Page 48 of Well, That Was Unexpected

“Well, that makes sense,” George says. “Is any of us ever a hundred percent who we say we are online? Actually, we should all be more careful online, because online is forever.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Kiki finally pipes up. “Once you say something over the internet, it’s there forever. You could delete a dumb tweet, but chances are someone’s screencapped it so it’s never actually gone.”

“Yep,” I say. “That’s why I’m more guarded online. I think the consequences of what we say and do online are even biggerthan the ones in person.” My mind tries to catch up with the words falling out of my mouth, parsing through them to figure out if what I said made sense, and huh. I think it actually does make a bit of sense.

“That’s a really good point, Shar,” George says. He reaches out and gives my hand a small squeeze, right in front of the camera. I can practically feel the lens zooming in on our hands. It works; the attention shifts from the fraught topic of online personalities, and Rina smiles and says, “Aww. You two are adorable.”

Just then the drinks arrive, and all of us lean back in our seats. I exhale and sag with relief, thankful that the weird, tense moment with Rina is done. She’s been so quiet and unobtrusive this entire morning that part of me forgot she’s here as a reporter. But after that exchange, my hackles are up and my instincts are all screaming to watch out for her.

George meets my eye and gives me a small smile.Okay?he mouths.

I nod, feeling really grateful for his intervention. He really did his best to save that prickly moment without speaking for me, and I’m seeing him in a whole new light.

Then I realize that I’m still holding his hand. Ack. I snatch my hand away as though it’d just caught fire. I swear the entirety of my arm is burning. George looks just as embarrassed as I feel. Of course, as soon as I do that, I realize I should’ve continued holding his hand because that’s what a normal couple would do. I steal glances at Rina, wondering if she noticed. But again,she’s busy tapping on her phone. Okay, let’s hope she didn’t catchthat.

My soda gembira is placed in front of me. It’s a beautiful drink, with white and pink layers and strips of fresh coconut.

George perks up at the sight of it. “The white layer is condensed milk,” he says, mixing his soda gembira up. “And the pink is a mixture of soda water and rose syrup.”

I mix mine up until it’s all a uniform light pink and take a sip, and aah. It’s the most appropriately named drink ever, because it’s impossible to drink this bubbly, fizzy rose-flavored drink and not feel delighted by how refreshing and indulgently sweet it is.

“Oh my god, this isdelightful.” I laugh and take another sip. “Hands down the best fucking drink ever.”

I glance at George and find him watching me with an expression so soft, so unguarded, that it makes my insides feel all melty. He smiles. “Yeah, it really is. Even the smell reminds me of her.”

Together, we smell our drinks, and my eyes flutter closed at the sweetness of it. It smells like the color pink.

“I once read that scent is the one thing that can take us back in time,” I say, and he nods.

“Whenever I smell rose syrup, I can practically see her.” He sips his drink. It’s near impossible to tear my eyes from him. He looks so happy, like a little kid who’s been told Christmas came early. It’s getting strangely harder to hate him, and honestly, I don’t hate not hating him. It’s a weird feeling, learning that I do actually like George as a person. I’ve never felt this way before. Back in LA, I was attracted to Bradley, sure, because whowouldn’t be? But I never really connected with him on a deeper level than that. I didn’t think too hard about it, I just assumed that was how most relationships are—you’re either into the other person for their looks or for their personalities. And now, I’m looking at George and he’s not only hot, but he’s also funny and kind and smart, so freaking smart, and holy crap, what a lethal combo that makes.

Fortunately, our food arrives then. A welcome distraction from this strange new sensation spreading throughout my body. We’ve obscenely over-ordered.

There’s deep-fried duck served with seasoned rice and three different chilies, including more of the addictive sambal matah. A huge plate layered with banana leaves is piled high with sate lilit—minced, seasoned chicken meat wrapped around stalks of lemongrass and grilled to charred perfection. There’s also a dish called bebek betutu, which is a whole duck seasoned with a thick spice paste and wrapped in plantain leaves before being roasted. Unlike the fried duck, whose meat is satisfyingly chewy, the bebek betutu is so tender that I can’t even eat it with a fork as the meat keeps sagging off. My mouth is burning from all the different Balinese chilies, but I can’t stop eating.

By the end of the meal, we’re all defeated, sagging back in our seats and rubbing our bellies with glazed expressions. Kiki summons a waiter and orders us all a round of avocado coffee and an avocado chocolate for Eleanor.

“I can’t eat another bite,” I protest, but she tells me I need it. Like,needit. “Plus, haven’t you had enough coffee?” I grouse. “If I cut you, I bet you’ll bleed coffee.”

She laughs. “You’re probably right about that.”

When the drinks arrive, they’re as beautiful as expected. The glasses are smeared with thick chocolate syrup before being filled with creamy, blended avocado and topped with a shot of espresso. The drink is so thick that I have to eat it with a spoon, more dessert than drink. And it’s delicious. I can’t imagine going back to American coffee after what I’ve sampled here in Indonesia.

Just as Kiki had predicted, the avocado coffees revive us—it’s impossible for Indonesian coffee to not revive anyone, even a corpse—and we leave the restaurant ready for our next adventure.

The next stop is the Mandala Suci Wenara Wana, better known as the Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary in Ubud.

“Is it a zoo?” I say as we alight from the minivan. George shakes his head.

“It’s a Hindu temple that also doubles as a natural habitat for monkeys. It’s kind of the opposite of a zoo.”

And he’s right. The first thing I see as I step outside is a monkey on the side of the road, drinking out of a plastic water bottle. It’s such a jarring sight to see that I stand there for a second, unmoving. The monkey is so close to me I could reach out and poke its tail. This is surreal. As though noticing my attention, the monkey looks up and I’m met with a disturbingly human gaze. I swear this monkey knows exactly what I’m thinking. It looks me up and down and then goes back to drinking out of its bottle.

“I guess you’re not interesting enough for it,” George murmurs.

I laugh. My god, this place. This entire island! It’s like walkinginto a magical place where every part of the island is imbued with thousand-year-old secrets. Before entering the sacred monkey forest, I’m given colorful pieces of cloth to tie around my waist and shoulders because my off-shoulder dress is considered too short and revealing to be respectful toward the Hindu religion. Normally, I would’ve bristled at this, but something about the place eases me. Most people around, both male and female, are wearing the bright yellow-and-purple cloths in some way, whether as skirts or as shawls to cover bare shoulders. It’s a humbling sight. I tie on both pieces of cloth securely, and once I’m ready, we all go through the entrance and into the forest.

The sanctuary is like a national park, with numerous trails going through the heavily forested area. All around us, climbing and jumping from tree to tree, are monkeys of all sizes. I spot little baby ones clinging to their mothers’ backs and can’t help but point them out with all the delight of a little kid. I should probably be cooler about this—I mean, even Eleanor isn’t being as gung ho as I am—but it’s as though the magic of the place has infected me. Or maybe it’s the sugar and caffeine I had at lunch.

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