He’d arranged everything and was taking us on a Hawaiian getaway. The catch? He was leaving in a few hours, I’d be leaving in a few days. So he could get his diving trips out of the way before I came, he said. Why on earth he thought I couldn’t handle myself alone in Hawaii for a few days while he plugged his nose and dove underwater I don’t know, but he was leaving, and I was staying.
None of that mattered as we stood near the edge of the cliff looking out over the water. Grant stood behind me, arms around my chest, holding me so I didn’t stumble and fall. I was humbled to be a guest observing the whales, we watched as the humpbacks displayed their gigantic, majestic forms. Sometimes in small peeks, and sometimes in large entertaining splashes.
“Isn’t it great to watch them in their natural home?” Grant said. Then he whispered, “Fucking whalers…”
“I know, fucking losers,” I agreed.
He stood behind me warming me as the breeze turned cool and we watched until last speck of color faded to black and the stars began to speckle the night sky.
Although it was surreal and spectacular and romantic and all that, I still had a one track mind.
When is he going to do it already, ugh…
***
Baby, I’m so in love with
u. :) Soon…
Chapter 48
“PILI OLUA E, MOKU KA PAWA O KE AO.”
—“YOU TWO ARE NOW ONE, THE DARKNESS IS PAST”
Three days! I’d been there three and a half days and still no proposal! He’d better do it in the bamboo.
I wedged my foot against the base of the bamboo tree and hugged it with every muscle fiber in my upper body so I wouldn’t tumble off the side of an unknown mountain.
“I don’t think this is right.”
“Let’s keep going. Ten more minutes,” Grant said. “Let’s get to that edge and get our bearings. I think that’s the stream we’re supposed to follow.”
I followed him through the thatched forest of towering bamboo where whole families of hollow trees lived like mangroves. Often they were so interwoven that my narrow frame couldn’t fit between them and I’d have to find a different route through. We bobbed and weaved, and gradually descended into what I thought might be the East Maui Irrigation, the EMI. The run-off ditch travel guides warn tourists about; the ditch where flash floods wash away unsuspecting hikers, like us.
“Honey, it’s really amazing here and all, and we can keep hiking, you know how much I love hiking with you,” if you consider this hiking, there was no trail, there was barely even ground, “but I think those directions I found on the Internet were wrong, this isn’t it.”
“Just a little bit farther,” he said as he continued to explore the curious stream-like water basin that we hoped would produce a golden trail to a magical waterfall. “It’s a ten foot climb to get over the wall of this ditch, I know I can make it, honey, do you think you can?”
I scoffed, “No, but you go ahead. I don’t want to risk falling, I’ll just wait here and get gored by a wild boar or attacked by a feral dog.”
“I forgot. Honey, I’m sorry,” he said then climbed out of the rocky drainage ditch that definitely was not a babbling stream en-route to an elusive waterfall.
“Maybe it’s this way?” He pointed into the bamboo, not in the direction we came.
Why is he so adamant about going further? This must be the time. He’s trying to get to the perfect spot.
I followed him, eager to reach a secluded gushing waterfall in the middle of a tropical rain-forest where he would pull out a little black box from the cargo pocket of his shorts and proclaim his love and desire to be married to me for all eternity.
Yes! Yes! I would say. It’s about frickin time.
But the longer we hiked the more clear it became that he had absolutely no idea where we were, nor did I. The trail wasn’t really a trail at all. It was a newly blazed path made from two delusional hikers too proud to admit they’d failed to read the directions properly.
The not-a-trail turned into bushes and bramble that clung to a steep volcanic cliff that plunged hundreds, maybe thousands of feet into the swelling ocean below. Burgundy and brown branches protected themselves with razor sharp barbs that slashed clean red lines into our arms and legs as we ascended the cliff.
“Should we head back?” He finally asked as he examined the fresh wounds on his forearms then looked at mine too.
“No waterfall?” I whined.
