Keep Calm and Carry a Big Drink

by Kim Gruenenfelder

  “Perfect,” I say, my face lighting up. “I also want to buy a University of Hawaii T-shirt to go running in. Where would they sell those?”

  “We have this newfangled place called Costco that should have them.”

  “Is that also in Kahului?”

  Jeff smiles. “Look at you, sounding like a native.”

  “I’ve been practicing,” I tell him proudly. “You can pretty much sound everything out, provided you say each vowel. Check it. Hoo … moo … huh … wait. No. Hoo … mmmoooooo…”

  “HOO-moo-HOO-moo-NOO-koo-NOO-koo-AH-poo-AH-ah,” Jeff says, the behemoth word effortlessly rolling off his tongue.

  “See, like that!” I say, clapping once, then pointing at him. “That’s the fish, right?”

  “It is indeed the fish.”

  “Wanna go run errands with me?”

  “Although I love the joie de vivre with which you ask, I want to stay on bed rest. Would you mind picking up socks for me at Costco? I’ll pay you back. Oh, and Tide.”

  “I would love to,” I say, bouncing off his bed to get ready. “Give me ten minutes to shower, and I’ll be your girl Friday this lovely Monday.” As I walk out of Jeff’s room, I happily announce, “And, Brian, you can come out of the closet! Your car’s still parked out front!”

  As Brian sheepishly walks out, Jeff asks, “Couldn’t you have just said, ‘You can stop hiding’?”

  I turn to Jeff on my way out and shake my head while I answer cheerfully, “You know, I really couldn’t.”

  FORTY-SIX

  I bought a money tree to put on my balcony. Want to come see it tonight?

  Ben texts me while I’m in the shower.

  Hm. After last night, I am torn between happily thinking, Oh my God! He’s inviting me to his apartment. I’m in! and irritably thinking, Oh my Gawd … He’s inviting me to his apartment. I’m out.

  To get a little clarification, I write:

  Stop being so cute.

  Thank God for texting, as I’m not sure which version of me would have surfaced when I asked that. Ben writes back:

  I’m actually serious. I have today off, and if there is a shot in hell you’re coming over after dinner, I will spend the day cleaning.

  Hm. Doesn’t exactly sound like a guy who plans to kiss me on the cheek later, does it?

  I used to hate texting. I thought it encouraged a complete lack of communication with fellow human beings because we don’t speak to each other, and therefore we can’t hear each other’s intonations. All we do is type. Everyone in their own little worlds typing away, correcting themselves before they send out a sentence, making themselves look as perfect as possible, and not even vaguely real.

  Of course, when one is in the throes of the first few dates, looking perfect is the goal. So while I still think texting is bad for society, I think it’s working out quite nicely for me right now.

  I walk out of the guest room in my day clothes, seeing Jeff reclining on the couch, going through his DVR list. “Where’s Brian?”

  “Had to go to work. Now why would I have recorded NASCAR?”

  “You thought that one guy with the hair was cute,” I remind him as I walk up to the couch. “Ben just texted to ask if I plan to see his place tonight. Ostensibly to know if he has to clean up his apartment. What should I write back?”

  “What do you want to write back?”

  “Do you have a tongue? I wouldn’t know after last night,” I say dryly.

  Jeff considers that. “A bit crude, but it has a certain charm to it. Give me your phone.”

  I hand over the phone and Jeff quickly reads our texts, then types back:

  Honestly, I’m not sure. Turns out I have to work for Jeff tomorrow night at Male ‘Ana, so I may have to make it an early night.

  “Do I have to work for you at Male ‘Ana tomorrow night?”

  “Oh, you picked up on that. Good,” Jeff says, grinning. He picks up a pile of Hawaiian shirts. “Is that okay?”

  “My God. I’d love that. I had so much fun working Saturday.”

  “Excellent. Because bartending requires being on your feet for eight hours. And I can barely hobble around for five minutes right now.”

  My phone beeps another text.

  Can I pick you up at 5? There might be a little traffic getting back up here for the torch lighting.

  I show Jeff the text. “What do you think? Straightforward response back, or flirty? Oh, maybe mysterious!”

