Page 87 of Hula Girl

“Tomorrow. Eight o’clock,” he reminds me before taking his leave.

As soon as he’s gone, I pull my phone out from my pocket and start the laborious process of texting Ava.

Not trying to interfere, but I heard about Randall. I’m so sorry. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. I mean it. I just want to help if I can.

By the time I hit send, my thumbs are practically numb. And Ava responds so quickly that I have to laugh. Maybe a smart phone isn’t such a bad idea.

I really appreciate that. The best help would be to try to kill the gossip going on about this very personal issue. Otherwise, I’ve got things handled. Thank you.

So, that’s it. That’s the extent of our relationship now. Impersonal but still gracious.

And over.

* * *

It’sseven twenty-three the next morning when I hear from her again. I’ve just gotten into my car to make the drive to the firm when my cell buzzes. I flip it open and have to scroll through the tiny screen to read the full message.

Good luck today. I know it’s a big day and that you’ll feel relieved to have it behind you.

While it’s nice that she’s thought of me and remembered my task for the day, I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t want to get sucked into feeling like I’ve got a place in her life when I know that’s not the case. I decide to keep it simple with my reply.

Thx

* * *

In the office,I go straight to the conference room that had been set aside for our purposes and find the table full of suits. My dad, my grandfather, and four people from legal who might as well be replicas of each other, are all there. And, as luck would have it, they’re all wearing some variation of a charcoal-gray suit. I’ve opted for jeans and a T-shirt again, wanting to feel like myself as I make this move.

“Gentlemen,” I say and get a scattered chorus of replies. I take the open chair across from my father. My grandfather is sitting at the head of the table, stoic.

“Larry, pass down the paperwork,” Senior says to one of the legal clones.

I ignore the shuffling of paper coming my way, and instead, reach into my messenger bag. I pull out a manila folder.

“I’d better get this to you first,” I say, proffering the formal resignation letter I’d written up and signed yesterday afternoon.

“Noted,” Larry says. Looks like he’s the lead for the legal team.

My grandfather picks up the resignation letter and scans it before shaking his head mournfully.

“Such a waste,” he mutters.

There’s no use in trying to make him understand the value of living your life to your own standards of happiness, not anyone else’s. I pull out a sheaf of papers from the folder next.

“You’ll want to review this, but you can also trust that it is completely in order,” I say.

“What is it?” Senior asks.

“It’s how I’ve decided to divest my shares.”

My father scoffs. “There’s only one choice in the matter. The bylaws are clear. You must sell to the managing partner.”

“Well, that’s the thing,” I say. “It’s not as clear as you think. There is a clause that I am taking advantage of.”

Senior snatches the paperwork I had prepared and scans it.

“What is this? Charitable giving?” He looks up at me, fury in his eyes. I don’t look away, and after a moment he turns to Larry. “What is this bullshit?”

Larry has a fine layer of perspiration on his upper lip. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

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