Page 63 of Well, That Was Unexpected

I don’t know how long we ride for—I’ve lost myself entirely in this moment. But when we finally do stop, I realize with a start that I’ve rested my head on George’s back. Oops. I jerk away as soon as the engine’s cut and practically scramble off the scooter. When I stand, I brush invisible lint off my clothes to avoid meeting George’s eye.

“We’re here,” he says, taking off his helmet.

“What’s here?”

“The Uluwatu Temple.” He points to the distance, where the cliffs curve into a bracket. At the very tip of the cliffs right above the crashing waves is a pagoda.

“Wow.” Talk about magical. This is right out of a fantasy novel.

“It’s my favorite part of Bali,” George says, leaning against the railing and gazing at the temple. “We could go closer, but there’s always a huge crowd there. They’ve turned the surroundings into a tourist spot with restaurants and kecak dance shows.”

“What’s a kecak dance?”

“It’s the Balinese fire dance. I think there’s supposed to be one at the launch tomorrow.”

“Cool, I can’t wait to watch it.” And I actually do mean it, with zero sarcasm, which surprises even me. There’s just something about Bali. I glance at George, who’s gazing at the temple, the brilliant orange sunset painting his face a fiery red, before gazing back out at the incredible scenery before me. Something overcomes me and I take my tablet out of my bag. “Is it okay if I sketch for a bit?”

George looks pleasantly surprised. “Yeah, of course.”

We find a nearby bench and sit down. I make myself as comfortable as I can, sitting cross-legged so I can rest my tablet on my lap. At first, I think it’s going to be awkward to have George watch me do this, but as soon as I draw my first stroke, I leave behind all of my hesitation and lose myself in the blank page. As I sketch, George and I chat about nothing and everything. I’m only half listening, but somehow it’s so soothing to hear him talkabout random stuff—how over the top his family is; how he’s learning to cook from his grandmother; how excited Eleanor is about getting a phone, though he’s not sure the internet is ready for Eleanor. I laugh at some things and murmur sympathetically at others and I tell him everything as well.

“I never got along with Mama,” I say, and it’s surprising how effortlessly the words come out. “When I was little, I’d ask her all these questions about Indo, and she never wanted to answer them. It made me so angry that I decided to shut her out. I never really stopped to think why she didn’t want to talk about Indonesia.” I sigh and look up from my sketchbook, but George is smiling a little as he watches me, and I feel my cheeks growing warm. “What?”

“Well, we’ve been focusing on the bad, which is understandable, given there’s so much bad about the whole situation and lack of LGBTQ rights here, but there’s also a lot of good. I mean, if you think about it, it’s sort of…really freaking sweet. Your mom and Eighth Aunt were in love as teens, and they carried that with them for like, ever. They’re, what, in their late thirties now?”

“Ancient,” I say.

“Yeah, total dinosaurs. And yet they’re still in love with each other. I mean, isn’t that romantic? Their story has a happy ending, Shar. Despite everything else working against them. They did it. They found each other again, after all this time.”

Warmth floods my heart and envelops my entire being. Tears rush into my eyes. He’s right. I’ve been so focused on the bad that I forgot the most important thing, which is that Mama andEighth Aunt have managed to find each other again. That kiss they shared today…I smile as I think about all the history behind it. Who would’ve thought that my strict, overprotective mother could have this insanely romantic, defiant, fearless love story behind her?

The sun has set when I finish my drawing and we both look at it wordlessly. I hadn’t been sure about what I was going to draw until it’s drawn, and now here it is. A boy and girl at the beach, holding hands before a blazing sunset. I watch him look at my drawing and then George looks at me and we close the electric distance between us. Our mouths meet in a soft rush, his lips yielding to mine. The good, clean scent of him enfolds me, and I twine my hands around the back of his neck, needing to feel more of him against me. Our mouths move against each other’s in sync with the waves crashing against the cliff side, and I know then that no matter what happens, this isn’t something I am going to be able to move on from so easily, not even from all the way on the other side of the world.

When I wake up the next morning, our villa is swarming with people. Hair and makeup and nail artists and someone’s assistant who’s rattling off instructions to Mama. There’s also someone who’s come by to deliver boxes of food, because of course multiple people have arranged for food to be delivered so every available surface is covered with various foods and makeup and hair equipment and papers that are probably itineraries for the day. Kiki is getting her hair done. When she spots me creeping into the living room, she says something to one of the makeup people and immediately I’m led to a chair next to hers and pushed intoit.

“Ah, the girlfriend,” someone who’s presumably a makeup artist says.

“It’s the twenty-first century, we’re still referring to people as ‘the girlfriend’?” I snap very snappishly. I did not manage to get much sleep last night, not after that incredible kiss.

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear,” she says, not at all looking sorry. “Butthat is what you are known as. It’ll be a while yet before people learn to see you as your own person.” She tilts my face this way and that and says, “Beautiful. I know just the look for you.”

“I mean, I can do my own makeup—”

“Not like this, you can’t, sweetie,” the makeup person says, already dabbing primer onto my face.

“Trust me, you’re gonna want to get your makeup professionally done,” Kiki mutters. “Otherwise, you’ll look so drab in the photos. There’s just something about pro makeup that I can’t get right, no matter how many times I try.”

I catch Mama’s eye in the mirror as she walks past and she pauses to plant a kiss on the top of my head. I almost jump out of my chair and hug her. I want to tell her I know, and that we should talk about everything.

“Morning, dear. Feeling better this morning?” she says.

It takes a moment to recall that I supposedly had food poisoning last night. “Oh yeah. Loads. I took those activated charcoal pills and they worked wonders.”

Mama smiles at me. “Good!” She starts to walk off, but I call out to her and she turns her head and looks at me expectantly.

I can’t ask her any of the things I want to ask her now, not with everyone around, so after a pregnant pause, I shrug and say, “Nothing. You look great.”

She beams and walks off. She really does look great. Younger, more vibrant. More present, as though the last few years she’d just been a ghost of her real self and now she’s coming back to life. Truly, I have missed out on so much of her. There’s so much for us to talk about. But later, not now.

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