Aloha in Love

by Watts, Jennifer

  I study his cornflower-blue eyes, soft chin, and the light blond hair slicked back from his baby cheeks. I’ve dedicated four years of marriage to that face, plus two rounds of unsuccessful in-vitro fertilization and one big fat piece of my heart. Dale sets down his wine just in time for me to approach and snatch up the glass, throwing it across the room. I watch it smash against the tile, exploding into a thousand tiny pieces, and damn if it doesn’t feel good to destroy one of his precious pieces of crystal. I quickly pick up the second glass, which I assume he poured for me, launching it directly in his face. It bounces off his nose and sends red liquid gushing down his dress shirt before finally smashing on the counter.

  “Christ, Ashley!” The sound of his voice adds fuel to my fire. I pick up the rest of the bottle and swing it around in a circle, finally slamming it against the refrigerator. By some miracle, it doesn’t break, so I throw it on the floor as hard as humanly possible, entirely uninterested in miracles today.

  “Ashley—the hardwood!” Dale screams, and I laugh out loud. Of course that’s what he’s thinking about, even in the midst of war.

  Surprisingly, the bottle remains intact. I pick it up and raise it over my head. “Break, you motherfucker!” I shriek, heaving it at the polished floor with every ounce of my strength. This time, it does shatter. I let my shoulders sag in defeat, as if to mirror the broken glass. Dale is fixated on the floor, but his reaction tells me everything. His neck is flushed and the tips of his ears are red. He won’t speak nor meet my eyes, almost like he’s afraid of me.

  “Really, Dale, an affair with your personal trainer? Could you be more cliché?”

  He opens and closes his mouth like a fish flopping out of water, but no sound escapes.

  “She called me, Dale. I know everything.” I slump against the counter. “I’m not naïve enough to think that this doesn’t happen in relationships, now and then, but we’ve only been married a few years. We promised ourselves to each other.”

  “Ashley, it was just sex—”

  “Oh, don’t start, Dale. Almost a year isn’t just sex. It’s pathological, a betrayal of the highest order.”

  “But it’s over now,” he adds, albeit feebly.

  I snort. “Yeah, Erin filled me in on that too. I hear you found your next victim?”

  His neck flushes full red this time, as his gaze trails out the window. “I’m a man Ashley. I have certain needs, and this past year was hard.”

  Oh no he didn’t, I think, straightening up. “Please, Dale, tell me exactly how hard the last year was for you.”

  Dale runs one hand through his supremely gelled hair before shirking off his jacket and resuming his seat at the center island. I circle the kitchen to stand across from him, grateful for the physical separation, as the desire to claw out his eyes is building within me.

  “It’s just…” he stammers, “with the treatments—all those hormones and appointments and needles—it just became so clinical.”

  “Probably because it was.”

  “But it wasn’t sexy anymore.” He shrugs. “Besides, you changed. I mean, you gained some weight, but that didn’t really matter. A few pounds are okay and I told you that, but you changed mentally, too. You were sad and crying all the time. The treatments became more important than anything, even more important than me.”

  The words leaving his mouth are surreal to me—even unreal. I can’t actually believe I’m hearing this bullshit. Dale is acting like a wounded child.

  “So, it’s my fault that you cheated on me, because I was struggling with fertility treatments to which you subjected me, in order to have the family that you so desperately wanted?”

  Dale slams his fist on the counter, raising one finger to scold me. “Don’t you twist my words around, Ashley.”

  “What part of your words did I twist, exactly?” I cross my arms and shoot him a nasty glare.

  “I still appreciated what you were doing, especially with all that you were going through.”

  “Do you though, Dale?”

  “It was hard for me, too!” He argues, and I shut my mouth for a moment. It’s true that I never gave much thought to how Dale was handling things, but it’s not like he’d given much thought to my needs recently. He steals a glance at me, as if seeking approval. “You know I wanted a child—I mean, I thought I wanted a child. You’ve seen how my father is anyways, but I didn’t expect that it would be so hard, and now I’m not so sure.”

