by Sophia Henry
I swallowed back the fear that rose in my throat. “I know it sounds that way. I’m on his phone right now, Mom. You can call it or text it at any time today. And I’ll let you know when I’m back at the airport for my flight.”
“What do you mean, back at the airport? You need to plant your butt in a chair and wait to see if standby seats open up on an earlier flight.”
Silence seemed like the best response. No reason to make Mom any angrier than she already was.
“You’re going to do what you want, aren’t you?” she asked with worry and defeat in her tone. “So what can I say?”
“Say you trust me,” I pleaded.
“I do trust you,” she spat. “I don’t trust him.”
“I trust him,” I said firmly. And it was true. Sure, the situation sounded super shady, but Mom hadn’t spent the week with Pasha. I had.
“Have you talked to him about CF? Do you have enough enzymes? How about your inhaler?”
“Yes. I’m good with everything. And he knows. He’s totally cool.”
Mom sighed. “I know you’re an adult and you can make your own decisions, but you can’t stop me from worrying about you.”
“I know, Mom. I appreciate that and I love you so much. You and Dad have taught me to be smart and strong. Just trust me. Why don’t you send a text to his phone?” I suggested. I hoped that knowing she could get in contact with me through calls or texts would make her feel a little better about the situation.
“Hold on,” Mom commanded.
Less than half a minute later I heard a beep alerting me to a text coming into Pasha’s phone. I looked at the screen and saw Mom’s number. I pressed the message and read it: This is Helena Katsaros, the mother of Kristen Katsaros. If my daughter goes missing, it was the owner of this phone.
“Geez, Mom,” I mumbled.
“What? What did you expect me to say?” Mom countered.
“Are we good?” I asked. Despite being an adult who made my own decisions about how I spend my vacation and my life, I didn’t want Mom angry with me. Especially when she had a valid concern.
“You better send me hourly check-ins, Kristen. If even one hour goes by that I don’t hear from you, I’m calling the police,” Mom warned.
“I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, Kristen.”
Chapter 23
DAY 8
SAN JUAN, PUERTO RICO
Once we’d gotten the call with Kristen’s mom out of the way, the process of changing her flight was fairly simple…until the girl behind the counter asked for payment. Kristen took a deep breath and held out her card.
I stepped in front of her and shoved my credit card into the girl’s hand. Kristen had offered to pay for everything throughout the cruise—every drink, every excursion—but I paid for it all. She’d given me a few annoyed looks when I paid, but it didn’t bother me. I wanted to pay for her. I didn’t know anything else, nor did I want to.
“Pasha!” she chastised. “You’ve done so much for me, I can’t even repay you. Please let me get this.”
“No,” I said firmly as I pushed my card toward the girl, silently asking her to take it. “I asked you to change your flight. I will pay the fees.”
As we waited for the girl to run my card, I added, “You never need to repay me. That offends me.”
“Offends you? How can it offend you? I’ve never expected anyone to pay my way. I thought guys liked independent women who could take care of themselves.”
“We do like girls who can take care of themselves. But it doesn’t mean we’ll let you. How could you want to be with someone who asked you to pay for half of something? Or any of something? What a fucking pussy.”
Kristen was speechless. She opened her mouth to say something, but I shut her down by simply raising one eyebrow.
“Thank you,” she said.
I nodded, signed the credit card receipt, and waited for the girl behind the counter to give Kristen her updated boarding pass. Then we walked out of the airport.
Once we were outside, Kristen reached up and brushed my temple with her fingers. “Why do you have a glint in your eye?”
“Glint? What does that mean?” I stopped on the curb and raised my arm to hail a cab.
“A sparkle. It’s like you’re trying to keep a secret.”
“I have no secrets. I am just happy to spend one more day with you.” I swept her into my arms and planted my lips on hers.
When the driver asked where we were headed, I asked him to drop us off in Old San Juan.
“Do we need to sign up for the glowing water thing?” Kristen asked while securing her seatbelt.
I held up my phone. “I booked the tour this morning.”
“How did you find out about this glowing water tour?” she asked.
“I did a lot of research before the cruise. I wanted to try something new at each stop.”
“Do you do adventurous stuff all the time? Or just for this vacation?”
“I try something in every city I stop in. Maybe I have food if there is only a little bit of time. Maybe I climb a mountain. It depends.” I reached out, pinched the clasp of her silver necklace, and slid it to the back of her neck. Then I nodded at the charm. “Very pretty. Why a peacock?”
Kristen chuckled softly as she touched the silver peacock charm resting on her collarbone. “It’s a symbol of immortality.” She paused. “Ironic, right?”
I couldn’t laugh, though I knew she was trying to keep the conversation light.
“But it also reminds me to stay centered and have a lighthearted approach to life. To be grateful for what I have. And to laugh, because it’ll keep me healthy.”
—
Colorful, Spanish-colonial-style buildings lined the streets of Old San Juan, housing hundreds of shops and restaurants. After popping into a few stores, we decided to grab a drink at one of the bars, drawn by the electric orange door. Stucco walls painted in bold reds, purples, and green popped under various paintings of Bob Marley and music themes. The decor corresponded with the pulsing beats of the reggae music pouring through the speakers.
