Lauren decamped to the couch in the living room to avoid being awoken by my retching.

I consumed such a large quantity of ginger that I never want to taste it again.

It was dawn by the time we sailed out of the swells and into calmer waters. I finally fell asleep at six a.m.

I wake up at nine feeling frail and dehydrated.

I lie in bed, nervous to get up in case walking reignites my queasiness.

The need to pee eventually overtakes my anxiety.

But going into the bathroom, after the dark hours I spent there last night, nearly gives me PTSD.

I force myself to get into the shower. The hot water makes me feel vaguely human, but I resent the sea-scented bath products.

I never want to think of the ocean again, let alone smell it.

Lauren is waiting on the bed when I emerge.

“My kitten!” she cries. “How do you feel?”

“Like I survived the plague. But just barely.”

“Poor baby. At least the turbulence stopped. I called down to Guest Services and they said they don’t expect any more rough seas. You should start taking Dramamine as soon as you can keep something down. I’ll go get you some. And they can give you an IV in the infirmary.”

“I don’t think I need an IV. Just water.”

She passes me a giant bottle of Evian. I’m thirsty enough to want to gulp it down, but also fearful of what will happen if I put too much of anything in my stomach.

“I’ll go and get you the pills,” Lauren says. “Do you want anything else? Maybe some dry toast?”

“No thanks. Pretty sure I’ll never eat again.”

I curl up in bed with the water and look at my phone.

There’s an ominous text in all caps from Magda.

Magda: WHERE IS THE MEDIA LIST?

Fuck. I got distracted with my dad’s call yesterday and completely forgot to send her the list from Lana. Now it’s a day late.

I drag myself over to the desk and email the list to Magda. Then I send her a text.

Hope: So sorry for the delay.

Hope: It’s in your inbox now.

Hope: Let me know if you need anything else before I’m back at the end of the month.

I’m hoping this line will remind her, once again, that I’m on vacation. I assume I won’t hear back due to the time difference, but she writes back immediately.

Magda: You sent me the wrong draft of the speech yesterday. If Heidi hadn’t caught it we’d be completely fucked. Totally unacceptable.

I freeze.

Hope: I’m so sorry! I don’t work on that account so I just pulled the latest file from the drive.

Magda: Why would you send it when you don’t work on the account? Get it together, Hope.

I flinch. I know that I don’t deserve this—I was only trying to help—but I am too desperate for this job to advocate for myself.

Hope: Won’t happen again.

Magda: You’re set to send out the launch press release on Monday?

I stare at my phone. Why would I , a person several time zones and many countries away, send out an important press release?

Hope: I was going to task Lana with the distro since I’m abroad.

Magda: I’d prefer you be on it.

I frantically grab our cruise ship tablet programmed with the ship’s schedule.

On Monday we’ll be in the Bahamas, so at least I won’t have to rely on ship Wi-Fi.

Rockabye is Conifer’s first new product in sixteen months, and they are among our biggest clients.

Magda will fire me if the release goes out late.

Hope: No problem.

She doesn’t respond. I very badly want to throw my phone out to sea, but instead I program in ten reminders to myself to send out the press release.

While I’m doing that, a new text comes in from Felix.

His name, after being bombarded with Magda’s so many times, is like a balm to the soul.

Felix: Hey, let me know when you’re awake. Worried about you x.

Hope: I’m ok. Rough night but feeling better now.

Felix: Can I come by your room? I have something for you.

I look at myself in the mirror and am not at all pleased with my reflection. But I suppose if he saw me last night after puking, this will be an improvement.

Hope: Sure

I don’t want to put on actual clothes and don’t want to answer the door in my bathrobe, so I borrow one of Lauren’s many silk caftans. Usually I try to avoid dressing like an aging Texas socialite, but if ever there is an appropriate time for a caftan, it’s while convalescing on a cruise ship.

Because I don’t want to look like I have a wasting illness, I also dab a few dots of concealer over the dark circles under my eyes and apply a little blush to my cheeks. I’m still disturbingly pallid, but there’s a knock at the door before I can figure out what else to do about it.

When I open the door, Felix is standing in the hallway looking remarkably stressed.

“Good morning,” I say.

“Is it, though?”

“I’ve had better.”

“Were you able to sleep?”

“A little. Not my best night of REM.”

He holds out a pill bottle. “I brought you these. Just remembered this morning that I packed them or I would have given them to you last night.”

“What are they?”

“Electrolyte tablets. For hydration. You just put them in water. They’re a bit vile, to be honest, but they work.”

