Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
O nce we step onto the dance floor with the other couples, Kimo pulls me in close, one hand gripping mine, the other touching the bare skin of my back where the bodice of the dress scoops low. I guess I should say that I assume other couples are out there dancing—I’m only aware of Kimo and myself, so close that our chests are brushing, his eyes locked on mine so all I can see is him , and all I can hear is my own heart pounding in my ears.
“You look unreal in that dress,” he tells me finally, after a long, protracted moment of us just gazing into one another’s eyes.
I don’t know how he’s had time to notice my dress, frankly, since it feels like he hasn’t taken his eyes off mine, but I gulp anyway. “You look pretty fantastic, yourself.”
“Thank you.” After a moment, and a long, slow swallow, Kimo clears his throat. “I have something I need to say to you.”
I blink in surprise, then nod. I’m grateful, honestly, for a reprieve from my own tangled thoughts and my inability to articulate them out loud. “Go for it. Please.”
Another beat passes, and then Kimo sighs through his nose, shaking his head a little. “I’m super pissed off at you.”
That was so not what I expected him to say right now. It throws me off, and I stumble a little over my too-high, too-pointy heels. Kimo holds on to me, keeping me upright until I can find my balance again. “I got you,” he murmurs quietly.
It would be a sweet moment, if I weren’t so irritated at him now. “You’re pissed at me ?” I repeat, feeling my outrage mount with each word.
Kimo makes a low sound, shushing me. “I’m not finished yet. Let me say my piece and then you can have your turn.”
Frankly, I’m too flabbergasted to object, so I just clamp my mouth shut, glaring as I dare him to continue.
“I’m mad at you for throwing this away over a simple misunderstanding. I had a good reason for missing book club, if you’d just hear me out.”
“I know all about that now,” I blurt out, unable to help myself. I don’t want to have to stand here and listen to his—very legitimate—excuse for not attending a weekly get-together with my friends that he could easily join another time. I already know I made a mistake.
He raises an eyebrow at me, searching my face for a moment, then continues. “I know I should have gotten in contact sooner, and that one’s on me. I take responsibility for that. But Makoa and Nalani are my children now. If you can’t understand that sometimes I’ll need to put them first?—”
“I understand that,” I interrupt him again, swallowing hard. “And I’m not angry with you for that. I agree with you. Your children should come first.”
God knows I wish my own mother had felt that way. That’s the kind of love a parent should have for their children. It’s the kind of love I’d hope to have, if I ever...
I shake the thought quickly from my mind and see Kimo frowning in confusion. “Then why were you mad at me?”
Floundering, I search for the reason, only to find there isn’t one anymore, not really. Maybe there never was one. Maybe it was never about being upset with him, but more about protecting myself. It’s been so long since I could trust anyone else to do that for me. I don’t quite know how to let go of the reins.
“I don’t know,” I say helplessly, but it’s too uncomfortable sitting in that vulnerable position, so I switch tack quickly. “But I am upset at you now, for a different reason.”
The look Kimo gives me can best be described as exasperated. “What,” he says, not asks, his voice flat.
I barrel on anyway, refusing to back down. It seems very important, somehow, not to concede any ground on this. “You say you want to put your kids first—so then why are you handing over all of your assets to Pika?”
Kimo sighs, releasing his hold on me long enough to rub the bridge of his nose. “It isn’t that simple?—”
“It is that simple!” I insist. “You can’t give that asshole what he wants. It isn’t right. It isn’t fair!”
“What do I care about fair?” Kimo shrugs his broad shoulders. “This way I don’t have to drag the kids through a custody case. We get Pika out of our lives for good. And it’s just money. I’ll make more, or I won’t. I’ll be a caddy again, or a handyman, or whatever it takes to keep us afloat.”
“And what about when the kids want to go to university?” I challenge him. “Or your mom needs medical expenses covered? Or your house needs a new roof? It won’t be ‘just money’ then.”
Kimo shakes his head. “Why are you so hung up on the money—because you want some kind of rich, fancy kahu who’ll buy you nice things and take you nice places?”
It feels like I’ve been slapped in the face, hard.
“Isn’t that why you went after Jay the second you dropped me?” Kimo challenges, doubling down. “Or is it true love with the guy who barely knew your name a couple weeks ago?”
Up to this point, I’ll admit freely, some of my anger has been performative. I’ve been wrong-footed, and I don’t like that feeling, so I tried to find ways to make Kimo the bad guy in all this. I really don’t want him to give his money to Pika, but that could have been a civilized conversation, if I were a less volatile person.
Right now, though? This feeling? Is not performative anger. I’m furious. Blindly, seething-with-rage furious. I draw myself up to my full height, and thanks to the heels I’m wearing, I’m not too far off from Kimo’s towering size.
“Listen to me, Засранец ,” I bite out at him. “I never once asked you for your money. I’m just fine with my life of working and watching DVDs and going to book club with my friends. I don’t need anyone—not you or Jay Eastman or anyone else—to pay my way.”
I take a moment, letting that sink in, before I continue. “You can tell yourself whatever you want about my advice, but I’m not wrong. You think it’ll be hard for the kids to go through a custody case? What happens when they find out their birth father sold them for their inheritance? And I’m sure you don’t mind hard work, but I promise you, it’s different when you have other people you’re taking care of and not just yourself. You have to work that much harder, and sacrifice that much more, and still try to be everything else they need you to be.” I swallow, thinking of Sasha and Alina. “And you’ll more than likely fail. Despite all your best efforts.”
Kimo stares at me like he wants to hold on to his anger yet can’t help but hear the truth in my voice. “People do it all the time. There are lots of single parents with low-income jobs who survive just fine.”
“Yeah, they do,” I agree. “But sometimes that’s all they can do—survive. Don’t you want more for your children? Don’t you want more for yourself?”
I can tell I’ve thrown Kimo for a loop, and despite my other faults, I’ve always known when it’s time to make an exit. “It’s your choice. It really has nothing to do with me anymore, does it?”
And with that, I make a beeline for the stairs.