“Why haven’t you bought anything for yourself?” I asked as Pasha placed the bags of things he’d bought for me at our feet.
He slid onto the barstool next to me, mumbling something in another language, blowing his faux Greek image out of the water again.
“English, Pavlos,” I reminded him.
He grinned before bringing our joined hands toward his mouth. “I have everything I need.” His soft lips brushed the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist.
Every touch made me tingle. “You know it makes me want to run away when you talk like that.”
My thoughts drifted to the intensity of our whirlwind romance over the last few days. A relationship that should have been flippant and fun by definition alone had spiraled into a connection I couldn’t deny. A connection I never allowed myself to have with guys.
“I’d find you easily,” he said. “You are beautiful, fun, loud.”
I interrupted him by cocking my head, silently questioning if “loud” had been a compliment.
“I mean that in the best way. You’re a bold, no-bullshit person,” he explained.
His description made me smile. Not everyone appreciated—or understood—my loud, no-bullshit personality. Since he was bold and loud himself, we meshed well.
“I like your attitude of adventure. Of life. Too many people worry about tomorrow. Why is this?” Pasha asked.
“To plan the future?” I suggested.
“The future is not guaranteed.”
Truer words had never been spoken. I’ve been living for the moment my entire life. I have to because I don’t know when my body will finally give out. Out of anyone he could be talking to, I understood too well.
“Why do you say that?” I asked. I had a reason to think that way; now I wanted to hear his.
“Life is meant to be lived. Today. Now.”
Not really the
answer I wanted. Time to be bold and blunt, just like he appreciated. “Can I ask you something personal?”
“Of course,” Pasha said.
I glanced around the empty bar before asking, “Are you sick?”
Pasha leaned back, his eyes wide with surprise. “Why would you ask me that?”
“The only people I know who live like they’re dying are actually dying.” I was a prime example of that.
“We are all dying,” he responded.
“I know we are.” I shook my head to sort out my thoughts. “I know we’re all going to die someday. I’m not talking about basic biology. I’m talking about reality.”
“What’s the difference?”
“People our age are supposed to think they’re invincible.”
Pasha laughed. “People who believe that are destined to die early.”
“Some of us are destined to die early anyway.”
Pasha’s eyes narrowed and he grabbed my hand. “For acting so happy, you fall into sadness so quickly. It’s easy for you, yes?”
His use of the words “fall into sadness” was a sweet way to let me know that I was being a buzzkill, so I changed the subject.
I nodded to an arched doorframe along the back wall. “Wanna have sex in the bathroom?”
Pasha’s response was quick and firm. “Yes.”
I smiled. “I’m kidding.” My suggestion had been meant to get his mind off how much of a downer I’d turned into.
“I’m not,” he said.
I scanned the bar. Other than the bartender, there was still no one else here. We’d been the only ones in the place since we came in.
“I’m pretty sure we’d get caught.”
Pasha placed a hand on my thigh and slipped his fingers under my shorts. “What are they gonna do? Kick us out? We have to leave anyway.”
His nimble fingers brushing between my legs helped me understand the logic in his reasoning, but the thought of being caught still made me wary.
He leaned in and whispered in my ear, “I like being with you. You are warm and safe. Like I am home.”
Without a second thought, I jumped off the barstool and laced my fingers with his, leading him through the arched opening to the hallway for the restrooms. I dragged him into the room labeled with a silhouette of a woman. I figured that would be the cleaner of the two.
We were lucky, because the door opened to a room with one toilet and a sink, rather than a large space with multiple stalls. Pasha locked the door behind us, then spun around and grabbed my shorts, unsnapping the button with one swift tug. I unzipped my zipper as Pasha lowered the front of his shorts and rolled on a condom that he must’ve had in his pocket. He grabbed my hips, lifted me up, and turned us so my back was against the door. I wrapped my arms around his neck and dug my face in his shoulder as he guided himself into me.
“Oh my God!” I cried out.
At the same time, he whispered, “Fuck!” into my shoulder.
Now, I’m no expert, but having sex standing up with another person attached has to be hard as hell. I knew the kid was in shape, but Pasha didn’t seem fazed at all. He was stronger than any man I’d ever dated. Not that I’d tried standing sex with any of the guys I’d dated previously. Before Pasha I’d only known missionary position, which he seemed to avoid.
Our bathroom escapade was fast and intense. After one particularly amazing thrust, I shifted, but Pasha grabbed my hips and held us both completely still. He took one hand off me and pressed his palm against the door. I squeezed my eyes shut and tightened my arms around his neck as I tried to control my breath against his shoulder.
“You feel like home. Like strength,” Pasha whispered against my hair.
His words sent an initial pang of elation through me. The high turned to sadness just as quickly, because I’d never be his home. I’d always be the vacation fling that he’d tell his buddies about.
Despite our conversation just a few moments earlier, I couldn’t help but think about the future. What about next week, when we were back home, living our normal lives? Could I live a normal life after meeting him? Would I dream about what could have been? What kind of fallout would I have from today?