  I shake my head, pacing back-and-forth behind the counter. “That’s no longer of any consequence to me, because I’m not spending another second of my life waiting for you to grow up. This marriage is irreparable, Dale.”

  I take the two carat ring from my finger and toss it against his wine-stained shirt. For one last time, I scan the expanse of my beautiful kitchen and finally fix my eyes on Dale.

  “You, Dale Silver, can go straight to hell. Take all this precious stuff with you, too, because I’m so done.”

  Chapter 3

  I leave the house with nothing but the clothes on my back—sweaty Lululemon tights and a tank-top—ordering an Uber in a haze. All the way to my best friend Jamie’s house, I alternate between hysterical laughter and crying, leaving behind one very confused driver. He appears to be barely out of high school, and it doesn’t help my fragile state of mind that Boney M’s “Feliz Navidad” was blasting from the radio the moment I stepped into the vehicle.

  I called Jamie right away, spouting sentence fragments at her through the phone—about Dale’s thin dick and how it feels to have another woman sample your salted popcorn. She demanded that I come over immediately; Jamie has always been my safe place, and I know that I can count on her always. She swings open the door to her cute Cathedral Hill condo, and I notice that she’s totally decked out in party clothes. I peek over her shoulder and look for signs of whatever soirée I’ve interrupted.

  “No one’s here.” Her almond-shaped eyes narrow, following the line of my gaze. “However, I’m technically supposed to be at an event downtown right now.”

  “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

  She waves her hand, as if to say don’t be silly. “I invited you over, remember? Besides, you’re coming with me.”

  “What?”

  “You’re coming with me.”

  “Oh, no way.” I hold up my hands, taking a step back into the hall.

  “Yes, you are. I simply won’t take no for an answer. Besides, it’s trance night at the Odyssey and this one is work-related, so I can’t miss it.” Jamie Chen, one of the most sought after club promoters in town, knows everything about the San Fran party scene. Her presence always guarantees a crowd. She fully opens the door and steps aside. “Now get in here so I can love on you.”

  I walk slowly into her living room, collapsing onto the worn but familiar sofa. I’d spent more than a few nights sleeping there during college years, but as much as I love the soft suede fabric pressing against my face, I have no idea why she keeps it. The thing totally clashes with the rest of her décor. Jamie’s place is what I’d call boudoir-chic, with glittery pillows, hot pink lamps, leopard-print drapes, and one gigantic Marilyn Monroe poster framed in chrome on the wall.

  I can’t help but sigh, rubbing my forehead. “I understand if you have a work thing, but I’ll just stay here until you get back.”

  Her full, red lips twist into an ugly grimace. Apparently I’m in trouble. “Did you not hear me? It’s trance night. I won’t be back until the sun comes up. I would skip for you in a heartbeat, but after what that piece of shit did, I think you need this.” Jamie never hid her dislike for Dale from me, and vice versa, but they’d tried to tolerate each other for my sake. Dale thought Jamie was beneath me and had always treated her that way. Meanwhile, Jamie thought Dale was no less arrogant, condescending, or self-centered as he’d been in college.

  Jamie and I had been friends since the first grade, when she moved to San Francisco from Hong Kong. I remember how she walked into my clas
sroom with thick glasses and a bowl-cut, speaking barely any English. Some of the kids picked on Jamie, but I loved her right away. She’s always had this quiet confidence, as if she couldn’t care less what you thought of her, and she owns every room she walks into; our first grade classroom that day was no exception.

  Eventually, Jamie’s glasses gave way to contact lenses. Her bowl-cut morphed into a shiny bob; her skinny arms and legs transformed into a petite package complete with pouty lips, big brown eyes, and flawless skin. Once her looks caught up with her confidence, Jamie became a double threat. She has half a million Instagram followers and regularly gets marriage proposals from men and women alike.

  “How is getting trashed at trance night supposed to help me get back at Dale?”

  She leads me by the hand into her bedroom. “Because getting out there is the best way to avoid being stuck here, totally overanalyzing the last four years of your life.” She sits me down on the bed, hovering like my very own guardian angel.

