by Piper Lennox
I gather up the glasses and load the dishwasher. “Sorry, man. I promise, I didn’t mean to oversleep.”
Luka’s shoulders relax a little. He glances at me. “Thanks.” After a minute, he adds, “To tell you the truth, I didn’t just come in because I thought you wouldn’t show—even though, let’s be real here, there was a pretty good chance of that.”
“Then why are you here?”
Luka sweeps the fruit into the container and rinses his hands. “Dad has officially passed a ‘no trading shifts with Kai’ rule.”
I freeze, the final glass dripping purple mush and ice onto my leg. “Like, between you and me?”
“Between you and everyone.”
I blink at him. “Are you serious?”
“There’s a big memo up in the kitchen.”
“A memo,” I repeat, waiting, like any second Luka will grin and say, “Gotcha.” He plays a lot of bullshit pranks like that. At least, he used to.
“He’s pissed, dude. When you weren’t at the bar last night, he came home slamming shit and threatening to fire you. Mom had to talk him out of it.” He throws me a dishrag. “You’ve got Purple Rain on your leg, by the way.”
I throw the towel down and kick up the dishwasher door. It bounces back open. Childish as it is, I hope I’ve broken it.
“A fucking memo.” I shake my head, my jaw already aching from how much I’m tensing. “I can’t believe him.”
Luka studies me. On some other level, using what little of my brain isn’t on fire with pure anger, I notice his clothes: pressed dress shirt, khakis with a crease, an actual apron that I can tell, from all the way over here, has been bleached to perfection. I, meanwhile, am still in the uniform I slept in, covered in grass stains. Even weirder than the fact I’ve stopped trying is the fact Luka’s started.
“Where were you last night, anyway?” he asks.
“Just...out. You know.”
Unsatisfied by my answer, Luka folds his arms, waiting for more.
I grab the towel and wipe the fruit gunk off my leg. “I was with a girl.”
“What girl?” he smirks.
“Why is that funny?”
“Because you’re never with girls. You’re never with anybody.”
He’s right, but I’m too pissed about Dad’s memo to admit it. “Well, I was last night.”
“Who?”
“Just a girl.”
“A resort package guest?”
Hearing Luka use the new business lingo in a non-ironic way makes me want to slap him. “Just say ‘tourist,’ dumbass. And yes.”
“Now who’s the dumbass?” he laughs. “You know the rule about summer girls.”
I know it all too well. It’s our rule, not even Dad’s or Paradise Port’s: don’t date summer girls. They all leave.
And if they don’t, you’ll have even more trouble to deal with.
“It was the girl who almost drowned,” I retort, desperate to save face, “if you must know. So if anything, Dad should be thanking me. She told me she’s not going to sue.”
“Yeah?” Luka can barely talk, he’s laughing so hard. “You give it to her that good, man?”
Now, even I crack. “Shut up.”
We work to catch our breath. It’s been a while, I realize, since we laughed like this together. Since I laughed like this at all.
“Okay, okay,” Luka says, composing himself as a drove of tourists come up the beach, in a beeline for the cantina, “in all seriousness, I think you need to go talk to Dad. Smooth things over.”
“What, right now?”
“You know he’s less stressed in the mornings.”
“Yeah, but...what about the shift? I did promise you I’d take it.”
“Rules are rules, apparently.” He wipes down the counter again, making himself look busy for the customers. “Go. I’ll be fine.”
“I still owe you something. For last night and Friday.”
“Let me think on it.”
I slap his shoulder just as the tourists, three middle-aged couples in floral shirts and dresses, reach the top of the wood-plank stairs, ooh-ing and aah-ing at the cantina like they’ve found Atlantis.
Dad’s in a meeting with the staff managers when I reach the resort. The conference room, accessed through a veritable maze behind the front desk, has a lot of dark wood and frosted glass. I can see him nodding as someone else speaks, just a blur through the window.
