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Posted: 21 Oct 2011 06:25 AM PDT

Love and Travel Week

This is the last post in our series for Love and Travel week on Almost Fearless.

It’s an excerpt from Swept: Love with a Chance of Drowning—a true story about how one girl confronted her deepest fears for love by jumping aboard a leaky sailboat for the adventure of a lifetime …

San Francisco

Fifteen of us sit around the table dipping crusty bread into bowls of home-cooked bœuf à la bourguignonne prepared from scratch by my housemate, who is dating a Frenchman.

I snatch up the first available silent moment to brag about the man at my side. "Ivan is planning to sail around the world next year," I say, getting a thrill out of the impressed nods that circle the table, as though I, somehow, am bold and adventurous simply for dating the guy.

Questions start firing and Ivan becomes a mini-celebrity.

"What kind of boat do you have?"

"A Valiant," he replies.

"How big?"

"Thirty-two feet."

"Are you scared of storms?"

"No, I was in bad weather coming down the coast once. I got a chance to test my boat out; she handled it beautifully."

"Are you going alone?"

"No. Torre will come with me."

The room turns silent. Somebody coughs and a spoon falls loudly onto a plate—mine. The entire dinner party glares at me, silent and excited as they await my response.

I shoot Ivan a confused glare: You can't be serious?

The look on his face is deadpan: serious.

My smile drops. I feel my cheeks burn with a blend of embarrassment and anger. What the hell is with this guy? I guess he wasn't listening when I explicitly told him that I'm scared of the ocean, yet he's taken it upon himself to decide that I'm going with him on a tiny boat into the dark, sharky depths of the Pacific Ocean?

I stare him in the eyes while I deliver my firm reply. "Ivan. That. Will. Never. Happen."

In the car on the way home, I'm livid. "Make whatever public broadcasts you want," I say, "but there's no way I'd do something like that with you, Ivan." The nerve of this guy, declaring I will go with him as a statement of fact: the Earth is round; birds lay eggs; Torre will sail oceans with me.

We're driving over the Golden Gate on our way back into the city. I look down at the black mass of water beneath the bridge and it fuels my fire. "I mean, why did you say that?"

"I don't know, the idea just came and I—"

"Let me guess, you're going into the lonely ocean and you'll take the first piece of ass that comes along for company, huh?"

"That's unfair. I've been planning to solo sail this whole time. Don't forget that you approached me in the bar and—"

"I wasn't kidding about being afraid of the ocean, Ivan. It terrifies me."

"I understand, but … maybe one day soon you'll let me take you to Catalina. It's an incredible place and I promise I'll keep you safe."

"But I won't even swim at the beach! We talked about this on our second date! I've never mislead you on that."

"Yes," he says, rubbing his warm palm on my knee. "I just … I want to take you to beautiful places, that's all. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel embarrassed in front of your friends, or pressured or anything, okay? I really like you, Torre. I don't even know what I was thinking. Sorry. Please forgive me."

His apology softens my temper, but fails to soothe my panic over where this relationship is headed. I don't know what to do, but continuing with him seems reckless. What was intended to be a fun fling has already grown intense.

"What's the point of this?" I ask.

"Of what?"

"Of us seeing each other?"

I see his face lose color, even in the dark car interior.

"I don't understand," he says.

"You're leaving soon. Why are we doing this?"

"Why? Are you kidding me? So what if I'm leaving. Don't make decisions for the future like that. You never know what will happen."

"I know what will happen. You'll leave for the ocean and I'll go home to Australia. We should get real about this. It's dangerous to keep this going."

He scoffs at me. "Dangerous? How is it dangerous?"

"Think about it. It'll only get harder the more time we spend together. Can we just … make this easy? Let's just—"

"Why can't we just live for now?" he interrupts. "As long as we're having fun, that's all that matters, isn't it? What's the point of taking something awesome and turning it into a practical decision? I haven't known you long but it feels like … I don't know … long enough to know that I adore you. You're so incredible, Torre, so intelligent and talented and beautiful. I don't just mean you look beautiful but everything about you is … I just, I never thought I'd meet anyone like you. Please. I don't want to end this just because it's impractical. The best things in life are never practical. Why can't we just do what makes us feel good in this moment now?"

The promise I made to my family feels like it's in grave danger, and I'm flooded with terrible guilt. A painful lump forms in my throat when I remember my going-away party. I hugged my five sisters, my parents, and all eight of my nephews and nieces, but the seven-year-old—my closest nephew—clung tight and wouldn't let go. His tears wet my shoulder as he told me not to leave.

"Ivan," I say, swallowing the pain in my throat. "I have to go home at the end of the year. I made promises to people."

"Do what you have to do, Torre. Just don't forget that life is about making yourself happy too."
I unfold my arms and watch out the window, struck mute by his words. There's only one thing I know for sure any more: when I'm with Ivan I'm both terrified and exhilarated to the core of my being.

"So," he says, breaking the silence, "am I dropping you off at your place? Or … or will you come home with me?"

This is it, Torre. Be sensible. Sever the relationship now. Sleep in your own bed. Make it easy on everyone.

"Your place," I hear myself say.

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