The Shippers(28)

Harmony went on: “And since pretty much everything about the cruise industry is pure evil, from the sewage they dump into the ocean, to the way they exploit their workers, to the chances of all of us getting murdered—which are like fifty percent—I am not thrilled to be here, at all, and I’ll be putting that lei to use as much as possible to console myself.”

“The chances of us all getting murdered are fifty percent?” Cooper asked.

Just as I asked, “Why did you RSVP yes, then?”

Between the two questions, Harmony chose mine. “For the gambling,” she answered.

I nodded, like Huh.

“The point is,” Harmony went on, “you’ll be seeing this lei a lot. Get it? Because I’ll be getting lei’d.”

“Got it,” Cooper and I said at the same time.

“You’re welcome to use it, too,” Harmony said.

“Thank you?” I said.

Just then, the man in the room walked up behind her.

“Who’s your friend?” I asked.

“Oh,” Harmony said, turning to squint at him like that was a good question. Then, going on vibes, she said, “Kevin?”

But the guy shook his head. “Kyle.”

Then there was a funny silence while Harmony and Kyle turned back to stare us down—until we realized they expected us to leave now.

“Oh-kay!” I finally said, all singsongishly cheerful, like we’d just wrapped up a productive meeting. “I guess we’ll just let you two … get back after it, then. And I’ll circle back around on that lei situation a little bit later.” I started to turn but then asked, “Can I leave my suitcase?”

Harmony wrinkled her nose. “Now’s not a great time.”

“Got it,” I said.

Then Harmony gave me a thumbs-up.

And slammed the door.



* * *



GREAT NEWS. COOPER had a single.

But we had to go up five floors to get there. From steerage, as they would say on the Titanic, to accommodations much more befitting an aristocrat in a tweed vest.

Except an aristocrat would have taken the elevator … and we took the stairs.

At the base of the first flight, rolling my giant suitcase behind me, I stopped and looked up, like Nope.

But Cooper just turned back, grabbed the suitcase for me, and kept going.

And so, after standing still for a minute in protest, I followed—making sure to vigorously clomp the clompy platform sandals that Ashley had insisted I wear for my “silhouette.”

“They invented these things called elevators,” I called after Cooper as we hit the next level.

“I don’t love elevators,” Cooper called back, not slowing.

“Is it the ease, or the convenience?”

“This is better for your body,” Cooper insisted.

“Define better.”

By flight three, I had kicked off my shoes. By flight four, I was breathing hard. And by the time we reached Cooper’s floor, as I thought about how much more fun Harmony—of all people—was having at this moment than I was? Actively cranky.

“So now I’ve met Harmony,” Cooper said as we paused at his door.

I nodded. “My whole family calls her Grumpy Cat.”

“She wasn’t scowling today.”

I bent forward and rested my hands on my knees to catch my breath.

“What does she do for a living?” Cooper asked next.

“I have no idea,” I said. “All I know is nobody likes her.”

“You should room with me instead,” Cooper said.

Yeah—that wasn’t happening. “Why are we even up here?” I asked. “You’re not with the wedding block?”

“I need a balcony,” Cooper said.

“A balcony?” My room with Harmony didn’t even have a window.

“Yeah,” Cooper said as he touched his key to his lei-less door.

He opened it and gestured me through—and I wasn’t five steps in before I was overcome with envy.

I hadn’t seen much in those panicked seconds when I’d entered my own cabin just now, but I’d seen enough to know it was—again: windowless. And also about the size of a jail cell.

This place, on the other hand, was a stateroom for dignitaries.

I positively leered at it. It had a double bed, with sconces, a patterned carpet, ambient lighting, and a full wall of sliding glass doors that opened onto a luxurious balcony overlooking the harbor.

Plus a champagne bottle chilling on ice with two glasses on the bedside table. Not even kidding.

“You ‘needed’ this room?” I asked, walking to open the balcony door.

“Yes,” Cooper said, following me.

We stepped out onto the balcony and looked down at the harbor below.

“Define ‘needed,’” I said.

“I have a condition where I need two exit points at all times.”

“You mean your claustrophobia?” I asked.

“I don’t have claustrophobia,” Cooper said.

“Yes, you do.” Our whole neighborhood knew that.

“I have cleithrophobia,” Cooper said. “Which is not the same thing.”

“What is it, then?”