  “God, even with a sweaty red face and bloodshot eyes, you’re still stunning,” she mutters, giving me the onceover. “Maybe you should give women a try?” She wiggles her eyebrows. Jamie swings both ways and has no reason to hide it, but after twenty years of friendship, I’m pretty sure that I’m not her type. I do, however, appreciate the compliment.

  “I’m feeling more than a little raw here, Jamie.”

  “Sorry, too soon.” She raises her hands in surrender. “I’ve never been a particularly nurturing individual, you know that.”

  I roll my eyes. “Understatement.”

  “See? You know me too well. That’s why I don’t own so much as a houseplant—it’s far too much of a time commitment.

  “You know, it literally takes only five seconds to water a houseplant. Some go weeks without water.”

  “Not the point. As much as I love you—and I do love you, so fucking much—I’m not going to let you lament some ungrateful shithead who you never should have married in the first place.

  “Wow…” I say, getting to my feet.

  “Wait—shit. That came out wrong. Look, I know you’re hurting and I’m here for you. You can stay with me as long as you want. You can have my bed, the shirt off my back, I’ll give you whatever you need. Not for one minute will you doubt that I’m on your side.” She pauses, looking straight into my eyes. “I just meant to say that he never, not even for one second, deserved your love. I’m going to spend every day reminding you of that. In the meantime, I say fuck it—let’s get wasted. Drinks on me.”

  With an epic groan, I flop back down on the bed. “Please, please, please just go without me,”

  “Lei yao mow low gah!” She shouts, grabbing my hand and pulling me into a sitting position. It always spells trouble when Jamie starts yelling in Cantonese.

  • • •

  I don’t have energy to argue with Jamie, so I find myself standing in front of the Odyssey an hour later. It’s one of San Francisco’s biggest nightclubs. Jamie has stuffed me into a black leather mini skirt and a hot pink tank top that totally clashes with my titan red hair. Both items are a tad too snug for my round hips and sizeable chest, but they were the loosest clothes that Jamie’s tiny little ass had on hand. The ankle boots she lent me are also a size too small and already pinching my feet. Jamie flashes her killer smile, along with her VIP badge, and thankfully we’re escorted past the huge line up. The club is overflowing with a mixture of LGBTQ folk and underage college students.

  I lean forward and whisper in Jamie’s ear. “Uh, I think we’re about ten years too late to the party.”

  She dismisses my comment with a wave of her hand and leads me towards the alcohol-soaked bar. We double down on shots to the sound of hardcore techno and teeth-rattling bass. It’s too loud to talk without yelling, so I throw back one more shot before Jamie guides me towards the VIP area, as if to say, come with me if you want to live. With the heavy electronic riffs, I can’t tell where one song ends and another begins. In fact, I can barely hear Jamie shouting over the music. A distorted voice shouts Wake the Fuck Up—apparently a popular lyric—and the crowd goes positively wild, jumping up and down in unison. The display makes it clear that this is one hundred percent not my scene, but I can’t deny that it’s entertaining to watch.

  After Jamie gets me all settled into one of the plush couches—and only once she’s reasonably convinced that I’m not going to bolt and Uber back to her place—she hands me a cocktail and gives me a wave, disappearing into the pulsating crowd. I give her a half-hearted wave back before sinking into the oversized cushions, trying not to think about what germs might be lurking in the fabric. If I only had one of those fluorescent CSI lights, I probably could have the whole VIP section condemned. A waitress comes by and I start ordering another gin and tonic, only to be interrupted by a hard body sliding in beside me.

  “Drink?” The cute face attached to the hard body flashes me a dimpled smile.

  I raise my glass up. “Yes, it is.”

  He laughs as if I’ve said the most hilarious thing in the world. “No, I mean, can I buy you another one?”

  I give him the onceover, only then realizing that he’s young—very young—like barely twenty-one. He’s pretty cute though, with his messy blond curls and sweet chestnut eyes. I can’t deny that his eagerness is infectious, like a golden retriever with a tennis ball.

  “Sure,” I relent, throwing back the rest of my gin and tonic. “Thank you…” Right then and there, I decide to change things up. “I’ll take a tequila and soda with lime please.”

