Free All At Sea by Pepper Ellison

She’s ordered leis for all of us and a small bouquet for herself. Do you want to be a last-minute bridesmaid? Hahaha. No, really do you? I smiled and nodded because I didn’t know what else to say to her. She wants to go dress shopping. For me, not herself. Hers is picked out already. She’s keeping it beachy and simple. 
    I feel like a terrible person for knowing more about her circumstances that she does. I grow more and more pissed at you for putting me in this position. I asked if she’d talked to you but she says you’re probably catching up with friends, excited to be back home, eating lamingtons and letting your mum dote on you.
    She’s a really sweet girl and she really, really loves you. Each hour you go without calling her, the worse it’s going to be for everyone.
    I’m sorry I called her a poodle. To be fair, you called me a pooch first.
     
     
    Wednesday 12 th March 9.06pm
    —Waikiki Yacht Club—
    It’s night and I’m sitting out on the deck with your dead phone in my pocket. I’m drinking one of those beers you like, that Fat Yak. I’m sipping at it and trying to acquire a taste, figure out what you like about it. I don’t think it’s working, though. I figure I’m a wine cooler type drinker and should just embrace it now.
    I bought some wax for the board. I watched a Youtube tutorial on surfboard care. You never covered that in lessons. It’s a real beaut. Did you name it? Does this baby have a name? I’ll try to think of a cool one.
    I should have given your phone to Fiona or Lachie by now but I haven’t. Maybe I’ll lock it in the onboard safe. I won’t have to look at it that way, but I’ll still know where it is. Maybe I’ll put one of the bead necklaces I’ve made in there, too. If the boat sinks it’ll be like Titanic. Future scientists will look at your phone and hold up the necklace and ooh and ahh. They’ll make up a cinematic, gut-wrenching tale about us.
     
     
    Wednesday 12 th March 9.38pm
    —Waikiki Yacht Club—
    Two Fat Yaks down the hatch. I’m starting to get drunk again. Drunk and pissed and sad.
     
     
    Wednesday 12 th March 10.15pm
    —Waikiki Yacht Club—
    Well that’s the end of the end of the cell phone dilemma. I just chucked it into the harbor.
     
     
    Thursday 13 th March 2.13am
    —Waikiki Yacht Club—
    Sometimes I thought you liked me for me. But I think you think I float around in a bubble of champagne. You’d always circle back to it when we argued, dig at it like a scab. The fucken cruise ship I live on. I picture you picturing me barking orders to a worn-out woman in a moth-eaten dress. “Boil me a pot of Earl Grey! You’re not moving fast enough! It’s so hard to find good help these days!”
    I’m not like that just so you know. How we live is not like that.
    Lachie’s never said a word to me about it. You’re definitely wrong about him, I think. He doesn’t act like he cares one way or the other about the money. But according to you, the money is all that there is for him to like about me. 
     
     
    Thursday 13 th March 3.04pm
    —Fitness Center at Waikiki Yacht Club—
    I don’t know why I continue to write you. Clearly there is no one listening. I guess this is a journal-to-nowhere now. Whatevs. It’s better than painting my nails, I guess. Or stringing bead necklaces. Or Xtreme Zumba.
     
     
    Thursday 13 th March 6.20pm
    —North Shore Youth Hostel—
    So you want to know about me? No, actually you don’t. You made up a story in your head about Amelia Beauchamp from the beginning. One that made you more comfortable and sure of things. You never asked me anything about myself. Not really. I told you that I like art and books and you never asked me about it once. I asked you a million questions and you asked me none.
     
     
    Thursday 13 th March 6.28pm
    —Honolulu International Airport—
    Hi. It’s Kody. I’m back. I just bought this phone ten minutes ago. I haven’t read any of the messages. I will. Soon.
    I’m going