  Jeff grabs my phone, types, and sends:

  Come on, baby. Light my fire.

  I exhale a loud sigh and shake my head. “He’s going to know I didn’t write that. I’m not cool enough to write that.”

  “Sure you are. You are whatever you decide to be.”

  My phone beeps.

  Is that Mel or Jeff? Sounds more like Jeff.

  I take my phone back. “You’ve been cut off.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Here’s something I never thought I’d say: My errand day was fantastic. I ate Spam for lunch! I had never eaten Spam, but in Hawaii it is considered a local dish, and I knew it couldn’t possibly be as bad as poi, so I had it rolled in sushi and it was … well, okay, it didn’t taste as bad as the escargot I had in Paris, anyway. The point was I tried it! I did something new!

  I bought a bright purple lei at Costco because they sell them there every day! At the mall, I learned that some people spend $300 on an ugly Hawaiian shirt, and seriously, what is up with that? I bought a new perfume that smells like flowers. I have worn the same perfume since I was fifteen—for me, this was big. I ate something called Tiger’s Blood shave ice, which is actually just a red-berry-flavored snow cone and has nothing to do with Charlie Sheen. I also looked at an apartment.

  Just to look, I’m not going to do anything stupid. But something about going by myself to see a new place was intoxicating. I got to decide if I wanted to live with beige carpet, and I didn’t have to wander the rooms secretly wondering what my roommate thought of it, or how it was affecting the mood of my boyfriend. The only opinion I needed was mine. And I am good at sharing my opinion with myself.

  Although sometimes I have been guilty of arguing with myself. Usually, it is because I am very good at presenting both sides of a case.

  The latest case: Ben.

  I spent much of the afternoon rehearsing in my head how the end of the evening would go. He could flirt with me all he wanted, be as charming as he was at the airport, and as handsome as he was last night, but if he didn’t kiss me at the end of the night, I was moving on. Just going to put my key in the front door lock and not look back.

  I am such a hypocrite.

  The second I opened the door at five o’clock, I knew my lips and my brain would be arguing for the rest of the evening.

  The man was gorgeous. Just his eyes made me want to buy a poster of him to put over my bed. His look was casual, yet appeared effortless: a simple button-down shirt with dark jeans. Hair that looks as if he quickly put a comb through it—maybe. Shoulders that I want to wrap my arms around forever.

  But I suppressed the urge to invite him to my bedroom, said a quick good-bye to Jeff, who was on his best behavior, and began our date.

  On the way to his car, Ben gently takes my hand in his and says, “You look very nice.”

  I look down at our hands. Okay, this is a date. “Thank you. So do you.”

  He walks me to my side of the car and opens my door. “Thank you,” I say again, a little surprised at the chivalry. I mean, ever since car-door locks unlocked automatically, has any man done this?

  Ben waits until I get in, closes my door, then walks around to his side.

  I love it when men open the door for me. I don’t know if we’re allowed to be postfeminist, but to me it’s a lovely courtesy. “So, did you clean your apartment today?” I ask brightly.

  “I did. Although I know you have to get home early, so if you don’t see it tonight, that’s cool.”

  Um … okay. Not a date then
?

  We begin our drive up to Ka’anapali, which is normally about forty-five minutes away. Ben, like many people in Maui, drives a convertible. He asks if it’s okay to put the top down, and I wholeheartedly say yes. The conversation flows naturally, as does my hair in the warm ocean breezes.

  About half an hour in, we get caught in traffic. Ben slows down to a crawl and sighs. “I’m sorry about that. I forgot it was rush hour.”

  “This is rush hour?” I ask, turning my head to see the glittery ocean on one side of us and trees and greenery on the other, rather than a minivan filled with kids and a weary mom on one side of me, and an asshole in a BMW on the other.

  Ben leans over, takes my hand. “So how was errand day?”

