“Why do they force us to endure this?” I complained, my heavy-lidded eyes struggling to stay open as I watched the couple seated in front of me, their eight children scattered around them. Two young children had taken to climbing on the only other empty seat, the rest were crawling around at their feet playing tag, and the woman was currently nuzzling the man’s ear as if she wouldn’t mind making a ninth before the ship even left port.

 “So you don’t fall off the boat and die.” My mom laughed, rolling her eyes at me. I looked around at the diverse group of faces gathered at our shared Muster Station, D. They all looked about as anxious as I felt to get to the pool deck and wave goodbye to real life for five whole days, tequila in hand.

 “Now, if you will all just follow me to the life boats, we can conclude the safety briefing.” The squeaking voice tried desperately to maintain control as it rose from somewhere in the midst of the crowd.

 “No. I don’t wanna take a field trip, unless it’s to the bar and my packed lunch is a margarita.” I complained.

 My mom raised her eyebrows at me, smiling. “It’s only for a few more minutes. Honestly, you’re as bad as half the kids here.”

  We followed the disembodied voice, forming our very best attempts at a line, and headed out to the deck. I found my very own ten inches of space to lean up against the wall and rest my eyes. I had just gotten comfortable when I felt someone bump into me.

  “Oh, pardon me.” The woman said, as my eyes flew open.

  “Oh, it’s fine. No worries.” I smiled, readjusting myself.

  I was just about to settle back into my corner when I glanced down the breezeway, and spotted him. He was leaning toward a man with dark hair, whom I recognized as one of the guys who had been walking beside him in the café. He was laughing heartily at something the man had said. That smile.

   I stepped away from the wall and into his line of vision, just as a voice came over the loud speaker to announce the conclusion of the safety briefing. He turned away from me to follow his friends before I could catch his eye, and I felt my mom tug my arm in the opposite direction. I tried to look behind me, but the crowd was growing too boisterous over the excitement that our vacation was about to truly begin. I had lost him once again.

***

   It was truly baffling to me that someone I had barely any knowledge of above the fact that he existed, could stay with me like this. It felt crazy, and I began to question my sanity as I lifted my cover-up over my head. I prided myself on being logical, always making sure to never get lost in romantic notions, because I’ve seen one too many times just how “well” romantic fantasies can turn out.

  But still.

 My mom caught sight of my puzzled expression and asked me what was up. I explained to her about the man I had seen, twice now, and how his face had lit up the first time we laid eyes on each other. Just the way she had said they would, I admitted grudgingly.

   My mom smiled to herself. “You know, I had the same feeling when I met your dad.  He was sitting a few chairs in front of me at a country dance bar in downtown Indianapolis. He kept glancing over his shoulder at me and oh, what a smile. Of course that night, I was with my friend Janna, who caught the attention of a lot of men during that time, so I figured he was smiling at her. He wasn’t. I went to the restroom and when I came out a few minutes later, he was gone. This inexplicable panic suddenly overcame me. It made no sense. I thought to myself, ‘What if I never see him again? Why does it matter so much?’ I had no explanation for it whatsoever. All I really knew, was that I felt if he didn’t come back, I had missed out on something amazing. And, well, as you know, I would have.” She winked at me.

   She was talking about my stepdad, but the only dad to me, and the best man I knew. He had raised me since I was seven, and he and my mom shared something special, almost on an otherworldly level. Granted, they never missed a chance to purposely gross me out with their PDA that could rival any pair of teenagers going through puberty, but they are my parents, and it’s kind of in their job description to embarrass me. Even so, for the last nineteen years I had watched my mom’s face glow whenever his car pulled into the driveway, and I always thought to myself, I want a love like theirs. I swore to myself I wouldn’t settle for anything less.

    We made our way up to the tenth deck, and I reveled in the chance to finally relax by the pool. I spread out my towel and leaned back in my chair, basking in the glow of the mere prospect of nothing on the agenda but relaxation for the next week. I didn’t need to worry about love. I didn’t need to worry about wishy-washy friends. Come what may, I was as free as the tropical breeze caressing my cheek.

   “Yes, I will have a Rum Runner and my daughter will have a…what did you want, sweetie?”

   “Sex on the Beach. The drink of course,” I explained, my lips pulling into a half smile as my mom gave my arm a light slap. I raised my eyebrows over my sunglasses with an innocent, “What? I’m on vacation,” and smiled at the waiter. Just then, a flash of blue at the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I glanced down toward the pool on the deck below.

   My pulse quickened as he rounded the pool, alongside his two buddies. As I watched him make his way up the spiral staircase to the deck where I was sitting, my mind raced. How do I get him to notice me again? I couldn’t let him pass by a third time without at least trying. Wait, what? Who cares? You do, stupid. No. Yes. Go! Suddenly and without thinking, I stood up and whipped off my neon pink bathing suit cover-up, just as he and his friends approached.

   “This looks like a good spot,” I heard him say, as he nodded toward me.

   They settled their towels onto three lounge chairs just a few feet away. I settled back into my chair and listened to him order a bucket of beer from the pool boy. I tried to pay attention to the words coming out of my mom’s mouth, but all the while I couldn’t help but keep my ears trained to the boys’ conversation.

   Now, I could drum up every cliché in in my limited memory of English literature, spout off every Shakespearean sonnet that I could scrape out from the corners of my dusty memory, and still the words would feel too inadequate to describe what happened next.