“I’m sorry, I wanted to take you to a waterfall but it’s really all your fault since you couldn’t climb that little wall.” I raised an eyebrow and slumped. “Babe, I’m just kidding.” He said, then snatched me up and wrapped himself around my glistening body. “I love you, even if you can’t climb anymore,” he teased, then pinned my arms behind my back and kissed my neck, “I don’t care that you ruined our waterfall hike.” He pinned me tighter to him and let out a devilish laugh into the air. I loved his child-like spirit and our ability to play, the way he challenged me and didn’t take any of my shit, and I loved that we shared the same sense of humor.
“You’re so fun,” I said as he let me go.
“Quit it,” he blushed, “you’re the fun one.”
“No. I’m not, I can’t even climb anymore.”
“It’s no big deal, I was just kidding. We can find lots of other things to do together.”
I lead the way back as he videotaped our lost hike and made a dozen comments about my butt. We traversed back into civilization and still, no proposal. I couldn’t help but think that if we would have just found that damn waterfall he would have proposed.
When we got in the car I guzzled more than fifty percent of our shared Gatorade, not stopping until he yanked it from me.
“You…” he groveled and grinned that gorgeous I’ll-get-you-back grin.
“Now where?” I asked.
“Where ever you want. How about The Road To Hana?”
“Sure!”
Are you going to propose there?
Halfway to Hana, after twenty five miles of switchbacks and hairpin turns, I hung my head out the window and heaved blue Gatorade.
“That’s what you get for hogging the Gatorade,” he said, just before he pulled over at the nearest lookout.
I stepped out and onto a lush Mountainside forest that overlooked magnificent blue and white waves crashing like thunder on the beach below. I was instantly cured of my sickness.
“Look! There’s a trail over there!” Grant was pointing to a small opening between two gargantuan trees that were latched like lattice with climbing vines, “up for another hike?”
Maybe he’ll do it on this hike.
“Always,” I said.
He wrapped his hands around me and softly ran his fingertips along the scars of my back, then pressed our lips together with a playful smack. “Mwah! You’re the best.”
“I know. I just vomited from those lips though,” I said as I followed him into Jurassic Park.
A mile into our hike, our surroundings became the perfect exotic venue for a proposal. Leaves the size of my Volkswagen climbed a hundred feet to the canopy above, there wasn’t even a whiff of another tourist for a dozen miles, and the slow trickle of water was ever present, setting the mood for an unforgettable romantic moment. If there ever was a right time, that was it.
I hugged him, pressed my head to his chest and closed my eyes. He was my embassy. His love for me golden and warm, real no doubt, so why wasn’t he proposing!? We’d been in Hawaii for three and a half days!
He stepped back and looked at me. “You hungry?”
No, I just want a ring.
“Yes, starving.”
“Let’s go back to that pineapple stand we saw on the way in.”
We drove along the North Shore of Maui as we indulged in the juicy golden fruit.
“Can I have another bite?” He asked as juice dripped from my mouth down my forearm.
As I fed him another bite of pineapple he sucked my fingers
into his mouth wetting them all the way to my knuckles. It was an annoying affectation and he’d done it to me a dozen times before. He thought it was so funny. My eyes narrowed and I jerked my hand back, and the pineapple with it.
“Okay! I’m sorry,” he pleaded, “I won’t do it again!”
“Yes, you will. So you don’t get anymore.” I turned my whole body toward the window, hid the plastic baggie of sweet fruit near my body then stuffed my face full with large chunks, hoarding every last bite until juice flowed from my chin.
“Mmm, this is so good,” I muttered.
“Honey, please…” he begged, “I said I was sorry.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t help you,” I said, my mouth so full a piece dropped out and we burst out in laughter, “there isn’t anymore. Unless you want that one.”I pointed to the bite now covered in sand by my feet.
