“They’re just yards away,” Avani says. “We should see them in no time. And hopefully a baby.”

The gurgles change to more of a steady, thumping beat. As the whale’s calls play around us, I feel a warm wave start in my toes and sweep through my body. It’s the feeling of magic. Mer magic, working even here on this junk barge, translating the mother’s words to their calf.

Come along, little one. That’s it. You’re doing fine.

“There’s a baby,” I say.

Sean hops over to the side of the boat and scans the ocean. “I can’t see them. Can you see them?”

With each new call of the whale, my insides feel more and more settled. My heart feels like it could burst. I stand up and look out into the ocean, pointing in the direction where I know they’re swimming.

“They’ll come up right there,” I say, and everyone follows my finger. Then in three, two, one . . .

WHOOOOOOOSH!

The whale surfaces, a huge foamy spray bursting from their blowhole. Their deep gray back pokes above the water, patches of white barnacles flashing in the sun. And then just behind them, a smaller jet of foam shoots through the air.

Sean stands next to me and wraps his arm around my waist, his hand resting at the top of my hip. “You were right.”

The weight of Sean’s hand feels so familiar. This moment is so similar to being back home, watching a whale and their calf in the Pacific, gently brushing tails with my friends, letting each other know we were together, connected, having a shared experience. Sean has no idea how perfect this day is for me. It’s the recharge I need. The reminder of where I’m from, the reminder of who I am and where I’m supposed to be. No matter how disorienting it can be up here, from carsickness and seasickness to wondering why the Blue would let my body react so strongly to Sean, I know it’s going to be okay. I know I’m going to come back here. I know this is where I’m going to end up.

I glance up at the sky, the tiny sliver of moon a pale white barely visible in the day. It’s my favorite part of the moon, that it can be seen even when the sun’s out, that it’s always watching over me. Now it’s a reminder I’m nearly halfway through the Journey. Two weeks and a day to go until I’m back home, swimming alongside these whales instead of hovering over them on a boat. I can’t wait for that moment, but I also know there are still things I want to try while I’m up here.