    I know that the right words are inside of me somewhere. Elusively floating through my mind and allowing only brief, tantalizing flashes of recognition, like a horde of teasing fireflies on a hot summer’s eve. But something is blocking them from showing themselves at full force, and I don’t pretend to not know what that something is.

     Fear.

     I am afraid to tell you of the moment when I first met him.

     Putting the feelings into words would only make them more real, and would make it impossible to continue running from them. Admitting them would mean admitting that it wasn’t all in my imagination. Something inexplicable did happen to me. That may very well never happen again. That what my heart reminds me of every night is in fact more than true. That if happiness were a tangible thing, I have tasted it, touched it, breathed it in to the far reaches of forever, only to be banished from it, yet cursed to always remember. Admitting the truth of what happened to me would bring to painful light the fact that any sort of love that must have once held meaning in my life, was never truly real. Which would be a sad thought if I could’ve, at that moment, remembered knowing any person at all besides the man that sat so near, uttering those first beautiful words to me:

     “Would you like a beer? You look like you need a beer.”

     My heart leapt into my throat, rendering me incapable of forming sentences for a full five seconds as I realized I had been caught staring.

     “Er, uh….” I mumbled eloquently as I grasped the Bud from his outstretched hand, the bottle nearly slipping from my fingers as the condensation mingled with the clamminess of my nervous palm.

      “Take it.” My mom whispered, as she nudged my arm more forcefully than she’d intended. Subtlety was never her strong suit.

     “Ma, I got this.” I hissed over my shoulder.

     “Is this your mom?” He asked, his lips drawing upward into a knowing half-smile, his warm brown eyes sparkling as my mom leaned around me to introduce herself.

     “We decided to take this vacation together because when she was four years old, I promised her that if she stuck it out and graduated college, I’d take her on a week-long cruise and she has never let me forget it,” my mom said, smiling at me. Sure, mom, just launch right into my life story, starting with the barely-out-of-diapers years. Yayness.

     “Well, I have to hear this story.” He said, climbing over two deck chairs and settling himself inches from me.

     “Now she has two degrees and a job that drives her crazy. I get a call one day on her lunch break and she goes, ‘Mom, I just can’t take it anymore! I need a vacation. Hey, you know, about that cruise you promised me twenty-two years ago…”

     “Ha, yeah…I was having a rough day and needed some air.”

     “The Bahamas sure are a good choice for a little breathing room, lemme tell ya.” He giggled, a kind of laugh I’d never heard coming from a man before. Especially not one that possessed a six-foot five, muscular as all get-out frame such as his. I normally found myself attracted to manly men (which, honestly leaves me no excuse whatsoever for the last Nancy I dated), and giggling wasn’t the usual sort of laugh I considered to be a manly trait. But for some reason, the sound was enchanting coming from this man’s lips.

     “Oh look, there goes the guy with the island drinks. I think I’m thirsty. Be back later.” Mom said, shooting me a sly wink as she ran to chase down the unsuspecting pool boy. I glanced down the glass sitting beside the leg of her chair, filled to the brim, its tiny little umbrella swaying in the wind. I smiled to myself and turned in my chair to face the man who held his hand out for me to take.

     “Hey there. I’m Mike.”

***

     “So…”

     “What?”

     “How was it? He’s the guy, right?” My mom sat forward expectantly, taking a sip of her sparkling Moscato. I rested my chin in the palm of hand, my eyes growing heavy once again.

     “Eh, you know,” I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly, a weary smile spreading across my face. “Ain’t no thing but a chicken wing. Amiright?”

     “Oh, I’m sure.” My mom laughed, tossing her white cloth napkin at my face.

     “We just talked for a little bit by the pool.”

     “A little bit? I was gone for two and a half hours.”

     “Was it that long? It didn’t seem like it.

     She smiled knowingly. “I finally had to come back to get you so you wouldn’t starve.”

     “Wow. It seemed like only a few minutes. He’s a country boy from Georgia. And he giggles. Did I tell you he giggles?”

     “Yes, you mentioned it a few times.” She grinned.

      “It’s the coolest sound.”

     “Yes, you mentioned that, too.”

     “And he’s a fireman…”

     “A giggling fireman?”

     “It’s the cutest thing.”

     “But this thing ain’t none but a chicken wing, right?”

     “Right.”

     “I see.”

“He wanted me to join them in some bar somewhere on the ship for the Georgia-Florida game, but I’m really tired.” I said, my head beginning to slip off my hand.

     “That’s probably best, isn’t it? You’d have been torn as to who to root for, wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t want to make your new boyfriend mad.”

     “Mom, it’s the Gators…nobody likes the Gators. Floridians don’t even like the Gators…” I felt a sudden jolt as she tapped me on the arm with her spoon. “What? What happened…what?”

     “You’re falling asleep on your steak. Do you need to go back to the room?”

     “Yeah, I think I’m going to turn in for the night.” I glanced at my watch. 8:30. “Wow, if I hurry I can catch the Golden Girls. Just slap some nylons on me and call me Dorothy.”

     “Dorothy? At the rate you’re going with these guys, I think Blanche would be more appropriate.”

     “It’s sad that I get that reference. On second thought, a tiny little romance couldn’t hurt.”