A loud knock interrupted my thoughts.
“What are you doing in there?” a man yelled. “Get out of there.”
My body shook as Pasha laughed, but I didn’t share his feelings about the lightness of the situation. I let go of him immediately and fixed my clothes into place so I could walk out looking somewhat respectable.
Pasha opened the door and swept his arm out in a flourish, which made me the first to exit. I ducked my head so I didn’t have to see the disdain on the bartender’s face and shuffled past quickly. Pasha followed close behind with his fingers on my back to let me know we were in this together.
Thankfully we’d paid our bill when our drinks were delivered, or it would have been even more awkward. When we reached the fresh air of the San Juan street, I took a deep breath.
Pasha bumped my hip with his and laughed. “I didn’t realize you’d be embarrassed by that. You’ve been adventurous the entire cruise.”
“I’ve never been this”—I lowered my voice—”sexually adventurous before.”
He laughed again. “Good. I’m glad this side of you is all mine.”
Pasha knew exactly how to bring out the best in me, from the fun and adventurous side to the self-conscious parts I kept to myself. I’d never given myself this freely and openly to anyone before. My chest tightened as I wondered how I could with anyone else.
Chapter 24
Kristen and I walked through the streets of San Juan hand in hand, laughing and joking with familiarity that shouldn’t be there after less than a week of knowing each other. I couldn’t get over how easy it was to be with her, as if we’d known each other for years rather than days.
“Come this way,” I said, pulling her toward a kiosk on the corner of the street.
SEND A MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE, the sign above read.
Glass bottles in various sizes and colors littered the surface of the stand. Stacks of paper, dyed to appear old and withered, sat on shelves above. I stepped away to speak to the cashier, leaving Kristen to check out the assortment of bottles available. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her reach out and touch a glittery pink bottle.
No surprise there. I knew she loved pink and sparkles just based on her wardrobe I’d seen, but they matched her personality. Bright, happy, extroverted.
After I’d paid for two bottles, I shoved my wallet into my back pocket and said, “Pick a bottle and grab some paper.”
Her eyes lit up and she immediately grabbed the glittery pink one she’d touched. As if there’d been any doubt which one she’d choose.
“What are you gonna write?” she asked.
“I’m going to tell everyone how awesome I am.” I winked at her.
“Don’t even throw in a wink like you’re joking,” she said. “I have no doubt that’s exactly what you’re planning to write.”
I looked up from my paper and nodded. “What are you going to write?”
“I’m going to tell everyone how awesome you are, too,” she teased.
“You’re so smart. This is what I like about you.” I finished scribbling my message and started rolling the paper.
“You’re not going to show me?” Kristen asked as I stuffed the paper into the green bottle I’d chosen.
“Nope.” I pressed the tiny cork into the top of the bottle and stuffed it into the front pocket of my shorts. “You done?”
She scowled at me and tapped her lips with the end of the pen as she contemplated what to write. She must’ve felt the pressure.
Writing a message in a bottle is more pressure than you’d think. Especially when the cashier had told me that he would retrieve them from the water as soon as we were out of sight and mail the bottles to me at the address I’d given him when Kristen was out of earshot.
“Got it!” she said.
&nb
sp; I loved the way her entire face lit up when she’d thought of something.
I leaned toward her, peeking over her shoulder to catch a glimpse.
“Oh no!” She smiled coyly before turning her back to me and hovering over the kiosk for increased privacy. She finished jotting the note quickly, then rolled the paper and shoved it into the bottle.
“Done,” she announced as she pushed the cork in. “Now what do we do?”
I nodded goodbye to the cashier and took Kristen’s hand again. We walked down the crowded street to the bay.
I pointed to the water. “The sales guy said we throw them in here. He has arrangement with the city or something. Said this is the only place we can throw them.”
“Cool.” Kristen rolled the bottle between her palms, watching the sunlight reflect off the glittery pink surface. At first I didn’t think she’d actually throw it because I knew she loved that sparkly pink bottle. Then, to my surprise, she held the thin neck and cocked her arm back. “Ready?” she asked.
I smiled and nodded. Her bright eyes sparkled in the sunlight, like a human version of the bottle she’d be throwing away. My chest constricted. I could get another bottle, but I’d never be able to find a replacement for her.
“Adin, dva—” I counted.
“En español, por favor,” she said in Spanish.
“Sí,” I agreed with a smile. “Uno, dos, tres!”
On three, we both chucked our bottles as hard as we could. Mine sailed far past Kristen’s, but she seemed proud to have made it into the water, so I let her have her moment.
We watched in silence as our messages floated farther out with each wave.
I took a deep breath and squeezed her hand on the exhale, fixing my gaze on the water.
“How many languages do you know?” Kristen asked after letting me have a moment.
“I am not fluent in many. But I can say words in quite a few,” I said. “You know some Spanish, right?”
“A little. Enough to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’ Order a beer. Ask for the bathroom.” She shrugged. “Ya know, the basics.”
“See, we are both multilingual.”
“What’s your native language?” she asked. The question surprised me, though it shouldn’t have. I couldn’t believe she hadn’t asked before now.