Where Sea Meets Sky(30)

And now, well, now I’m going on a road trip with her, her cousin I don’t know, and her fuck-face boyfriend. And why? Because I’m stubborn? Because I didn’t want to lose face in front of the turdburger?

Or because in some deep, terribly hopeful part of me, I feel like I still have a chance. Like I can win her over. Like it’s not over. I mean, I’m here aren’t I? That’s still something.

As if reading my mind, Tibald suddenly says, “Maybe she’ll change her mind.” The waitress comes over with our drinks and he stops her before she can leave. “Excuse me, miss?”

She gives us a tense smile. She has a million tables to wait on, the bar is full of backpackers and other riffraff, and she looks all kinds of exhausted. She can barely humor us.

“Yes?”

Tibald nods at me and I groan inwardly. “See this man here. He’s a good-looking guy, right?”

The waitress looks at me and smiles. It’s genuine. At least she thinks I’m mildly fuckable. “Mmmhmm.”

“Well,” Tibald goes on, “he’s come all the way to New Zealand for a girl. He meets with her and then she invites him on a road trip to the South Island. He agrees, naturally, and then she adds that her boyfriend, whom he did not know about, will be coming with them. Now, in your wonderful opinion, does he still have a chance with her?”

She frowns in thought and taps her tray against her thigh. “I don’t know,” she muses. She looks at me. “Were you always good friends?”

I clear my throat. “We had a one-night stand, just before she came back here.”

Her eyes widen and she looks a little less tired. “Oh. You came all the way here after a one-night stand? She must have been a good shag.”

I’m not amused but Tibald takes the reins. “So,” he quickly says, “do you think he has a shot with her? I mean, you wouldn’t invite a guy you shagged along on vacation with you and your boyfriend unless there was a chance that you’d hook up again.”

She sighs and notices a table waving her over. “I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe she just wants to have her cake and eat it, too.” Then she leaves, scurrying off into the crowd.

“Great help,” I tell Tibald.

“Why would you have cake and not eat it?” Schnell asks, seeming seriously puzzled.

As I drain my new beer, the rest of the conversation goes to their bike trip, which starts tomorrow, a day before I go off with Gemma and her crew. I don’t know our route at all, but I already made tentative plans to meet up with the Germans, if possible. We’ll at least stay in touch by text and e-mail.

I’m going to miss these weirdos, that’s for sure. Ever since I saw Gemma, I’d been spending the days with them, taking in all of Auckland’s sights. We went hiking on Rangitoto, went up the Sky Tower, took a ferry to Devonport, got thrown out of a strip club, and visited the Auckland War Museum. They kept me busy and my mind off of her. I think they thought at some point I’d give up on the whole trip and just join their bike tour.

But not only would I be unable to bike more than thirty kilometers a day without dying, the truth was I just didn’t want to back down. So what if Gemma had a boyfriend—we had only been a one-night stand. She didn’t owe me anything and I didn’t owe her anything. I liked her company, plain and simple, and I could push past this. Perhaps Nick the Dick was right and I’d hit it off with her cousin. For whatever reason, I just didn’t want to miss any more opportunities in life.



When Wednesday morning at eight thirty a.m. rolls around, I’m standing outside of the backpackers and waiting for Gemma to arrive. My backpack is even heavier now, thanks to the extra summer clothes I’d bought, and I’m zonked from lack of sleep. I was tossing and turning all night, worried my alarm wouldn’t go off, and my new roommates, a bunch of Israeli guys, were bigger party animals than the Germans were.

It’s a workday, so the streets are busy with people heading to their jobs. The sun is just slicing over the tops of the buildings and the air is sea-fresh. I like Auckland—it feels like home. But just like home, I’m ready to leave. I want to leave the concrete jungle behind and step into the unknown again.

Suddenly my ears ring with the deep rumble of an old engine, and the unknown pulls to a stop in front of me. It’s a bright orange, vintage VW bus, and the driver is smiling at me.

It’s the most beautiful sight.

Gemma jumps out of the driver’s seat and for a moment I think she’s going to come over to hug me but she slides open the side door and gestures to it. “You ready?”