Sunk Cost Fallacy

In the morning, Talei signs, Are you okay? I tell her I’m fine. She accepts that and doesn’t bring it up again, for which I’m eternally thankful. No need to discuss my middle-of-the-night screaming fit that woke up half the village. It’s wet out and a storm hangs over the mountain in a ragged shawl. There’s a dead mongoose in the center of the rara. A couple of kids poke at it with a stick. I find red soil under my fingernails. My chest is sore from crying. But I'm alive. Fully present.

Talei’s mom left boiled cassava with coconut milk for us on the porch. It’s insanely good; I’d put it up against any Michelin Star custard. Talei gets some on her shirt. The way her eyes shift from sleepy to amused makes me ache in my bones. I wish I could hear the reggae she’s playing on the stereo. We tried dancing once and only succeeded in bumping elbows.

Let me make you something for your birthday. The afternoon belongs to the kitchen. Roasted breadfruit seasoned with vanilla salt. But it’s insufficient. I want to make her something she’ll never forget. I need to go to the market, I tell her. She says she’s going too and starts changing out of her shirt in front of me. I’m overcome by a tropical heat that would put the bongo chilli pepper to shame. The women here are all super religious, but Talei is not -- much to her mother's chagrin. She works with the Fiji Women’s Crisis Center. Sees me as safe. Which I take to be a compliment.

In the car, she squeezes my hand to let me know we’ve arrived. Caught me drifting away with the pastels of the local architecture, its iconography blended with advertisement. I was always a visual person. Now I have to be. The market is bustling and her palm is sweaty but I’d be helpless without her among the blankets of pineapple and coconut and ginger. I’m not a fan of how the fishmonger’s gaze lingers over her body. After we purchase two of his freshest tavioka, when Talei's not looking, I give him the finger. Based on his smug expression, it's universally understood.

Do you have any green mangos in your yard? I sign at Talei. But she’s not getting the word green from my G-shape and wrist flick. It doesn’t matter; limes will do. I'm fussing over the pile when I catch a whiff of something familiar. Smoky, expensive. Creed Aventus cologne. Prefered scent of William Jackson-Bloom. I peer around until I find him and his entourage by a handicraft stall. My heart sinks into my toes.

He’s wearing a linen shirt and a panama hat because of course he is. Talking so hard at a cameraman that his jugular stands out on his sunburned neck.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots me. It's a rivet popping loose from a hull. A storm cloud turning a darker shade of gray. I can read his lips but wish I couldn’t -- Nick? Oh my God. You’re alive! He marches up to me and grabs me by the shoulders, rips me out of Talei's grasp into a hug that crushes my ribs. More words echo in his chest. I peel away and point at my ears.

"Burst from the pressure," I say out loud. The words scorch the roof of my mouth.

His face is ashen. A master of performative empathy. Reptilian hazel eyes slide in the direction of my girlfriend. "I'm William. Nick's old boss. Afraid I didn't catch your name, Miss...?"

She introduces herself and says of course she knows who he is. Not because I told her anything; he's just that famous. I might throw up on his loafers.

"I owe my life to your man here. I'm sure he told you all about it." Before she can answer he has his guy stick a camera in our faces. Sidles up like a game show host presenting the winning couple. The rapid-fire exchange between him and his crew is too quick for me to read, but if experience is any indicator, he's seizing control. Delegating before anyone can object. I can tell by the flush of Talei's cheeks -- he's disarmed her with a compliment. Co-opted her birthday dinner for a joint celebration of life.

"We'll think about it, okay?" I say in what I hope is a flat tone. I take Talei by the arm and start to extract her, but she battles me. I don't make a habit of forcing her to do things. Her sign nearly capsizes me entirely.

Don't be rude.

*

It starts with flickering red lights. Deep groans of straining metal. The clank of the containment chamber door. My oxygen tank, the last one onboard that's still functional. The sheer animal panic on William's face, all his wealth and assets and achievements made meaningless with a single wave of his hand, a simple miscalculation. That's all. Just a little more than she could handle. He did buy it used. Should've sprung for a new one.

When I tell him to take the tank, it isn't gratitude that fills his eyes -- it's resentment. Nevermind that I warned him about using up his O2 while scuba diving. Nevermind that he took the sub into the trench despite my repeated objections. Now I get to die a hero's death, and he'll be forced to feign appreciation over it. Forever. How dare I saddle him with such an albatross of feelings.

He stands in the chamber and the mouth-read is unmistakable: "No fucking DUH, pal."

Then his trail of bubbles dissipates into the dark. A loud bang as the sub rolls. Pressure that builds and builds and builds -- unimaginable pulverizing weight -- until it spikes and shoves two agonizing blades into both sides of my skull.

That's usually when I start to scream.

*

The intimate dinner I'd planned is now an Americanized magiti spectacle. Instead of Talei's dining room, William somehow wrangled the chief into letting us use the vale levu communal house, with me slaving away in the back. Probably by offering several pallets of kava instead of the usual single bag.

His crew strung up fairy lights and lit overpriced candles. Set out table cloths and chairs. Replaced the traditional bamboo platters with plates and flatware. Invited the whole village. Two fish has turned into twenty. One bottle of rum is now four cases. This is what he does. Scales everything up and ignores the sweat, blood, and tears it costs to meet the demand.

Somehow, I make it work. While the tavioka cubes are curing in ceramic bowls of lime juice, I dice the onions, cucumber, and cherry tomatoes like a machine. I get a village kid to fetch some pawpaws from the grove to julienne for a tart counterpoint to the coconut cream. The finishing touch is grated ginger from Talei's mom's garden, fresher than anything available at the market.

While the chief leads everyone in prayer, Talei steals a glance at me and smirks. This looks beautiful.

Almost as beautiful as you. Happy Birthday.