As soon as it’s over, I slip inside. People shake hands and laugh, but Dad instantly turns to stone. I swear, it’s like he doesn’t know how to smile around me, anymore.
“Kai.” He motions for me to sit, but I put my hands on the conference table and level my gaze with his.
“Luka told me about the memo. I hope you’re kidding.”
“Far from it.” He picks up a folder to skim its contents, like I’m distracting him from something important. “Be happy I didn’t take more drastic action.”
“What, like firing me?”
It’s barely discernible, but he flinches. I’ve caught him: he’s all talk. Not that he’ll dare show it.
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
My throat feels tight, like it’s closing itself off to stop me from saying something I shouldn’t. But the fact Dad doesn’t even have the guts to look at me while he’s admitting this shit, sets something off.
“Fire me, then. Look me in the eye and tell me I’m fired.”
“You have your mother to thank for the fact that I won’t.”
“Well, Mom’s not here now, is she?” I push myself off from the table so hard, all ten feet of it screeches across the floor. Now, Dad’s eyes meet mine.
“Let’s be mature about this, Kai.” He licks his lips, throwing the folder down on the table. “If you would just apply even half the effort you used to—”
“The effort I used to apply was when this place was actually fun. Before you signed it away without consulting me, or Luka, or even Mom.”
“Work isn’t all fun and games and punching in whenever you feel like it. The sooner you realize that and accept it, the better.”
“You don’t like the business like this, either. I can tell. You’re working nonstop, running yourself into the ground—and for what? Don’t you even notice how little Mom comes around here now?”
“Don’t bring your mother into this. What we do or don’t discuss is none of your business. You’re our child.”
“I’m twenty-three, Dad. If you’d stop treating me like some punk teenager, you’d—”
“Then stop acting like some punk teenager.” He runs his hand down his face, taking a long, raspy breath. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”
“You never have any conversation with me anymore.” Dad steps to the side, trying to leave, but I move to block him. “You just assume you know everything I do and think, then you slap up some bullshit memo to try and force me into this new business that I didn’t even sign on for. None of us did.”
“Move,” he says. He stares past me at the door. I see his jaw clench, the veins in his neck popping. When he’s like this—still and quiet—it means he’s at his limit, and whoever pissed him off better get out of his way, stat.
Just the same, I don’t move. I’ve got one more card to play, even if everything in me is telling me not to.
“Noe would hate this more than anyone.”
Dad steps so close to me so fast, I can’t help but recoil. His eyes flash. I’ve struck a nerve, which I thought I wanted to do. Now, I almost wish I could take it back.
“How I choose to run my business,” he says, “is not up to you.”
“It wasn’t your business,” I counter, as he steps around me. “It was ours. The family business.”
“Things change.”
“But they didn’t have to.”
“That’s right,” he says, louder now. His voice hitches for a second, when he turns around to look at me again. Even with the length of the room between us, I instinctive
ly back away. “They didn’t have to. But they did.”
My chest hurts suddenly, like I’ve been punched.
And the worst part of it is that I can tell Dad sees he’s hurt me. But he doesn’t apologize, or at least backpedal with some off-the-cuff crap. He just looks at the door handle, perfect and smooth in his hand. Exactly like the rest of this building, the entire resort: brand-new and manageable. No history, no memories.
Well. If that’s what he wants.
“You can take down the memo.” I stalk past him, out into the labyrinth that snakes out to the front desk, where I can hear a new batch of tourists checking into paradise. “I quit.”
Ten
Mollie
“Is it too early to drink?”
Behind my sunglasses, I squint over at Carrie. She’s brought her own flask out to the beach, a pink glittery one she bought in the souvenir shop. The resort’s logo is in silver, the whole thing shining as she tilts it back and swigs.
“Vacation,” Tanya says, her answer to everything, apparently, before reaching over to grab some for herself.
I shake my head when they offer it to me. I’m too wired for the hazy lure of daytime alcohol.