“Much better than Lauren dragging me downstairs for intravenous fluids.”

“It was that bad?”

“I’ll spare you the details.” A yawn overtakes me, and I realize I should lie down. “I think I need to go back to bed.”

“And miss poolside Pilates?” he asks with mock horror.

“Tragically, yes.”

“Well, text me if you need anything. I’ll check on you this afternoon.” He pauses. “Unless you now associate me with nausea and would prefer never to see me again.”

“I was worried it would be the other way around.”

“Nope. I’m afraid we’re permanently trauma bonded.”

“Can’t wait to spend a beautiful, codependent life together.”

“Great. I’ll buy you a ring at the gift shop. Apparently they have really good diamonds.”

“Are you love bombing me?”

“I think you’re the one who proposed.”

“Mrs. Segrave would actually be an appropriate name for me after last night.”

“Flattered you’re taking my name.”

I yawn again. I want to keep flirting with him but suddenly I can barely hold my eyes open.

“Sorry, I’m keeping you,” he says. “I’ll go. Get some rest.”

“Maybe we can hang out later?” I venture. “Plan the wedding?”

He grins at me. “Yes, please.”

I start to close the door but he says, “Hey, wait.” He leans in and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Feel better, yeah?”

I float back to bed and drink electrolyte water like it’s a love potion. Lauren returns a few minutes later with Dramamine.

“They said it might make you sleepy,” she says, handing me two pills.

“Already am.”

“Good.” She closes the blackout blinds. “Go back to bed.”

I drift off immediately and sleep, hard, for so many hours that when Lauren pokes me awake, I have no idea if it’s the middle of the afternoon or the middle of the night.

“Hopie?” she whispers. “Are you alive?”

“What time is it?” I ask.

“One thirty. Our spa appointment is in half an hour. Are you still up for it?”

A massage sounds perfect after crouching over the toilet all night.

“Yeah. Can you open the curtains?”

She does, and the afternoon light hits me like an assault.

“Gah!” I yell. “You’re blinding me!’

“You told me to!”

She takes the huge black sunglasses she has clipped to her coverup and tosses them to me. I put them on and gulp down some water.

A wave of hunger hits me, unwelcome and terrifying.

“I’m scared to even ask this,” I say, “but do we have any food?”

“I grabbed you some muffins and an apple at lunch.”

I nearly gag at the thought of apples.

“I’ll take a muffin.”

She brings it to me on a plate, and I eat it in bed. She snaps a picture of me with her phone.

“Hey!” I protest. “What are you doing?”

“Capturing your vibe. You’re giving glamorous 1970s invalid.”

She shows me the photo. In it a woman with big, tousled hair wearing a turquoise caftan and oversized sunglasses dines off fine china in a fluffy white bed.

“Very Princess Margaret,” Lauren says. “Can I post it?”

“No.”

She texts it to me instead.

We gather bathing suits and reading material and head upstairs to the spa.

We’re greeted by a lovely smell—a combination of lavender, rosemary, eucalyptus, and sea salt.

The lobby’s at the bow of the ship on the top deck, with floor-to-ceiling windows.

It has the best views of the ocean I’ve seen yet.

I peer out distrustfully. The waters are so blue and placid that it’s shocking they were fierce enough to make me violently ill last night.

“Welcome to the Coral Spa, ladies,” the receptionist says. “I’m pleased to let you know your treatments have been upgraded on the house to the full Mermaid Package, with our compliments.”

Lauren squeals. “Thank you so much. That’s just what we need. Hope was up all night. Seasick.”

“Oh no, Miss Lanover! Would you like a ginger tonic?”

My mouth goes dry at the idea of more ginger.

“No, thank you. I’m feeling much better.”

They give us champagne instead. I donate mine to Lauren.

We change into bathing suits and robes and are taken into a warm, cave-like room made out of pink Himalayan sea salt. There are two copper tubs in the middle. They look like bathtubs, but they don’t have taps and are half-full of fine black sand.

“This is volcanic basalt sand from Montserrat,” one of our two spa attendants, Lucie, says.

“It’s incredibly mineral rich and contains detoxification properties that purge impurities from the body.

It’s heated to 104 degrees Fahrenheit for a warming treatment that will stimulate your circulatory system and awaken your senses. ”

This sounds very hot to me but I obey Lucie’s instructions to take off my robe and step inside. The sand is soft and pleasantly warm under my feet. I sit down in the tub and stretch out.