But her message is clear: be quiet and play nice.
I take a deep breath as the conversation moves on to some meaningless LA gossip about people I’ve never heard of, but the damage is done. Patricia and Arthur’s callousness is inexcusable, but it doesn’t surprise me. This is exactly the kind of detached, insensitive thinking I’d expect from people like them.But the Jules I know would never take an injustice like that sitting down. Whatever this little chill girl act is, it’snother.
I know how important it is to her to fit in with the Warrens, but is she willing to let all her values go in the process?
After dinner, I make some half-ass excuse of sea-sickness and retreat to my cabin while the rest of the group moves up to the bridge deck for a game of whist. Once the door to my cabin is closed, I flop onto my bed so hard that my head smacks against the headboard.
Ow.I probably deserve it. I ignored all my principles to come on this vacation with a family Iknewwas a problem. My personal carbon emissions have been elevated from borderline zero to Koch sibling in a matter of days. What would my dad say if he saw me here, sucking up to would-be wildlife criminals just to avoid rocking the boat?
I try, desperately, to get ahold of Marianne, but the call doesn’t go through. Jules is so obsessed with fitting in that she’s turning into someone I don’t recognize. She wants so badly for us to be one big happy family, but so far, all it’s done is made clear exactly how differently we see the world.
A knock sounds at my door, but I don’t leave my bed. Two seconds later my sister pushes through. Her expression, as I’d guessed, is not one of sympathy.
“You’re lucky Patricia doesn’t know you don’t get seasick,” she says critically as she closes the door behind her.
“And you’re lucky I love you too much to throw punches. I can’t believe you just sat back while they talked about killing awhale!Worse, you threw me under the bus for being upset about it!”
“I’m sorry,” she says dismissively, plopping onto the bed next to me. “I just—I know how you get sometimes. I didn’t want to cause a scene.”
“Right. Sorry,” I tell her, my voice taking on the quality of a petulant teenager. “Let me shut up and behave so Patricia canfeel good about having a carbon footprint the size of a small country. You know, I think there’s a lamp upstairs we could use as a bat if she wants to go club some seals.”
“Ok, you’re being ridiculous,” Jules dismisses me.
“And you’re letting these people turn you into one of them!”
“These peopleare going to be family!” she says emphatically. “And in case you forgot, I’m still on trial here. So can you please, for five minutes, stop looking for reasons to hate them?”
“Ontrial?”I spit back. “Stop your money worshipping, Jules. Matthew’s an alcoholic, Patricia clearly thinks she’s better than we are—you’re so worried we’re not good enough for these people, but you’ve never stopped to ask yourself if they’re good enough foryou.”
Jules juts her bottom teeth out, the way she always does when she’s trying not to scream. But she’s the one in the wrong here, and I’m not relenting.
“You’re one to talk about feeling superior!” she snaps. “They may be out of touch, but you’re acting like they’re monsters! You’re supposed to be making this easier for me, and all you’ve done so far is make me feel more insecure.”
“I’m sorry if my principles are inconvenient for your new lifestyle,” I bite back. “Someone has to have them since you’ve clearly lost yours.”
It comes out harsher than I meant it, but I’m so angry I can’t take it back. She stands, red faced, looking back at me like she’s been slapped.
“I should have known you’d be like this,” she accuses before she turns towards the door.
“Like what?” I ask, rising to my feet like I’m going to follow her. “Likeme? If having me here is so difficult, Jules, why did you even drag me in the first place?”
“You know,” she looks back at me before opening the door. “I’m starting to wish I hadn’t.”
Any further accusations die in my throat as she clicks thedoor shut forcefully, nearly trapping the fabric of her lilac Givenchy gown. I try to remember the version of her I knew before she moved to LA. The tarot cards she always kept in her purse. The injured animals she’d drag home any chance she got for Dad and I to help nurse back to health. And suddenly, I can’t believe how much she’s changed. She’s always been a hopeless romantic. Iknowshe would do just about anything for Harry: hell, for anyone she loves. But she’s letting these people turn her into one of them.
And no matter what I tell myself, there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
I spenda few hours curled up in my cabin, my thoughts spinning like the gold spiral pattern on the wallpaper. But when night falls and I still can’t sleep, I give up and wander upstairs. Everyone’s in bed by now, which gives me an opportunity to check out a room I’ve yet to set foot in: the bridge.
I take a careful step into the empty room, searching for a steering wheel and finding only a set of throttles and screens lit up like a Christmas tree. There are so many instruments on the panel I feel like I’m in the control room for a rocketship. I run my hand along the lacquered mahogany dash. What must it be like to see the world through this glass? To cross the Pacific like Gia and Jim and Caleb, exploring new ports each week and meeting people from all over the world? For a moment, I let myself think what my life might have been like if Jules had been the one to go to school and I’d stayed behind. What could I have done with myself if I hadn’t been so dead set on proving to myself I could get my PhD?
I put one hand on the throttle, imagining it’s me who’s taking us across the Pacific. No more grading half-ass essays on Jeff Koons. No more long hours behind a computer doing worksome sixty-year-old white dude will probably take credit for. Just miles of open ocean. A family of crew to share my days with. A new adventure awaiting each morning.
I set my book down and lean forward to look at the digital map of the surrounding islands—Waya to the east, Naviti and Nacuya to the north. The closest is one I recognize: Narara, the island Joana told me about at Cloud Nine. I was right to assume the Warrens would never consider stopping there on their journey north. Clearly the only kind of conservation Patricia cares about applies to her bank account.
“What are you doing?”
A jolt of panic shoots through my spine like I’m a teenager caught with a cigarette. I whorl to face Caleb and practically fall out of the captain’s chair.