  “Amazing,” I tell him excitedly. “It was so mundane, yet so cool all at once. At one point, I went to the dry cleaner’s for Jeff, and it was right next to a nursery, which smelled phenomenal, so I just walked over and got lost in rows and rows of flowers. Blooms I’ve never seen before. And I never do that at home. I can’t even tell you if we have a nursery in Hollywood, much less what kinds of flowers it sells. Then I went to this place for shave ice, which I learned was pronounced shave ice, not shaved ice. And it had this supersoft feel to it, and there were all these cool flavors I could put on it. Forget cherry and grape. How about tamarind and li hing mui?”

  “Li hing mui?” Ben repeats, surprised. “You had salted plum?”

  “Actually, no. I had Tiger’s Blood and Wedding Cake. But the point was, I could have had a snow cone made with li hing mui. It’s like all of these opportunities are everywhere, just begging me to experience life differently. And they’re not only at the nursery or a shave ice place. They’re at Foodland! They’re at Costco! I mean, who knew Costco could be fun?”

  “Any man who wants a good deal on a new seventy-inch-screen TV?” Ben jokes.

  I shake my head. “What is it about men and TVs?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. But they make me happy.”

  I laugh. “You know the best thing I bought at Costco? A University of Hawaii T-shirt. I’ve never wanted a T-shirt from anyone but my alma mater, but this one looked so cool. And I thought to myself, ‘That will be great for running.’ And I realized I’m actually looking forward to my run tomorrow morning. I’m not doing it because it’s good for my health or because it’ll help me lose weight. I just want to run and see more sights. I’m telling you, I haven’t been this exhilarated in years.”

  “So, have you thought about staying?”

  “You mean permanently?” I ask, a little startled by his question. I mean, I had looked at an apartment, but that was kind of just for fun.

  “Why not? You just said you’re more exhilarated than you’ve been in years. Have you thought about staying, and keeping that feeling?”

  As traffic begins to clear, and Ben revs his engine, I take a moment to really consider moving. Is there a way that I can stay? Do they need teachers here in Maui?

  Ben kisses my hand lightly, then takes his hand back to continue driving, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out. It’s just that listening to you reminds me of myself last year. I know exactly what you mean about the excitement, about how something as routine as walking around takes on a new feeling. That’s why I moved here. Everything is familiar, yet different. When I came, it completely got rid of my weltschmerz.”

  “You didn’t freak me out at all. As a matter of fact you’ve got my brain going in five hundred different directions right now.” As I watch us pass a small beach where a family grills on a public barbecue, I finally admit, “Non sequitur: I’m not a doctor. Is weltschmerz a breathing problem?”

  “No. Weltschmerz is…” Ben wracks his brain. “Hmmm. I think the Germans call it ‘world-weariness,’ but to me it’s more like the sadness you feel about your real life versus your ideal life. Like … real life was fine, but there was no ideal life left to pursue. When I moved here, I got rid of that feeling. I felt excited about things again. I wanted to move forward again.”

  “That’s exactly how I’m feeling right now. Although I am levelheaded enough to know this could just be that I’m having a great time on vacation.” As our car makes its way through Lahaina, we both lose ourselves in our own thoughts for a bit. As we pass the street where Ben works, I ask him, “So when did you realize this was home?”

  Ben smiles to himself, possibly laughing at a private joke. Then he shakes his head. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

  I smile, intrigued. “Wow. Look at that smile on your face. When was it?”

  Ben continues to smile. “Okay, but you have to promise you won’t think this is lame.”

  With my index finger, I draw an imaginary X over my chest. “Cross my heart and hope to visit you in urgent care.”

  Ben debates another second, then relents. “Okay. My mom was always into Christmas, and she’d always force us to go to this tree farm and pick our own tree, then haul it back home for fifty miles. Plus, she’d buy us each an ornament every year, so when we grew up, we’d have all these ornaments she hoped would have sentimental value. In college, it drove me nuts that on my first night back, I couldn’t see my friends because she’d make my sister and me go pick out a tree, then lug it into the house, take forever putting it up, pull out ornaments, etc. My first wife was never into Christmas, so we never had to put up a tree, which was fine by me. And then we broke up, and I rethought life, and…”

  I watch him for a minute and wait. Nothing. “And what?” I finally ask.

