Discouraged, I follow Andrew and Pippa downstairs to take a break and eat lunch. The crew has outdone themselves again. I spot a quinoa salad studded with bright vegetables and platters of fruit. Pippa fills her plate with a sample of each. I spot a container of Oreos in the corner, which fills me with excitement. I pack my plate, avoiding the cookies for now, and balance my tray as I scale the ladders upstairs. I head to the platform to eat in the sun, with the breeze ruffling my curls. I can’t even begin to imagine how wild my hair looks. I took it out of my braids in my attempt to shower last night and couldn’t wrangle it back into one, so now it’s alternating between a messy bun and cascading in a heap down my back.
Right now, I can tell it’s frizzing around my face, so I tie it behind my neck while I eat. Just as I start to dig in, Hugh appears from the side of the boat.
‘Do you mind? The captain’s room is discussing the royal drama.’ Hugh rolls his eyes.
I pat the seat next to me, inviting Hugh to sit down.
‘Like British royal family drama?’ I clarify.
Hugh nods. ‘If I hear another word about it, I swear I’ll feed myself to a shark.’
‘OK,’ I agree, laughing, ‘no royal talk. But I don’t want any shark talk either.’
‘Done.’ Hugh sighs, relaxing into a seat next to me. He places an Oreo on my plate. My eyes widen in surprise. ‘I saw you eyeing them.’ He shrugs. He has one on his plate too.
Both of us are silent as we tuck in hungrily. Scuba-diving is more of a workout than I anticipated. It’s been a long time since I was so ravenous. After a couple of minutes, we both slow down and exchange smiles.
‘The food is way better than I expected,’ Hugh says happily.
‘Me too. I thought all we were going to have was lunchables.’
‘Lunchables?’ Hugh asks, cocking his head at me.
I laugh and explain the concept of pre-packaged slices of meat and cheese and some sort of cracker. Hugh listens, his mouth grimacing in disgust.
‘They’re actually not so bad,’ I say, defending myself. ‘My mom used to get them for Mi—’ I pause in panic right before I was about to say ‘Millie and me’. ‘My mom used to get them for my school lunch,’ I say, forcing out the first word I can think of that starts with a ‘m’ sound.
Hugh seems satisfied with the explanation, but then starts asking me a lot of questions about my upbringing. It’s fun to feel like he thinks I’m interesting, but growing up in the suburbs of Ohio isn’t exactly riveting, which makes answering his deluge of questions difficult. He’s shocked that classrooms only taught American history until high school, and he’s surprised they trusted our parents to pack our lunches, especially considering what my mother was sending us to school with. ‘No fruit or vegetables!’ Hugh keeps lamenting. ‘Not even an apple!’
Eventually, he lets up, and both of us head downstairs into the cabin to load up our plates with seconds.
We settle back into our seats, staring down plates of quinoa, pineapple salsa and a delicious mix of cauliflower and farro. I pick up my camera and look at the only two photos that may contain the tail end or the face of a butterfly wrasse.
‘What’s that?’ Hugh grunts through a mouthful of salad.
‘You don’t want to know,’ I tease, holding the camera out of his reach.
‘Did you see one?’ He grabs at the camera, his previous decorum gone.
‘I don’t know,’ I confess. I keep the camera out of his reach, but lean in to show him the photos. Our shoulders graze when he scoots closer to me for a better look. Neither of us move to keep them apart. Hugh stares intently at the camera screen.
‘What do you think? And be honest.’ I give him a serious look, and he returns my gaze with one just as serious. His eyes are a deeper blue. I make a mental note to stop thinking about how often they change colour.
‘I don’t know,’ he says hesitantly.
‘Are you just saying that because you don’t want me to find one?’
‘No, Millie, honest.’ He crosses his heart with his fingers in a gesture that reminds me of children. It’s so endearing that it softens the blow of his answer.
‘It’s not enough, is it?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t think so.’
A pit forms in my stomach.
‘We still have a lot more dives to go,’ he says, his voice soft and reassuring.
‘You shouldn’t be the one comforting me about this.’ I try to sound nonchalant, but my voice comes out flat and glum. ‘I bet you’re thrilled.’
