I slid off the mattress towards the kitchen. I poured some orange juice into what was left of the bottle of dark, Jamaican rum we’d stocked up on in...the Caribbean. I swished it around and took a long drink. It made me feel like sugar. I wrapped myself in the midnight blue silk kimono you bought for me at the last port, put on my giant Prada sunglasses, and climbed up towards the boat deck, drink in hand. There you were. You were on the deck busily packing up for our shore excursion that day. I. We ate one more in a long series of quiet meals. It suddenly occurred to me that our family didn’t talk much. I hadn’t realized it before. My parents didn’t ever fight, but they hardly talked either. They were never affectionate, at least not when I was looking, and they didn’t talk unless one of them had a question about something. They didn’t discuss the news, politics or religion, or gossip about friends, relatives or neighbors. I didn’t even know if they were Democrats or Republicans! It. More

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