Page 17 of Ship Happens

Not for his parents. Not for Jacob.

And now, not even for his best friends.

Maybe he’s being dramatic, but he also knows he’s not wrong. Kaitlyn and Abigail will have different priorities now. When Hailey and Ravi were pregnant, Owen went weeks without seeing either of them. He hates how badly he’s let this affect him, and he feels bad for feeling bad. Two years ago, Jacob would’ve pulled him close, his arms tight around Owen’s body, forcing Owen to match his breathing as he talked him through the feelings.

Now the bed feels cold, empty, Jacob’s distant snoring in the living room only making the memory worse.

Owen picks up his iPad again, but not even drawing can distract him, and after a few attempts at working on a piece for an appointment, he closes Procreate, pulling up the cruise line’s website.

Pacific Coast Cruises sports routes and stops all over the West Coast. From Chile and Peru, all the way up to Costa Rica, Guatemala, Mexico, and then north to California, Washington, and finally Alaska.

An Alaskan cruise in December. No wonder Kaitlyn and Abigail could afford these tickets.

When Owen finds their particular voyage, he reads through the lists of activities the ship offers, the amenities, excursion plans for when and where they dock. The ship boasts two movie theaters, twelve pools, six saunas, a roller coaster, a go-kart track, nearly a hundred bars and restaurants. And they’ll be hundreds of miles from shore, stuck in a huge metal thing that’s somehow managing to stay afloat.

What if there’s a storm? Can’t cruise ships flip over? What if they’re stuck in the middle of the ocean, and they have to wait for the Coast Guard to come and rescue them? Or there could be some sort of E. coli outbreak or mass food poisoning that gets so bad they’ll never be allowed into port again and have to live the rest of their lives on a boat!

Jacob would tell him that he’s being overdramatic.

And he’d be correct. But that knowledge changes nothing about Owen’s distaste for traveling. He likes being home, he likes having his routine, he likes going to the places that he likes.

Owen stops himself from googling “odds of cruise ship capsizing,” letting out a deep sigh and tossing his iPad to the foot of the bed. Slipping into sweatpants and a hoodie, Owen grabs his keys, a small blue box from his nightstand, and his orange Bic lighter before he slips out the front door and into the cool December night. Planting himself on the landing of the building, Owen pulls a pre-roll out with his teeth, cupping his hand over the end to light it.

His weed usage comes up every time he goes in for an appointment with Dr. Brooks. Over the years, some of his doctors have suggested that he stop due to the increased chance of cancer or liver problems thanks to his biologics. Others almost encouraged it as some sort of “alternative medicine,” no matter how badly it could affect Owen’s mental health.

Dr. Brooks’s current philosophy is: if it helps Owen feel better, then it helps him feel better. Though she’d prefer he didn’t smoke, she also knows how to pick her battles.

“Of course there are risks,” she’d told him over her clipboard. “Just like how there are risks with everything. You work around blood all day, that’s a risk. You live in a state ravaged by wildfires yearly. That’s a risk too.” Her words came without any real judgment behind them.

Now his posture, on the other hand? A different story.

Though right now it’s less about the pain, and more about the oral fixation. Owen inhales the smoke from the joint, holding it there for a second before he slowly releases it through his nose. He waits for the relief to come after a few hits, but the high arrives as a numbness more than anything else.

It reminds Owen of the night of the breakup, when Jacob told Owen that he had to take the job, that the paperwork for his visa was already underway.

When Owen thought of his future, of building a home together with someone, it was only Jacob that he could picture. When he thought about Saturday mornings at the farmers market on Clement, taking a break from the sun by walking through the shelves of Green Apple Books, it was with Jacob. Late nights in the kitchen, the only light on the one above the oven, making dinner or baking something sweet to satisfy a craving, it was Jacob that Owen wanted hovering nearby, perfectly in the way at every turn, sticking around to tease Owen over every little thing.

Always Jacob.

Owen huffs, blowing out smoke again before he presses his wrist to his forehead. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?” The voice behind Owen makes him jump for the second time that night. Kaitlyn bounces down the steps until she’s standing on the sidewalk in front of Owen, bundled up in one of Abigail’s oversized hoodies with a jacket on top of it. “Or are you looking for an actual answer?”

“Rhetorical,” Owen replies in a monotone voice. “What are you doing awake?”

There’s no doubting that Kaitlyn and Jacob are siblings. There’s the same golden tone to their skin, same thick black hair, same hazel eyes and strong jaw, long straight nose. They even both have a beauty mark on the left side of their faces: Kaitlyn’s above her lip, Jacob’s underneath his eye.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Kaitlyn stomps back and forth dramatically. “And I could practically hear you thinking in the next room. Then I heard the door open and figured it was you since Jacob is still snoring.”

“Hmm . . .” Owen takes another drag from the joint.

“You said you were sticking to edibles.”

“I only smoke socially now,” Owen half jokes.

“And this is a social setting?” Kaitlyn glances around playfully.

“Anh’s here,” Owen tells her, motioning to the hilariously giant Something Wrong? Call Anh Phoong! billboard that was put up months ago. “So, how are you feeling?” Owen asks her, mostly because he’s genuinely curious, but also because he’d love to avoid becoming the topic of conversation.