Page 59 of The Sailor in Polynesia
“Because I don’t have service here unless I’m on Wi-Fi.”
“She says she doesn’t— You know what, Mom? You talk to her.” James handed me the phone.
“Hi, Mom. I don’t have any cell phone service here. You can only reach me when I have Wi-Fi.”
“Aren’t you going to buy a SIM card?” she asked. “You should have a phone to use.”
“Mom, I’m going to be here for less than two weeks and I don’t even have a car. I’ll probably be right with James every single second.” I ignored James’s sarcastic “yay” as we climbed into the car.
It took the entire drive back to James’s place to convince Mom that I would be fine and she didn’t need to buy me a SIM card or a burner phone. I assured her that James and I would be over before lunch.
When I hung up, James was unloading the car.
“You got introubleee.”
* * *
Lunch was a loud ordeal. When we arrived at noon, the meal was in full swing.
Dawn and her family were there, and Hunter and his two teenagers, who were staying at Doug’s house, were there too, so we had eight adults, three teenagers, and six children. Most of the younger kids and my mom were seated around the table, the kitchen a smorgasbord of sandwich fixings. The rest of the family was at the dining room table.
I called out a hello to all my niblings and gave them hugs. The oldest granddaughter, Erica, wrapped her arms around me and tilted her face up to mine.
“Dad says you’ve been to Tahiti. Is that true?”
Hunter, her dad and my brother, chimed in. “She’s obsessed with surfing right now.”
“Yes, my boat’s in Tahiti.”
Her eyes widened. “How does your boat not get hit with all those big waves?”
“Well, the big waves are on the other side of the island, I think. Or maybe out at the barrier reef. I’m not sure. Plus, there’s also a season for big waves.”
“What season do they get the big waves in Tahiti?”
“I’m not sure about that either.”
“Erica, stop bothering Aunt Mia. Eat your lunch.”
I made a sandwich and sat down next to my dad.
“Patty, did you turn the air-conditioning off? It’s hotter than a hooker in a cucumber patch in here.”
“Dad!” Hunter covered Erica’s ears. “You can’t talk about hookers at the table!”
“Erica knows what hookers are.”
“Yeah, I know what hookers are.”
“I don’t care!” Hunter hissed. “We don’t talk about hookers at the table.”
Dad smirked at me. “As I was saying, did you turn the air-conditioning off, Patty? It’s hotter than a prostitute in a cucumber patch.”
James actually snorted soda up his nose and Hunter scolded my dad some more. He acted repentant, but I knew he would only get worse as Hunter’s visit went on. While the rest of us had stopped cursing or replaced our curse words around the niblings, Dad loved to rile his kids, especially Hunter.
With so many people around, the conversation flowed and spiraled. There were never dull moments with my family, and I thought back over the last few months: the quiet diligence in the boatyard, the absolute solitude of cruising the Tuamotus. Some people might be attracted to silence after a loud upbringing, but that wasn’t me. I loved sailing despite the fact that it was a quiet activity, not because of it.
“Hey, Mia,” Dawn’s husband, Marvin, said, pulling me back to the conversation. “I watched a documentary the other day about this woman who sailed solo around the world.”
