“She’s a great girl.” His eyes sparkle at the mention of her name. “But you do what you want. I wouldn’t want to get involved anddragyou anywhere against your will.”
A whirlpool of emotions are roiling in my chest. How am I going to get any work done with that woman around? I can’t think straight around her. My body goes into overdrive. It was fine to fantasize about her when she was gone, untouchable, but now that I’ve given in to my private lust for her, it’s like letting a genie out of a bottle. There’s no going back.
I’m well and truly fucked.
“I’m going home,” I blurt, practically stomping my foot in a little bitch tantrum.
“Enjoy your day off!” Mike waves with a big smile.
I march off toward my villa like I have something to be rightfully pissed about. The palm trees sway in the breeze and some kids kick a ball around at the warung near my place. The small, family-owned shop has the best nasi campur on the island. The owner, a woman named Indah, always heaps my plate with food. I’m determined to be in a bad mood, but it’s hard to stay worked up with the sand between my toes and the smell of roasting meats in the air.
Junie is here to stay and I’ll have to get used to it. She didn’t strike me as the type to spend a month of her precious life on a pretty remote island. It’s so small you could walk around the entire thing in less than an hour. Our wifi is slow on a good dayand you have to take a boat to the nearest ATM or supermarket. The resorts are great if you can afford them, but the volunteer dorms don’t exactly have all the comforts of home.
Either she’ll be completely miserable, or she’s made of tougher stuff than I assumed.
I avoid her the next morning. It’s too soon for her to be on the dive schedule so I hurry to the boat like I have something to hide.
Today’s dive is mainly to track the progress of an artificial reef we sank a few months back. Most people have heard of the underwater sculpture by Jason deCaires Taylor. He submerged 48 life-size figures off the coast of Gili Meno to protest the loss of our coral reefs. The sculpture is supposed to grow soft corals and sponges, but its popularity has prevented it from taking off. Our smaller, less exciting projects have begun to show some real promise.
I lose myself in the work, organizing both of the day’s dives, assigning buddies and sections of the sea floor to map. Mason and I sweep the west side of the dive site while Mike and Juliette take the right. We keep independent logs and compare our data when we get back on the boat. I tend to underestimate the progress we’re making. With the rate that our ocean life is declining, it never feels like we’re doing enough. Sometimes I worry that I’m doomed to spend the rest of my life on this island, fighting a losing battle against time, climate change, and ecological destruction.
Shit, am I morbid? After we complete both dives, I feel that familiar drop in dopamine as I sit on the boat and stare into space. The world beneath the ocean seems so much more lively and organized than the one up here. I feel most alive when I can hear my breaths bubbling toward the surface, or get lost in a solid wall of striped sergeant major fish. The food chain underthe sea seems so intuitive—not filled with nuance and projection like human relationships.
We only saw a handful of green turtles and even fewer hawksbills. I feel their absence like a physical pain. I’ve given up everything to save the turtles, and I’m failing even at that.
Everything is slipping away.
“Did you see Junie’s posts today? They’re actually getting some reactions.” Her name shakes me out of my stupor; I can’t help the way my body responds, and I lean in despite myself to hear Mason and Juliette’s conversation.
“Oui, she asked me to be in a video tomorrow. It sounds very good.”
“Should I ask if she wants to come to The Local later?”
“Of course! I am so glad she stayed. She is the best darts partner. We always win together.”
The words do something strange to my chest.I am so glad she stayed. I’ve been twisting myself into knots because she had to go, and now I’m doing the same thing when I find out she doesn’t. I know it can’t have anything to do with me—I’ve acted like a Neanderthal since the moment we met—but she doesn’t seem to mind. She’s still friendly. Still reaching out to me. She must have a kink for emotionally stunted giants. Thinking about her kinks nearly sets me off again.
I’m stuck with her for a month. The thin shred of dignity that insists I’ve turned over a new leaf isn’t going to be enough. I can’t keep avoiding her or the powerful feelings that take over me whenever she’s near. Mike knew exactly what he was doing when he tricked me into justifying his relationship with a younger volunteer.
So she won’t want to get married and move to the island and have heaps of cute little babies with me. It could be more than a one night stand now. We could really get to know each other, enjoy a few intimate weeks, then part on good terms like mature adults.
We could take our time. Really savor every moment of it. And if she’s not interested, I’m a grown man. I can control myself around a woman better than grunting at her and running away.
I won’t push it. But if she comes to me again, it could be an option on the table. I shouldn’t see everything so black or white. Maybe we can exist in the gray for a while. Or the clear, deep blue.
Chapter 12
Junie
To make the most of the experience, I give up my room at the resort and move into volunteer housing. With four metal bunk beds and a tangled nest of shoes by the door, it isn’t exactly the height of luxury, but the room is spacious and clean, it’s right by the sanctuary, and it’s dirt cheap. If I could survive sharing a bed with Eva for two weeks, how bad could it be?
While everyone is out for the morning on the Bounty Wreck dive, I throw my bags onto one of the empty top bunks and explore the room. The warm wood squeaks under my feet, making the house feel old and lived-in.
The bathroom is filled with natural light and a breeze blows through the open windows carrying out the damp, mildewy smell. It’s cluttered, but mostly clean—filled with the detritus of four people’s toiletries, a small shower, and a ceramic hole in the ground.
I push into the stall and peer down. Where I expect to see a toilet, it looks almost like a sink has been embedded into the tile floor. It’s white with ridges on either side of a deep black hole. Beside it is a bucket of water and a roll of toilet paper attached to the wall. I’ve seen a few of these squat toilets while traveling around Indonesia, but I’ve never had to use one. Reconsideringsomething as ingrained as the way I sit on the toilet sets a weird tickle fluttering in my stomach.
I back slowly out of the bathroom, tilt my head back, and release a great big belly laugh. It’s not funny, but I’m so far from home, so far out of my comfort zone, that I’m suddenly bubbling over with the absurdity of it all. David could never imagine me here. Two weeks ago, I never could’ve imagined myself here!