  “Hardcore,” he says, and I raise an eyebrow. “I don’t drink tequila. Sometimes my mom does though.”

  Oh, this is going well. “On second thought…” I start to get up, but he beats me to it.

  “Sorry, sorry! Let me grab you that drink.”

  He returns a short while later, bearing my tequila and soda, plus a bottle of beer for himself. I eye the drink warily before shrugging and taking a big swig. With the day I’ve had, I don’t have enough energy to care about whether he laced it. Besides, buddy-the-golden-retriever is way too expressive to be a master of deception. I can’t remember if he told me his name or not, so I decide to just call him Buddy.

  We try to make small talk, but it’s virtually impossible over the thumping bass. Instead we head onto the dance floor for a few songs (if you can really call jumping up and down in a circle dancing). The alcohol takes over and I let myself relax. Buddy has his arms bolted around my waist and the taste of tequila lingers on my lips. I let my head fall back and close my eyes, deciding to just go with it. The warmth flowing through me feels so right, and Dale is a distant thought in my mind.

  • • •

  My eyes blink open and my first thought is oh hell no. I release a muffled groan while the events of last night replay in my mind. Buddy and I left together and hailed a taxi back to his place. There was some heavy making out and a lot of awkward thrashing, but I’m pretty sure things didn’t progress beyond that point. I seem to remember tearing at his clothes like an animal, but the booze caught up with Buddy before things could get too serious. One too many drinks for the baby-faced lightweight, I guess. Peeking under the covers, I’m relieved to see that both my bra and skirt remain in place. In fact, I’m still wearing my uncomfortable ankle boots, which protrude from the foot of the bed like I’m the Wicked Witch of the East.

  My head is absolutely pounding. I grimace at Buddy, who’s snoring peacefully beside me, before taking stock of the room—sweet Jesus, it’s not even the basement suite that I came to terms with last night. The morning sun through the slot windows tells me that we’re somewhere underground, but the space looks more like a rec room than a bedroom, complete with a mattress on the floor and a mini bar fridge. There’s even an ironing board with freshly starched dress shirts strewn across it, but they’re way too big to be Buddy’s.

  I squint at the cuckoo-clock across the room, hunting for my contacts and cursing my nearsightedness in th
e process. Luckily, I find them right away—on the bedside table, floating in a glass of water. I don’t know whether to be proud or mortified for storing my contacts in such an impeccable fashion. I feel around inside the glass for the slimy little things, scooping them up and shoving them back into my eyes. They burn from the lack of lubrication, but when my eyes finally clear, I zero-in on the movie poster tacked to the opposite wall, a vintage Technicolor print for Blue Hawaii, complete with palm trees, bikinis, Elvis Presley, and plenty of butterscotch-sand. In that instant, it all clicks together for me. I need a new start, but not just any new start; I need a new start in Hawaii.

  Honestly, Hawaii has been on my bucket list forever. I wanted to honeymoon on one of the islands, but Dale thought Hawaii was too pedestrian of a travel destination—his words, not mine. He insisted on Turks and Caicos instead. Nonetheless, studying the image of Elvis Presley playing a ukulele in short-shorts and a pink lei, I realize that I could really use some paradise in my life right now. While attempting to get up from the floor mattress, I hear a voice calling from upstairs. “Are you up yet, Chase? Breakfast is ready…I made pancakes.”

  Holy hell—it’s got to be his mother. I mean, my first guess should be his wife, but her tone of voice is so maternal. Between the ironing board in the corner and the Xbox plugged into the TV, who else could it be? I find my tank top on the floor and quickly pull it over my head, frantically seeking an escape route but finding just one set of stairs leading to the main house. I definitely can’t go up there—actually, it sounds like mommy dearest is coming downstairs. God knows what she’ll do to me (or Buddy) if she finds me here. I bolt towards the half open window, my only other option, and begin to heave myself outside, flashing my ass cheeks in the process. My leather skirt bunches around my waist and I’m already halfway out the window when I hear Buddy speak behind me.

  “Where are you going?” He croaks.

  I glance over my shoulder and give him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Buddy. Last night was fun, but it’s not going to work out.”