Tasmin and her friends sit at the bar a couple tables away. We'd rushed down after Lilli had gotten dressed, but we were still too late to find a spot to sit altogether, so we had to split up. They're listening to the lecture, but I'm not.
I know I should be since it's my first time on a cruise ship, but they don't matter to me. Nothing will go wrong, because I've been given this opportunity to be here. I cannot fail. I can't and I won't. And nothing will get in my way.
This mission will run smoothly, discreetly, and before I know it, it'll be over, and I'll be flying to the United Kingdom to join my father, away from every single terrible event that has happened here.
Leaning against the tarmac grey bar table is Tasmin in her white jumpsuit, damp hair resting on her shoulder. I have a sudden urge to take a photo of her, just to show her how beautiful she is, but I stay still. I also feel the sudden urge to slap myself. Why aren't I there talking to her right now? I need to form a bond strong enough that she's willing to tell me things. Tell me the small and the big things. The significant memories and the stupid ones. The jolly and the dark.
There's the reflection of the sky in Tasmin's eyes, white and foggy, endless. Like I could dive right in and swim amongst the clouds forevermore. They're so mysteriously beautiful, I'm tempted to just walk up to her now to stare into her eyes and find the hidden answers in the clouds in her eyes.
"Thank goodness, that's over," Ben comments, fanning his face. "What time is it?" he asks Lilli; the only one wearing a watch.
She looks down to check her watch, but there's a very loud grumble, and it's not from the engines. We all turn to Charlie. We laugh.
"I think it's time for dinner," Lilli says, glancing at Tasmin. "Well? Where to, Boss?"
The nickname rings a familiar bell, but the thought is drowned. Immediately, Tasmin responds, "The Waterfront Restaurant."
We're led by Tasmin down from Deck ten to Deck seven, where we fall in-line with a crowd of hungry-looking tourists, all queuing for the restaurant. When we finally reach the front of the line after a good fifteen minutes of waiting, Tasmin consults the rather done-with-life-looking secretary.
"Hello, can we please book a table for six every night at six?" she asks confidently, as if she's said it a thousand times (she probably has).
"Sure," says the secretary, tapping on her laptop with her extremely thin, long nails. "I'll assign the table on your name, which is…?"
"Tasmin."
More tapping. "This table will be recorded on your name, so if you are not present before six-twenty, the table will be given to another passenger. Clear?"
"Absolutely. Have a good night," Tasmin replies happily, practically cantering behind the waiter donned in black and white.
I expected a plain table, but we're standing in front of a fancy-looking booth that extends to the tall ceiling. Billowing velvet fabric dangles down the sides of the half-canopy, and exquisitely-cut golden threads form beautiful shapes and patterns. As I climb in, I can't help but run my fingers over the seat, admiring its beauty.
Across from me, I watch as Emily rubs Ben's shoulder, commenting, "Nice shirt," which makes Ben smirk at me.
Earlier, when we were deciding what to wear, I told Ben that wearing a Hawaiian shirt with shorts wasn't the brightest idea, especially since we were eating at some "prestigious restaurant", as quoted by Tasmin. He insulted me and then threatened that if I didn't stop judging his fashion choices that he'd insist on wearing sunglasses and thongs (flip flops) to match.
I told you so, Ben tells me with his eyes.
To Tasmin I say, "How do you know all of this?"
She smiles and explains, "I know what's on every deck, approximately what everything will cost, opening and closing times, where places will be crowded at certain times, and what food is good." I was impressed, but now I'm even more impressed. She knows her stuff. "You need the cruise info, come to this girl!" she exclaims proudly, pointing at herself.
"Yeah, yeah, we get it," Emily seethes, pulling her menu in front of her face. "You're the expert or whatever."
Tasmin lifts her knife. We all chuckle.
"Put down the knife, Tasmin," Lilli scolds. "No killing anyone tonight."
Lilli, you're absolutely right. No killing… tonight.
Charlie's stomach releases another loud growl, and he looks as if he's ready to order a seven-course meal.
"Damn. Can we order now? I'm going to die if I —"
"— Eat too much," Tasmin interrupts abruptly.
"Huh?" Charlie says. "No, I think I'll die if I don't eat enough," he corrects.
"Trust me, you don't want to eat too much. Which means… not stuffing yourself with smoked salmon as an entreé, not slurping down a massive bowl of spaghetti bolognese, and absolutely not ordering chocolate cake!"
"DANG. Tasmin, do you gotta ruin everything?" Emily insults, dropping back into the cushion of the couch. "That's exactly what I was gonna order!"
"Hey, if you're willing to face the consequences then go ahead," Tasmin warns.
"What consequences?" Charlie asks, clearly not convinced.
"Story time!" Lilli calls.
"When I was seven, I boarded my first cruise," Tasmin starts. "I had a big hot dog for dinner and chocolate cake afterwards on the first day. And guess what? I was throwing up for the rest of the night," and for some reason, she says that last part rather proudly.
We all sigh, but Lilli's pleased. "So, what do you suggest we eat?"
"Plain and minimal. Vegetables. Bread. Something that will settle the stomach."
"Well there goes my plans for tonight!" Charlie complains.
"Bow before her excellence," Lilli chokes out, laughing.
I smile at Tasmin, and she smiles back brightly. But you can't have light without a little darkness.