Mirissa

“The difference between a Miracle and a Fact is exactly the difference between a mermaid and a seal.”

—Mark Twain

Chapter 7

MARTY

Airports are the great equalizer. Every country, wealthy or otherwise, has one. You can be in Frankfurt Airport or Kuwait Airport, New York’s JFK or Peru’s Jorge Chávez, Paris’ Charles de Gaulle or Moscow’s Domodedovo, and they’re all the same: clean, organized, modern.

Bandaranaike International Airport was no different. The Uber ride through the beat up, sometimes slummy streets of Colombo spoke to the country’s poverty. But you wouldn’t know that inside Bandaranaike. Stepping through the automatic glass doors, Marty could have been anywhere in the world.

He made his way to the Cinnamon Air ticket counters where he’d agreed to meet Jacky. Dressed in khaki shorts, a green blouse, and stacked sandals, she stood with her suitcase at the entrance to the check-in queue.

She saw him approach and smiled. “Good morning, Marty.”

“We’re almost twins,” he said, glancing down at his khaki pants and lime-green golf shirt.

“Except my clothes aren’t from The Gap.”

“Actually, they’re from a Nike store.”

“Nike sells khakis?”

“They’re golf pants—”

Jacky’s eyes widened. “Rad!”

Marty turned to see Radhika clad in a wide-brimmed straw hat and sunglasses. She was hurrying toward them, all smiles and waves. “Surprise, fans!” she greeted, throwing her arms wide and hugging Jacky. She tapped her cheek with a finger, and Marty planted an obligatory kiss there.

He immediately asked, “What the hell are you doing here, Rad?”

“I’m coming with you! I wasn’t planning to. But I was up early, had nothing to do—I’m not filming again until next month—and decided this could be quite the adventure, after all. So I bought a ticket online and here I am!”

“I’m happy you’re here,” Jacky said.

“Marty doesn’t look happy. Marty—can’t you at least pretend you’re happy to see me?”

“I don’t like surprises. And what’s with the shirt?”

She was wearing a fitted pink tee-shirt emblazoned with the black silhouette of Bigfoot.

“I wanted to get into the spirit of things, but I didn’t have anything mermaidish, so I figured this would do. You don’t like it?”

“It’s not condescending at all.”

“It’s fun, Marty. Live a little.” The head of a tiny Pomeranian emerged from a rattan beach bag that was slung over her shoulder. It yapped happily.

“You brought a dog?”

“Yes, I did,” she said in baby-talk while kissing the Pomeranian between its fluffy ears. It licked her cheek affectionately. “My baby goes everywhere with me. Don’t you, Marty? Yes, you do.”

Marty frowned. “Who are you talking to?”

“My dog.”

“His name’s Marty?”

“So?”

“You named your dog after me?”

Rad laughed. “You and your ego! I’ve had Marty since he was a pup, long before I met you. Don’t you remember? When we met, and you introduced yourself, I told you that my dog’s name is Marty too. I named him after Martin Sheen. The Subject Was Roses is one of my all-time favorite movies.”