Page 85 of Hula Girl

Abruptly, I stand and take the money clip from my pocket. I throw down three twenties, my best guess for the cost of the meal we had ordered plus a tip.

Then, I hold out my hand to Ava.

“Let’s get out of here.” When she hesitates, I add, “Please.”

“And go where?”

There’s futility in her voice, as if it’s already clear to her that there’s no point to us anymore.

“Anywhere,” I say. “Down to the beach. We can explore the pier, go for a ride on that big old Ferris wheel, I’ll win you a giant stuffed animal at one of those rigged games—whatever you want. But let’s just go.” I just want some of our spontaneity back. I want that promise that when we’re together, anything’s possible. That therecould bea point to us spending time together.

As soon as she tentatively takes my hand, I pull her up and with me through the restaurant. I don’t take her to the main hotel elevators, but to the single glass elevator attached to the front of the building that offers ocean views during the descent. We catch it just as an older man and a much younger woman step off.

Once the doors close, I slide my hand into the hair at the nape of her neck. But I don’t kiss her. Instead, I press my forehead to hers, willing her to take a chance. For a moment, we stay just like this, both of us with our eyes closed, breathing each other in with perfect synchronicity. And then I kiss her. It’s a searing, searching, desperate kiss that she returns with the same passion.

“Just give me one more day,” I whisper into her ear before meeting her eyes. “Give meyoutoday.”

Her eyes fill with tears, and she shakes her head. “I don’t know what you want.”

“I just want to be with my Hula Girl one more time. I wantyou. I wantus. The way we were in Maui. And have been here until it changed last night.”

The elevator is slowing to a stop and I’m desperate for her to understand. To answer me. To say that she will do as I ask.

“Ford—”

I can tell by her tone that she’s going to argue against it. She’s going to say that the real world has made all that impossible. That there’s no point since neither of us is willing to change our lives, including where we live. So, I speak before she can finish because I don’t want to hear her say it aloud.

“Don’t give up on us, honey,” I tell her.

“I … can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

My chest tightens with this rejection. She’s just made it clear there’s nothing else I can do. She’s not willing or able to take a chance on us.

The elevator doors open and the people waiting to board force us to step out into the lobby. I follow her out onto the street. The hazy sunlight is too bright for my dark thoughts and I laugh.

She looks at me quizzically.

“I don’t know,” I say in defeat. “I just—fuck it. I love you, Ava. Yeah, it’s crazy. Yeah, it’s impossible. But it’s fucking true. I love you. And I’m just so … sad that this is where it’s ending.”

Her face is full of the same regret I feel. Reaching up, she touches my cheek. “I knew you were a romantic,” she says, and I laugh weakly. And then she adds, “I love you, too, Surfer Boy.”

The nickname makes me smile, but now, it’s so fucking bittersweet. I’ve never felt more conflicted in my life. Not even when I had to move away from Maui at my father’s insistence. Because now, the choice is completely mine. No one is forcing me to give up the thing I want most this time.

No one but me.

35

Ford

Tequila is my friend!

That’s what I declared at some point to the bar full of strangers at the cheesy “cantina” not far from my townhouse. I’d gone straight there after Ava left me standing on the sidewalk. As I sat by myself, I looked around at the garish decorations that were a ridiculous approximation of Mexican culture and wanted to laugh. Ava would have rolled her eyes at it.

And she really wouldn’t have enjoyed the less than top shelf tequila they had on hand. Even as I drank, I knew I’d regret it in the morning. There would be no getting up early to hit the waves, no coconut water hangover cure could erase the damage I was intent on doing.

I remember calling the bartender Makai a few times, as if I was back home. This guy looked nothing like my friend Makai, though, he did have the same epic level of patience. He listened to me as I confessed that I was heartbroken because my fiancée (yes, I called her that—it was easier than explaining the whole backstory) claimed she loved me, but she obviously loved her work more, because she wasn’t willing to move to Maui to be with me. My fake Makai checked on me throughout the afternoon, but eventually, he eased me out to the street and watched as I got in an Uber.

Now I’m in my bed, staring up at the ceiling as it spins, thinking that I must not be as smart as I’ve always thought, because I still can’t figure out how to make things work with Ava. I want her. Jesus, I want her so much. But, giving up my life in Maui is simply inconceivable. I think of being out on the waves there, feeling the magic of that surreal flow and force of nature. At first, I ride the motion in my mind. But then, I feel the vomit rising and I scramble to the bathroom to get sick.

---