From Kati's perspective...

The events of January 4th, 2022, and the many events to follow, were precipitated by, as most serendipitous events in life tend to be, a series of specific steps which possessed no obvious connection beforehand until meaning was forced upon them by significance itself, which tends to appear, as most meaning in life does, in the form of invaluable people. The first few steps were as follows: 

1. In December of the year prior, my father miraculously survived an 8-vehicle accident unscathed.

2. My mother felt sick during the cruise and went to bed early along with the rest of my family.

3. I had a black dress, a clear schedule, and a dad doggedly insistent on living his best life.

These three disparate things taken together meant I was carrying two full pitchers of Bacardi from one late night comedy show to the next, my extra happy dad in tow. Around midnight, I was exhausted, but somebody roped me into going dancing. "I could have DIED, Kate! Don't make me go dancing alone!" 🙄 The fourth step on the road to meeting my significant other was a misstep:

4. My extraverted dad was busting it wide open, sloppy style, in a club full of mostly college aged kids when he bumped directly into Juan's mother. 🙃

This was still in covid times, so we were all wearing masks. Even then, I knew Juan was beautiful. I'll never forget the first time I saw him. He was wearing a crisp white button down and a dark suit, and he was dancing with who I now know to be his mother. (At first, I thought they were newlyweds!) When my dad bulldozed into her, I profusely apologized, but the club was so loud that I had to get embarrassingly close to Juan. His mother spoke little English, so I was forced to speak into the ear of the handsome stranger whose voice alone made me painfully shy (still does).

After a few more drinks and watching Hurricane Jeff befriend practically everyone in the room, I decided to go upstairs to change clothes. I came back down to get my dad, and that was it until the next day.

"You don't pick your own nicknames in life-- you earn them." 

-my dad once, probably.

One thing you may have guessed about my father is he is naturally popular. Once, my mother took him to her high school reunion in New Orleans. The morning after one night of partying up and down Bourbon Street, everyone wanted to have breakfast with Hurricane Jeff. It was as if he was the quarterback of my mom's high school whom they'd all loved for decades when, in fact, he was too busy gallivanting on a tennis field in another country and winning math competitions or something. This is to illustrate that my dad is, and has been, historically, an outgoing fan favorite in his adult life.

Still, it somehow surprised me every single time a total stranger passed us in the hallways of the cruise ship and exclaimed, "JEFF?" It was half like a question ("Is that Jeff?! Honey, come say hi!") and half a cheer, like they expected him to start dancing apropros of nothing at 11 a.m. in a dining hall. It should not have surprised or disappointed me, therefore, when the next time I ran into Juan after our initial meeting, the first words out of his mouth were, "Is that Jeff Battoe?"

Now, I don't know much about the male mind nor do I pretend to, but I would think that when a man finds himself on a romantic island in front of an attractive woman wearing a bikini, fresh from tanning all day at the beach, the first words he would choose to say to her would ideally have nothing to do with her father. But these things happen. It so happened that Juan and his parents were celebrating his mother's birthday, and she had the most precious tiara to show for it. At the end of our pleasantries, Juan said, "We are thinking of going to the disco again tonight. Will you be there?" I wish very much that we were. But these things happen. Fate needed a little help, and it would receive it in the days to come.

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