Page 73 of Hula Girl

I sit quietly as they hug and murmur comforts to each other. Looking up at the night sky, I watch as a commercial airplane slowly makes its way past and contemplate Rafaela’s purpose in telling us the story of how she and her husband met. She sure seems to be on the side of doing the unexpected for the sake of love. Could she be in favor of Ava trying to work something out with me? The idea tugs a smile from my lips.

But then Ava’s accusation that I’m doing nothing reasserts itself and I slump in my seat. If I’m not one of those manipulative bastards in the glass offices at work, then apparently, she thinks I’m not doing much with my life. How do you get around that? As much as I like her, I can’t imagine having to convince her that my life is meaningful. Because if you have to make a case for something like that, you’ve already lost.

* * *

Not much later,I help clear the dishes. I start to wash them, but Rafaela won’t hear of it. She’s made flan, and we sit at the kitchen table to eat it. It’s the thickest, creamiest flan I’ve ever had. Much more like a cheesecake than the watery, Jell-O style flan usually found in restaurants.

“What do you do for work in Maui?” Rafaela asks casually.

“I help my mom with her music school. There’s a group of students that I’ve taken on. Ava saw them perform when she was there.”

“Really?”

“There’s one boy who is something else,” Ava says. “What’s his name? The clarinet player.”

“Eli,” I offer. “Yeah, he’s a little mixed up on what constitutes confidence. He’s got this whole wise-beyond-his-years-thing. We’re working on that.”

“Ford is really good with the kids. And you can see that they all look up to him. It’s very sweet.”

“And would you consider moving back to Los Angeles?” Rafaela asks, throwing us both again with her way of suddenly changing the topic.

“Mama,” Ava says reproachfully.

“Well, we do have children here in need of a good music teacher,” she says, putting on a face of innocence.

I laugh and shake my head. I really like this woman. She’s insightful and clever. I can see that Ava gets those traits from her.

“I’m committed to Maui and to the kids at my mom’s school,” I say. “We’ve come a long way together, those kids and me. I think we’ve both benefited from our work.”

Rafaela watches me for a moment before nodding. Then she looks at Ava and says, “So, he doesn’t really donothing, does he? Seems like he’s making an impact in the lives of children.”

Ava looks confused. “What?”

“Earlier, you said he left everything, so he could do nothing.”

Her hand flies to her mouth and she looks regretful. “I, um, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not what I even believe. I’m so sorry.”

I wave it off. “It’s okay. I understand that we have different views on the place work should have in our lives.

She drops her hand and lifts her chin. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just that your commitment to work is your only priority.”

“Onlypriority?”

I shrug. “You had to beforcedto take a vacation by your own boss. You have a generic apartment in downtown LA of all places, because you spend more time at the office than at home. It’s pretty easy to see that you’ve let work define you.”

“That’s not true.”

“It’s a little true,” Rafaela says just as she rises to clear our plates.

Ava gives her mother the side-eye and crosses her arms over her chest. She practically huffs but holds back when Rafaela stops on her way to the sink and squeezes her shoulder. It appears that they’ve talked about this sort of thing before. When Ava squeezes her mother’s hand in return, I can see their unconditional support for each other. It’s nice. It reminds me of my relationship with my mom.

“Okay, it might be a little true,” Ava concedes to me. “But I have been trying to figure out a better balance, I swear. You have been a big part of that lately.”

She’s got the cutest impish smile on her face. I can’t resist leaning over the small kitchen table and giving her a quick kiss.

“Ford,” she whispers, and glances at her mother.

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