Page 80 of Well, That Was Unexpected

“Yeah?”

When she next speaks, she says in her most serious voice, “Wear a condom.”

“Oh god. Be anormal thirteen-year-old,” I say, and hang up on the peals of laughter coming from her end. I can’t help but smile as I shove the phone back in my pocket, though. I love that Kiki and Eleanor hang out with each other, even though they are unbearable together. I love that Eleanor has a big-sister figure to help guide her—okay, maybe not guide her since the only place Kiki is likely to guide anyone is straight to trouble. When they grow up, they’ll probably form a multibillion-dollar corporation that will take over the world.

The sun is still not up when the car pulls up in front of Sharlot’s house, but Shar comes running out looking very awake and cheerful. Her mom walks out behind her and gives me a reserved smile.

“Hi, Auntie. You’re up early.”

She shrugs. “Gotta send my daughter off. You take good care of her, okay? Otherwise your aunt will hear of it.”

Shar rolls her eyes and kisses her mom on the cheek. “Go have fun with Eighth Aunt. I love you.”

Her mom sighs, still smiling, and waves us off as the car trundles out of the driveway. “Your mom seems a little bit tired.”

Sharlot snorts. “She stayed up until two last night, chatting with Eighth Aunt. It was kind of cute, actually. They’re making plans to ‘bump into each other’ over the holidays.”

I hand her a cup of coffee I’d bought on the way over. Thank god Indonesia is so coffee-mad that there are cafés that open before dawn. Sharlot thanks me by kissing me on the cheek, and though it’s a simple act that I should be used to by now, my skin still tingles and my heart still skips a beat.

“It sucks that they have to keep everything under the radar,” Shar’s saying, “but I think they’ve got it figured out for now.”

I nod. Change doesn’t happen overnight, but it’s happening slowly, a huge machine shifting its course, wheels and cogs turning in the right direction. Eighth Aunt and Shar’s mom at the helm. The thought of it makes me smile.

The whole drive out of the city, we chat about nothing and everything. We play Scrabble on my phone and Sharlot punches my arm when I try to make the wordsquaffle—“a squabble over waffles!” And then we’re out of the city, away from the concrete jungle and hurtling past green fields, and Sharlot looks out the window with eyes wide and mouth slightly open, slightly smiling. It’s so obvious how much she loves Indonesia, and I can’t help but love this about her too.

We reach the hills of Cikampek just as the sun is about to make its appearance, and we climb out of the car and stretch a bit before we start walking. I take Shar’s hand and we walk up a trail, breathing in the damp morning air, our breaths coming inand out at the same time as each other’s. It’s different out here, without the lights and the noise of the city. Without the cameras and the crowds following us. For the first time, it’s just us.

“I’m starting to realize why this is your favorite part of Indo,” Shar says.

“Look at you calling it Indo like a proper local.”

She rolls her eyes at me and we continue chatting as we walk up the hill. It’s a short walk, and before long, we reach the summit and Shar stops still and looks out silently at the sight before us. It’s an amazing sight to take in, I know.

We’re above terraced rice fields, a vast collection of hills whose slopes have been painstakingly shaped into steps to plant rice. This land is among the richest in Indonesia, its soil fertilized by volcanic ash to produce the most fragrant rice, rice that smells of vanilla and tastes like sweet milk. From where we stand, we can see the terraced ponds of water reflecting the sky and the hills, and men and women wearing traditional batik are working the fields. A lot of the agricultural land in Indonesia is still owned by independent farmers—farmers whose sons and daughters work their own fields instead of corporations who employ hundreds of people to work them. In recent years, various tech companies have invested in small, independently owned farms, delivering their produce from the farms straight to customers in the city. I love this spot because it’s a reminder of how tech can do good, that it’s not always about being the biggest techbro, that it can be about spreading the wealth.

We sit down and Shar takes out her drawing tablet and begins sketching, her hand moving as swift and light as a butterflyas she captures the scenery around us. It’s a place untouched by time, and I can’t believe I get to share it with Shar.

She glances at me and I know that she gets it. She gets how much it all means to me and I see that it means just as much, if not more, to her.

“I love this place,” she says, smiling as she adds another stroke to her sketch. I’m pretty sure she’s talking about more than the rice fields.

“Yeah, same.”

She takes a deep breath. “You know, times like these, I feel like I could live in Indo forever.”

I cock an eyebrow at her. “Really?”

“Well, just times like these. Once we get back into the city, I’ll go back to craving LA again.”

“Okay, that sounds more like the Sharlot I know.”

Her smile is short-lived.

“What’s wrong?” I say, squeezing her hand.

“I’ll be leaving in a week’s time.”

“I know.” Each morning, I wake up with a sick feeling in my stomach because that’s one more day gone, one less day I can see her. Again, my heart rate quickens and my palms start to get slick. This is it. I’ll tell her now. I can do this. “But, um—so. I wasn’t sure, um.”

---