All morning—and most of last night—I’ve had that weird, fluttery feeling in my gut, adrenaline I can feel all the way down to my bones, and a loop running in my head of Kai: the weight of his chest against my shoulders when he pressed himself to me on the sled. Tasting this beach on his mouth when we kissed. The cool shock of his fingers as he pushed my panties out of the way....
I turn over on my stomach and push my face in my towel, so they won’t see me blush.
“So, ladies,” Tanya sighs, lying back on her towel, “what do we want to do today? I vote more tanning and beach drinking, then a late lunch at the resort.”
“Then tan by the pool,” Carrie adds. Macy agrees from the end of our row.
“Come on, guys.” I turn my head back so they can hear me. “We can tan at home. Shouldn’t we leave the resort for a while? You know, see the island?”
“Hawaii is all about the beaches,” Tanya counters. “That’s what we’re here to see.”
“The boys are going on a volcano tour, or something.” Macy sits up and slathers another coat of oil onto her skin. “You could go with—” She sucks in a breath instead of finishing her sentence.
Tanya glances at me, then shoots Macy a death glare. “Nice.”
“Please don’t walk on eggshells about Damian for my benefit,” I grumble. I pull a magazine over my face. It reeks of perfume samples. “We came here as a group. I’ve got to face him eventually.”
“No, you don’t.” Tanya knocks the magazine off me. “What he did to you was beyond shitty. Wait until he apologizes.”
“If he apologizes,” Carrie adds. “He was a huge jerk last night, saying what he did.”
“Do you think James knows he’s gay?” Macy blurts, which gets her another glare from Tanya. She has a habit of thinking out loud, something that almost never works to her advantage.
“He must have known. They’re roommates.” Carrie takes another drink from her flask, tipping it way back; it’s nearly empty. “I mean, he couldn’t hide something like that from him, right?”
“Maybe they’re both gay,” Macy adds, her tone joking, as she picks at the edges of her acrylic nails. Then she stops. I close my eyes just in time to avoid their stares.
“Shit,” Tanya breathes.
I pull the magazine back over my head. Way to pick ’em, Mollie.
A few minutes later, Carrie gets a text from Ted. She refuses to admit who it’s from, but only the promise of a booty call before his big volcano adventure would tear her away from tanning. Macy decides she’s burnt to a crisp and heads back for a nap. As much as I love them, I’m relieved when it’s just Tanya and me on our little stretch of the beach.
“Hey.” Her shoulder bulldozes hot sand dangerously close to my nose as she scoots over. “What’s up?”
“Not much. Just stewing in self-hatred for all the years I wasted on Damian. You know, the usual.”
“Think I can cheer you up.”
“Impossible.”
“Kai’s out on the water.”
I wish I could say I don’t bolt up like a maniac, but the magazine flying off my face and toppling about five feet ahead of us begs to differ. Tanya laughs and points out a figure, swooping up from the crest of a wave and landing on the glittering water in one flawless motion.
She whistles. “Damn, boy can surf. Wish he’d lose the rash guard, though. I need to see what you’re working with.”
I smile and rest my chin on my knees. “Oh, there’s plenty. Don’t you worry about me.”
She laughs again. “Knew I could cheer you up.”
As the wave closes off behind him, Kai twists and falls into the water. When he surfaces, he flings the water off his face and takes in a lungful of air, then lifts himself back onto his board to paddle out again.
For what seems like hours, we watch: he paddles out, waits for the right wave—a process of deduction I can’t figure out, but which seems all too simple for him—and turns his board into the force. It pushes him forward on his stomach for a few feet before he lifts himself up, first on his arms, then crouching, and finally standing at his full height, just when the wave seems like it’s going to crash around him.
“He looks distracted,” Tanya says.
I shake my head. To me, he’s the exact opposite.
He doesn’t seem aware of anything around him: not the honeymooners lounging on the shore, or the single girls hollering and whooping at him as they stroll down the beach. Even the occasional wave that makes him lose his footing and topple into the water—none of it gets to him.
