Page 63 of The Sailor in Polynesia
I stretched back in my chair. “Early, especially for Tahiti time.” I checked my phone. “I can’t believe we haven’t heard from Mom yet.”
He sipped his coffee and stared over the rim of the mug at me. “So, who were you talking to last night?”
Instantly I flushed. “None of your business.”
“Mia,” he teased me. “Did you find a hunky Polynesian man?”
“No.”
“Polynesian woman?”
I rolled my eyes. “No.”
He rolled his eyes right back. “Obviously it’s another sailor.” He set his mug down. “Tell me about him.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” I got up and started shuffling around to make breakfast for the two of us, sliding some of James’s god-awful bread into the toaster.
James helped me with breakfast. He diced fruit next to me in silence, a silence that hung over me.
“Jonas is nice,” I finally said.
James put his knife down, crossed his arms, and looked at me. He studied me for a moment. I tried to ignore him, but a watched bread never toasts. “What?” I asked.
“Liam was nice.”
I threw my hands up. “Holy shiitake, James, seriously? I’m not marrying him!”
“So what, then? You’re scratching an itch?”
“Would that be so bad?” I challenged. “Are we gonna get a little hypocritical here? ’Cause I know you’re no virgin.”
“You know what it looks like to me?” James took a step closer.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Watch yourself, James.”
“It looks to me like you’re scared. You’re scared to go do this big adventure by yourself. You’ve complained to me about how shitty sailing is for women and now you’re going to keep some guy around?”
“I’m not ‘keeping him around.’”
“Oh, so what happens when you move west and you bump into him again? You’ve told me it’s a small community.”
I pressed my fingertips into my forehead. “James, what are you really getting at?”
“I’m just saying, you have to be careful. You’re all alone on your boat and so far away from us. I don’t worry about your sailing skills. I worry about those other people out there. What if someone hurts you again?”
And just like that, the anger whooshed out of me. “Aw, look at you, you big softy.”
James grunted and turned away from me. I slid my arms under his and squeezed him from behind. “Is my widdle brother feeling protective?”
I felt him sigh. “It’s not a joke, Mia.”
“I know it’s not.” I pulled back and tugged on his shoulder until he turned around to face me. “I’m not getting into anything big, I promise.”
Finally his shoulders collapsed and my brother wrapped me in a hug.
* * *
Later, I was just barely following a conversation between Doug and Ike about property taxes in Seattle when my phone rang—Jonas was calling for a video chat. This was perplexing; we usually texted at night instead of during the day. I excused myself and climbed the stairs to find an empty bedroom, then answered the call.
