THE SHORTEST LONGEST FLIGHT EVER
Sorry about the mess,” Hila apologized over and over as I walked through their beautiful home nestled in the middle of dozens of fern trees. “Daelen takes everything out of the kitchen and throws it everywhere,” she explained.
“No problem. I’ve never liked homes that are so neat and tidy it looks like no one really lives there,” I assured her.
From the moment I entered, it was pure pandemonium, but in a good way. James and Hila’s six grandchildren—five of whom are under the age of six—are a handful. They took turns arguing over who would be able to play games on Aunt Nanua’s iPhone. They ran around, jumped up and down, and it was hopeless trying to get them to calm down. That was, until Hila said, “Okay, let’s get ready for dinner. Time to take our baths.” The kids knew baths came first, and dinner would follow.
After the children had eaten and were seated in front of the television, James, Hila, Hila’s sister and her husband, daughter Madeline, daughter Nanua, and sixteen-year-old granddaughter Stella sat around the table. James shared his favorite stories of my parents while we raved about how delicious and tender the curry chicken was and the delightful combination of flavors in the beef stew.
The small white potatoes Hila had prepared tasted like she’d added a heap of butter to the water, but I later found they were just naturally good because they were organic. And their kūmara, the Maori term for sweet potatoes, could be auctioned off to the highest bidder in the States, as they are perfectly sweetened and don’t require sage, butter, honey, or sugar of any kind. They are exquisite fresh from the ground.
We sat around the table, talking, until close to midnight, when the grandchildren began to make their presence known again. We’d tried to ignore the kids getting antsier and antsier in the adjacent room. Their insistence actuated us to wrap up our evening.
“We better put these guys to bed. They’re really sleepy,” Mel said as Daelen squirmed in her arms, almost in retaliation for being able to stay awake for so long. Hila walked us out to the car, and James took me back to the hotel. It was a perfect evening, especially because it ended the way most of my evenings away had ended, on the phone with Keith.
After sharing with him my wonderful evening with the Andersons, I timidly said, “Honey, I think I want to come home now.” I thought he might be a bit disappointed that my focus seemed to be waning. He’s accustomed to my resolve being strong as steel. I knew his words would encourage me to keep pushing through this final week of the journey. I’d made it nearly six weeks and had less than one left to go.
“Great! Come home now!” he exclaimed.
That wasn’t helpful.
“Honey, I need for you to be the strong one and to remind me of how important it is for me to complete this journey.”
“Okay, but I’d really like you to come home now.”
That was it. I only had one more country on that leg of my journey, and I had no desire to go. The moment we ended our call, I called the airline and asked if I could be routed directly from Auckland to Los Angeles. “Yes, I can make that change for you,” the reservation agent assured me, much to my delight. And just that quickly, the excitement and energy I’d felt leave my body when I unpacked for this eleventh time, returned in an instant.
I hung up the phone and sent a text message to Keith at two o’clock in the morning. “Honey, I’m coming home. I miss you too much.”
He texted back, “Yay—I love you! Ditto.”
I’d finally be heading home. But first I wanted to learn as much as I possibly could in my final country before returning stateside. I was excited to end my time in New Zealand with a bang because, all of a sudden, I had all the energy in the world.
Three happily married couples to interview, one dinner with an old friend, one “humu” to attend, and then the countdown to seeing my love would begin.