  “And when I was thinking about moving here, and I had the job offer, I went to look at a condo. And I walked in and immediately thought, The tree goes there.”

  He’s silent after that.

  I think that might be the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. But that’s not what I say. Instead I say, “You know, I think I do want to see your condo tonight. I need to see where you put your tree.”

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Soon, we are at the Sheraton Maui, which has a torch-lighting ceremony a little before sunset. A man in authentic Hawaiian garb runs around the property lighting torches, climbs onto a cliff called Black Rock, lights a final torch, then dives off.

  It’s a complete tourist trap, and I am loving it.

  Ben and I share pupus, which is the Hawaiian word for “appetizer.” Ben starts us off with the furikake-seared ahi. “Furikake is this dry condiment from Japan that everyone puts on rice over here,” he explains. “It’s crunchy, with sesame seeds and seaweed and some other stuff. Very good.” He then orders us some Kalua pork sliders, and Hawaiian beef pipi kaula flatbread.

  As much as I love Hawaiian drinks, I’m already tired of them, so I order a glass of sauvignon blanc. Ben gets a local beer. Again, the conversation is easy. Unfortunately, Ben is not—he has not held my hand since we got here, nor has he tried to kiss me. This, despite how almost every couple here seems to make me want to scream, Get a room! And its being a hotel, they probably have one and should stop making me feel bad about myself.

  I do happily eat away my feelings, taking a messy bite of the pork slider. “This is fantastic,” I gush. “Although I’m not tasting the Kahlúa.”

  Ben laughs. “No, it’s not Kahlúa, the drink. It’s Kalua—no h—and it’s a town in up-country that has a lot of farms. The restaurants here try to go as local as possible.”

  “See, just sitting around stuffing my face, I learned something new. How cool is that?”

  Ben pops a slice of rare ahi into his mouth. “It’s very cool. So, how long do you plan to stay?”

  I try to dodge the question a bit. “You mean tonight or in Hawaii?”

  Ben shrugs. “Both I guess.”

  “Well, as for tonight, I do have to work for Jeff tomorrow, but he isn’t starting me until three, so I can be out late. As for Hawaii”—I shrug—“I actually don’t know. A week, maybe two?”

  Ben purses his lips and nods in mock seriousness. “Two weeks is better. You should stay for two weeks. O
r three.”

  “Maybe four,” I continue the joke.

  “You could quit your job and stay a month.”

  “I could see that Christmas tree you were talking about,” I say, knowing this is just kidding around, wishful thinking. “So, what is Christmas here like? Do you have Christmas tree lots, or do people just decorate palm trees?”

  Ben laughs. “A little of both actually. I have definitely seen decorated palm trees. But there is an actual Christmas-tree farm in Kula, which is up-country, but not to be confused with Kalua. Kula’s where I got my tree last year.”

  “A Christmas-tree farm in Maui. Wow. There is actually a person in the world who gets to live on a Christmas-tree farm and in Hawaii. If they live near a cupcake bakery, they’ve hit life’s trifecta.”

  Ben smiles appreciatively and takes a sip of his beer. “True. Although for all you know, one day this woman with the charmed life went to a bridal shower, pulled a silver charm out of her friend’s cake, and left it all to work at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland.”

  I finish another pork slider, then laugh and say with my mouth full, “If she did, cherchez l’homme.”

  Ben furrows his brow. “I’m not sure if most guys would like to think that they could inspire such a change in a woman’s life. Most of us would be terrified of that.”

  “Huh. I wouldn’t be terrified at all. I’d love to think that I could inspire someone to change their life.”

  “Really?” Ben asks, tilting his head, staring deep into my eyes and looking intrigued.

  Well, now I’m uncomfortable. “I don’t know. Possibly,” I say, trying to sound casual.

  Ben keeps staring at me intently. I would like to hide now.

  On to more comfortable subjects. “So Christmas … tell me more!”

  Ben leans in toward me and almost whispers, “I have a better idea.”

  And he kisses me.

  Yes! Finally!

  We kiss for a few moments, then I shyly pull away from him, allowing him to see me smile and blush.