Grant stopped at the next Maui Gold Pineapple stand and bought two more bags of fresh cut fruit. While I sat in the car fat and sticky, I watched him through the windshield eat one full baggie before he would even get back in the car with the other one.
We drove aimlessly along the North Shore’s jagged cliffs stopping to watch the extreme surfers and count the number of seconds they were underwater before their heads resurfaced in the suds. We ate our way back to Kaanapali beach, stopping again for papaya and avocados and sushi.
I showered then jumped between the cool sheets. Grant leapt onto the bed and sprawled out beside me exposing as much of his skin to the cool air as he could before we engaged each other in a Greco-Roman style foreplay.
Tomorrow would be my last day on the island.
***
Babe, u are so the 1. :)
Thinking of u always.
Chapter 49
“LOLO WAHINE.”
—“CRAZY WOMAN”
It was my last full day.
For reasons I don’t fully understand, on occasion, alcohol has the exact opposite effect on my behavior than it normally does. Instead of its usual pleasure conjuring, laughter inducing, witty comment blurting effects, a single drink has the ability to morph me into Medusa. On my last day in Maui when Grant had been planning something wondrous and unforgettable, Medusa made a childish and violent appearance and ruined his plans.
Since it was my last full day, I was convinced that if he hadn’t proposed yet, he wasn’t going to. He’d had plenty of dazzling chances and private encounters to pick from, he had the money to bring us here so he had money for a ring, there could be no other explanation for his engagement impotence other than he really couldn’t commit.
Why would he wait until the last day to propose, who does that? No one. That’s who. It’s not going to happen. I’d been duped.
Earlier that afternoon we lined his backpack with plastic garbage bags, filled it with ice, stuffed it with a six pack of island brewed long boards and headed to the beach. A hot fury of anger hit me as we walked past a perfectly manicured patch of lawn. It was roped off with a white chain that had an old wooden sign hanging down from the center. It proudly stated its intent:
Weddings Only
Ugh!
It was a green semicircle patch of bliss surrounded by waxy rubber plants and hibiscus flowers. It was perfect. As we strolled past matrimonial eden, I was acutely aware that there were no white plumerias in my hair, no Dylan and Nikki waiting to stand up for us, no white chairs with our closest family and friends in breezy beach linens, no trellis lined with flowers, and no ring!
The assault to my female ego continued when we stepped onto the beach and heard a roaring crowd in the distance. They were cheering on a bride and groom who were in full garb about to jump from a cliff into the ocean below. Tux, dress, veil and all, the happy couple held hands and teased the crowd. We stopped walking and watched the iconic black and white figures until they lept from the tallest cliff and literally took the plunge. The beach roared with spectator applause hoots and hollers.
I turned and walked away. I didn’t care about them, I couldn’t be happy for them. I was hurting so badly from wanting what they had. I laid on my beach towel, chugged down an ice cold brew and wallowed in all the things I didn’t have, and all the things I couldn’t do.
Pity party, table of one.
I knew how to be grateful for the things I did have, and most of the time I genuinely was. I knew how to focus on the positive and not the negative, and mostly I did that. Sometimes I just couldn’t talk myself out of a bad mood and this was one of those times.
“Come out here, baby! You won’t get hurt, I promise,” Grant yelled from the rolling waves.
I looked away.
He ran up from the ocean, refreshed and smiling. His happiness agitating. “What’s wrong?” He asked.
“Nothing,” I snapped with a fierce edge.
I was ashamed of how I was acting but unable to snap out of it. I hid behind the goggle size Coach sunglasses I’d picked off of the ocean floor a day ago, I couldn’t even look at him.
“I’ll be right back, baby. I’m going to go wash off,” he said then trotted away.
I obsessively and uncontrollably ranted to myself as I laid there alone. My temper and my skin felt like they were boiling under the intense sun.
He really isn’t going to propose…I can’t fucking believe this.