After a while, Tanya suggests I swim out and meet him.
“He’s busy.”
“He’s surfing. And he’s been doing it about half an hour now, so maybe he’s ready for a break.” She stands and brushes the sand off herself. “I’m at least getting in the shallow part. This sun is killing me.”
I look at Kai again, who’s paddling out for another wave a quarter-mile away, and sigh before following Tanya to the water.
We wade out to our waists. I try to avoid sneaking more glances, but quickly get the feeling I’m being watched. Before I can even ask Tanya to confirm or deny it, she’s waving over my head.
“I’m going to kill you,” I mutter.
She just smiles and winks.
“Hey,” Kai calls. I hear the gentle swish of his arms as he paddles towards us before I turn. He glides to a stop and straddles his board.
“Hi. So…you surf?”
“Ever since I can remember.” His rash guard top clings to his skin. I’m grateful for my sunglasses in a way I’ve never been before: at least he can’t tell I’m ogling him. “You, uh...enjoying the resort?”
I nod, already cringing inside at the silence I know is coming. When it settles, Kai looks out at the ocean and coughs.
“Well,” Tanya says, way too loudly, “guess I’ll head over to the pool, see what the girls are up to.” She gives me a look like she just remembered something, one I immediately recognize as fake. “Oh, but you wanted to explore the island, didn’t you, Moll?”
I’m going kill you twice.
“Actually—”
Kai interrupts my protest. “What were you guys thinking of doing? There’s some cool stuff around here if...I don’t know, you need some pointers.”
“There you go.” She hits my arm, oh-so-casual. “Kai can show you around.”
“Oh,” he stammers, “I wasn’t—”
“Thank you so much for this.” She waves as she backs up towards the shore, effectively sealing off any possible escape for either of us. “I said I’d go with her to do something, you know, ‘authentically Hawaiian,’ but I’m just exhausted and feel terrible for bailing on her.” She looks at me. “I’ll carry your stuff back to the room, no worries!”
Forget killing
Tanya. She deserves the slowest torture imaginable.
We watch her haul ass out of the water and gather our magazines and towels without looking back. When she’s trekked halfway to the resort, I drag my eyes to his.
“Hi,” he says again. The word has more weight now, more warmth.
“Hi.” I cross my arms over my chest, instinct taking over, which is stupid: for one thing, I’ve got a bathing suit on—a tankini, at that—and for another, he’s already seen me naked.
He liked me naked.
It must be the daylight. There’s something about being out in the open water with the sun blazing above, instead of that cozy, dark hut behind the resort, that makes me feel vulnerable. Like he can see all of me at just a glance—not just the surface, but down to the core. My fat days, my shy ones. Every pathetic thing I’ve ever done in my life.
If he does see any of this, though, he doesn’t show it. When he leans forward on his board and starts paddling towards shore alongside me, he asks, “So you want to do something authentically Hawaiian, huh?”
“Um...yeah.” My laugh is strained. I clear my throat and channel the few ounces of dignity I’ve still got. “You know, something not tourist-y. Or at least, not part of the resort package. I just want to explore the island.”
“The island is pretty big—any places in particular you want to check out?”
A week ago, I could have recited my dream vacation by memory. Now, all I can think to say is, Let’s go back to that cabana thing and finish what we started. His backside, every muscle working and visible under his rash guard as he paddles just ahead of me, isn’t helping.
Thankfully, I manage to remember at least one thing from my list: “I really wanted to see a coffee plantation.”
He smirks. “Oh, yeah. Not tourist-y at all.”
Without thinking, I splash him. He laughs, so I do, too.
“I’ll take you,” he says, sliding off his board the closer we get. When he stands and reaches out, I know I don’t need his help. I can stand at this level, too, tiptoeing on the sand until the water grows shallow.
But I still take his hand, hold on, and let him pull me the last bit of the way.