Her smile loses a few watts when she recognizes my distress. She squeezes at me and I do my best to reassure her, but all I can smell is that fucking Creed Aventus. All I can see is William's sterile grin of veneers as he lights up the chief with another bullshit anecdote. Once everyone's had their kava and their plates are full and waiting, he gets to his feet.

"Allow me to take a moment to express my deepest heartfelt thanks to this community. Not only for welcoming me and my crew with open arms, but for taking such excellent care of Nick, our brilliant chef.

"As many of you may know, seven months ago Nick and I chartered a submarine to the depths of the Somosomo Strait. When we reached the Great White Wall, he warned me that going into the trench would be dangerous, but of course I didn't listen. I ended up running us into a cliff, and the sub suffered a catastrophic leak."

William presses his lips together firmly. Nods as if admonishing his past self. I have to bite back a scoff of laughter at the pair of crocodile tears creasing his crow's feet.

"I was a victim of my own hubris. But Nick insisted I take the last oxygen tank and swim to the surface, leaving him alone on a sinking vessel. At a depth I believed at the time would be fatal."

Every eyeball on the room lands on me. Not the first time I've considered my deafness a blessing. I let them watch me enjoy the kokoda as if blissfully unaware.

"Every second since that terrible moment, I've given my thanks to God for sparing me. To Nick for his selfless sacrifice, for which I am truly not worthy."

That part's true, I flash at Talei. She furrows her brow.

"That's why we came here. To launch a reef restoration project in Nick's honor. Imagine my surprise -- my utter astonishment -- to find him still alive in Nadi market! When I tell you my heart just about fell out of my chest...! God works in mysterious ways, doesn't he?"

When William's gaze falls on me, he lets the mask slip. Just a fraction. Just enough for me to glimpse what lies underneath, his lip curling into a subtle sneer. Then it's gone. He raises his glass.

"In our culture, we say cheers. So here's to Nick Andrews, my savior. And his lovely better half on her special day."

The village raises their glasses to say it with him. Their unified voices vibrate in my teeth. "Cheers!"

My chair scrapes the concrete floor as I eject out of it and run for the safety of the kitchen.

*

I don't understand why you're so upset.

He's not what you think. Trust me.

There's a tennis match underway in Talei's mind. Seeing it makes me angry. Makes me want to stick my head in the lovo earth oven. Why didn't you tell me that's what happened?

I shake my head. Because when I met you, you accepted me as I am. Not as the projection.

It takes her a moment to piece together the word for projection, but when it lands, I think she might cry. Your past is part of you. It's what made you the amazing man you are today.

I shake my head again. Turn away from her. Emotions suspended in silence seem bigger somehow, more dramatic. I feel her soft touch at my shoulder but I can't let her in. Not all the way. If I do, my knees will buckle and I'll start to howl and I'll probably never stop. Won't even know the volume.

Nick...She doesn't sign it. I feel her speak directly through my back. Still, I'm cold. At the bottom of the ocean. So he's a liar. You're not, and you don't have to be. She forces me to turn and look at her, but for some reason I can't. I stare at her hands. Her elegant fingers. I know a bribe when I see one. Wasn't born yesterday. That makes me chuckle because I taught her that phrase. But then-- Does it matter so much? It's still a good thing to help the reef. "And he's donating a huge amount to the crisis center. That's more important than us."

I know what she means. And she's probably right. So why am I seeing someone totally different in front of me. As though all her folksy wisdom and humble Viti Levu charm is just...lack of exposure to the world at large. More important than us?

That's not what I'm-- I grab her hands to stop her signing. Can't take anymore. She makes sure I can read her lips. "Come back to dinner. Nana brought her granita for dessert."

I pull her in for a kiss. There's something wrong with it. No electricity. No oxygen left. Our faces pull apart and I can tell she felt it, too. A gap.

I try to hold her there. Keep her with me until we cross the divide. Until we float to the surface. But she's pulling away, lured by sounds I'll never again get to experience: laughter, music, the tinkle of ice cubes. People enjoying my cooking. Someone calls her name. The chief, her mother, William. It doesn't matter.

I let her go.

*

The night is a damp cloth. Even the flames of the tiki torches look wet. No one saw me go out the back door.

There's no one in Talei's house, or in my bure in the backyard. Packing takes no time at all because I only have a few outfits, some camping gear, and one dog-eared Fijian field guide. In Talei's shed is a beat-to-hell scooter that takes a dozen kicks to get started. I leave a few hundred dollars on the shelf.

Halfway around the cassava fields, I get spotted by William's personal bodyguard. He says something into his radio. I gun it for Nausori Highlands Road, spraying red mud from the back tire. Operating entirely by feel, by the grace of the scooter's one dingy headlight. Riverland breaks into urban decay street corners and low-rise apartments. The jungle presses in with palm fronds that beat at my legs until the road bleeds into a winding mountain pass full of potholes, only partially paved. Then the panorama of the Koromba Mountains.

On a ridge overlooking the Pacific, the scooter runs out of gas. I dump it, curse myself for forgetting such a crucial detail. Should've brought a fuel can. Within minutes, a pair of ATV headlights blaze around the corner. William and his bodyguard.

He hops out with a face redder than volcanic soil. Shouts things at me I can't understand. I point at my ears again to remind his dumb ass. He grabs a notebook out of his leather satchel and scribbles furiously. Holds it up for me to see. WTF?

All I offer is a shrug.

He writes again, You really hate me that much?

That one gets no response at all, at first. His bodyguard wears shades at night like an idiot. Image over utility, always. I sign at William, It's not all about you.

His turn to shrug. "I don't know ASL."

I nod at him. Click on my headlamp and shine the beam in his eyes. Make him squint.

"No fucking DUH, pal."

I cross the road and disappear into the jungle.