Page 10 of Reckless Girls
I wonder if something as mundane as grocery shopping doesn’t fit into Amma’s idea of what an adventure should be. I get it, but since I also like not starving, I’m happy to fill the cart with non-perishables—like soup, canned vegetables, nuts and crackers, plus plenty of Hawaii’s beloved Spam. And water. Nico has a purification system on the boat, but we’re still taking gallons, big plastic jugs full that will rest in the boat’s small hold. It’s a three-day sail to Meroe, then they want to spend two weeks on the atoll—Nico had convinced them that after being at sea for seventy-two hours, they’d want a little more time on land before turning around and doing it all over again.
And that’s if everything goes to plan—which, as Nico has reminded me several times, nothing ever does.
So, I grab more soup.
“It’s not that I dislike boats,” I tell Brittany now. “It’s just that they’re Nico’s thing.”
She nods, leaning over the handle of the cart. Her hair is loose today, sweeping her shoulders as she peers down at our haul. “Okay, so what is your thing?” she asks, glancing up at me.
The PA system is playing a Muzak version of “The Greatest Love of All,” and my hairline prickles with sweat as I make a show of studying the cans some more, like I’m suddenly really invested in picking out the right brand of chickpeas.
The million-dollar question, right there. Whatismy thing?
The truth is, when your world is falling apart, you stop having “a thing.” You get so focused on just making it through each day that “interests” or “ambitions” kind of go out the window. You definitely don’t have time for passions. Getting to nurture a love like Nico has for boats and the sea is an indulgence I haven’t had time for in years. Before Mom got sick, I’d had all kinds of interests: I ran track when I was in high school, I played guitar when I was a little kid, and I’ve always loved reading—from the classics they make you read in school to those true-crime paperbacks with the really lurid covers. I’d decided to major in English, but I picked up a guitar again in college and was thinking about switching to music education when Mom called to tell me about that doctor’s appointment.
Sometimes, I still think about that other Lux, the one who didn’t get her world upended. The one who might be sitting in some music room right now, surrounded by little kids, teaching them scales. It’s a pretty picture, but something about it never sits right with me—I can’t even imagine being that person, not really.
“Travel,” I finally settle on because saying something like “freedom” is too cheesy to bear and “survival” is too honest, too sad.
“What’s your favorite place that you’ve been so far?” As she pushes the cart down the aisle, one wheel squeaks loudly.
“Well, I haven’t been that many places yet,” I say with a shrug, my cheeks hot. Now Brittany is going to realize just how pathetic my life is, and I’ll go from being Nico’s cool girlfriend to some loser chick tagging along while her boyfriend does the cool shit. “To be honest, I’ve mostly just read a lot of travel guides.”
I’d actually collected them for a while, a hobby I’d developed in middle school and carried on into adulthood. My bookshelf—back when I still had one of those—had been full of them, their neat white spines lined up, bold place names in bright colors.Australia. Istanbul. Romania. Thailand.
That last one had been a gift from my mom her last Christmas. It was the only one I still had.
Brittany smiles. “Yeah, that was me before.”
I glance back at her, eyebrows raised. “Before what?”
She blinks, then shakes her head a little. “Before I met Amma.”
“You guys met in college, right?”
“Mm-hmm,” she says, looking over at one of the shelves. “UMass. Intro to western civ. Hey, what kind of pasta should we get?”
She holds up two boxes, one of regular spaghetti, one of penne, before tossing both into the cart with a shrug. “Guess we might as well have it all.” She continues picking up boxes of farfalle, elbow macaroni, even egg noodles, and piling them all in with our cans of soup and beans.
“You guys must be really close to decide to travel together,” I say, thinking back to my own friends from college. There wasn’t a single one of them I would’ve picked to travel the world with.
Brittany nods, but she still isn’t looking at me, and I’m getting the uneasy feeling that she doesn’t really want to talk about how she and Amma began their adventure together. Which is weird,because I haven’t picked up on any tension between them, and Jesus fuck, if they get in a fight while we’re out on the boat…
By now, our cart is mostly full, and Brittany steers us to the checkout while I text Nico.
Got everything.
Awesome,is his immediate reply.Pretty much done here, too. Think we can leave this afternoon.
IT’S NOT EVEN NOON BYthe time Brittany and I get back to the marina, our arms full of reusable grocery sacks. TheSusannahfloats in her berth, smaller than other boats nearby, but shiny and white. Her newly painted red trim is cheerful, and my heart does a little flip in my chest, the same way it had when I’d first seen Nico.
He’s standing at the bow, his hair pulled from his face with its customary bandana and his smile bright as he waves at me. “How did it go?” he calls, and I gesture back toward the car.
“All the Spam we can eat,” I promise, and his grin widens as he presses a hand to his bare chest.
“Woman after my own heart.”
“Spam?”