I’m done. When I get back, I’m moving out. I knew this was too good to be true. He’ll string me along forever. No wonder he was single all those years, he can’t commit—Dylan was right. I can’t believe I moved me and Dani in with him. What am I going to tell everyone? What am I going to tell Dani? I knew better. I fucking knew better, how did I let it come to this?
Water dripped from his body as he lay down on the towel beside me. It hurt to be near him. Tears rolled out the bottom of my sunglasses and down my cheeks. I’d talked myself into distrusting everything he’d ever said. All those conversations about our life together and having babies—lies. I was sure he loved me, and I was sure he didn’t want to lose me, but I was sure he couldn’t make the final commitment. And I wasn’t interested in anything but that final commitment.
In my hormonal, slightly inebriated state, I’d convinced myself that he enjoyed the chase but couldn’t kill the beast, now that I was officially off the menu. My name was not on our mortgage, or the deed to our home, or anything that could bind us financially together. Our lives were completely dis-entangled, a split would be easy; he would be free, able to go immediately back to his single life. He’d invite women into the home we’d built, they’d sleep in my bed, cook at my island, fuck in my Jacuzzi then be dumped like the rest of us.
“I’m hungry,” he said, interrupting my daytime nightmare. “Do you want to come with me to get some food?”
I popped my lips, “Nope.”
“Do you want me to bring you back anything?”
Yeah, a fucking commitment you asshole.
“Nope.”
“Do you want me to bring you a pina-colada?”
“I have a beer.”
“Can I open another for you?” He asked so sweetly, he was tip-toeing around my bad behavior and we both knew it.
“I can do it myself.”
“Okay, babe, enjoy. I’ll be right back.” He kissed the side of my head as if nothing was wrong, then trotted away through the sand.
I stared into the ocean. Not even the whales thrusting their enormous bodies into the blue sky could distract me from falling apart. Just being near him felt like pure rejection, and my wounded ego nudged me to disappear, to get away from the pain. I knew it was wrong, but I was too hurt to care how much I might be hurting him. So I stuffed my sand-filled towel into my tote, stood up and decided to leave. I drew an arrow in the sand with my foot in the direction I went walking so he’d know I wasn’t abducted, but I wouldn’t be there when he got back.
I strolled along the edge of the water for half an hour until the beach turned into a rocky outcropping of boulders that jutted out into the ocean. I hiked across the j
agged rocks to a deserted stretch of shoreline, then shimmied up a tangle of exposed tree roots. I sat with my legs dangling over a sharp ledge of rusty colored dirt and closed my eyes.
Inhale and smile…Exhale and relax.
Fuck that! That’s not going to work.
I stayed on that cliff and tried to empty my cup over and over, but it kept filling with anger and hurt and all the things unsaid. I had fallen into a pit of irrational despair, lapsed into a female psycho trance and I just couldn’t snap out of it. Then out of nowhere a mantra flashed through my irrational mind and imprinted itself onto me:
Just because he hasn’t proposed, doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you.
It was a moment of clarity, the epiphany I needed. It was a single phrase that summed up everything and somehow made me feel better. I repeated my mantra over and over until it pulled me from the bowels of crazy female hormonal hell back into the present moment.
What have I done? He doesn’t deserve this. What are the facts here? How self-centered and disrespectful of me to walk away, to disappear without telling him. He would never have done that to me.
I was drowning in desperation, I missed him, I was so sorry I’d been such a crazy bitch and I needed to get back to him fast. I panicked.
What if I didn’t find him? What if he wouldn’t take me back after my bad behavior? What if he got murdered in our hotel room and the last thing I said to him was terrible and rude!
I jumped from my perch, wobbled across the field of boulders then started running. I hate running. But for him I would run across the universe. I rounded the corner to the straight stretch of beach that lead back to our hotel and saw him in the distance, walking toward me with his shoes in his hand and a back pack slung over his back. He waved his arm high in the air and a smile grew on his face.
Affairytale : A Memoir Page 27
