Chapter Four
Four
Sunny
My first time on the islands was accompanied by a mix of astonishing and annoying things. First off, the views were fantastic, straight out of the highest resolution cinematic movie. Glistening ocean for miles hit the horizon and the slight curvature of the earth painted in clouds. Although a sobering thought. Looking out the plane window was a reminder of how much faith we placed in technology, in the engineering of this giant aircraft and these pilots, because one bad turn of events, one electrical glitch, and we would plunge to our watery deaths. Surrounded by sharks. There must’ve been a million of them underneath the glimmering waves, just waiting for a metal-encased meal.
So much for the beauty of the endless ocean. Now, all I could see were horrifying ways to die.
The water went from shades of dark blue to green and aquamarine and clear enough to see outlines of black rocks at the bottom. It was marvelous to see for the first time and had, ironically, made me incredibly thirsty. Or maybe it was the fact that the airline served us free mai tais as a welcome. They weren’t individually made but poured out of Costco-size bottles and were sweet and tart with a hint of alcohol and enough to make my mouth dry.
Beyond the clear waters were serene coastlines and more black rocks with a sprinkling of trees and shrubs until we were flying over lush greenery and specks of houses. And still beyond that were massive hills, maybe small mountains, blurred out by fog and rising above the clouds like sleepy giants. According to the people excitedly chattering behind me, those were volcanos. Not as deadly as I’d expected a volcano to look, but dormant, which was preferable to a possible fiery demise.
I couldn’t help but wonder if I would die here—sharks one way and molten lava the other, filled with poisonous centipedes in between.
We deplaned into a tiny outdoor roughing-it-in-the-wild airport, where a pall of humidity and god-awful heat hit the second we stepped off the plane and onto a ramp leading down to the runway. Hot as hell. I went from thirsty to parched, desperately fumbling to get a few bucks into the vending machine for water so expensive, I expected it to taste like heaven.
It didn’t, but I drank it to the last drop.
I texted my sisters about Papa. His health had become a looming concern since his first stroke a few months ago. It had been mild with minimal long-term effects, but disconcerting nonetheless.
“I’m good,” Papa insisted over the phone.
“Are you taking your meds on time? Drinking plenty of fluids, rest, exercises?” I pressed as I read my sisters’ text responses.
Sheila: He’s fine! We’re here! You’re in HAWAII! Stop texting. Don’t call.
Sienna: Seriously, if anything happens, we’ll let you know.
“Beta,” Papa replied firmly, “I’m doing everything the doctor instructed. Now, you relax. Don’t worry so much about me, huh? Enjoy your vacation.”
Easier said than done.
Unlike my friends who’d flown in for this destination wedding, I didn’t notify them when I’d landed, or when I’d left baggage claim, or when an Uber had picked me up, or when I’d arrived at the hotel not only where we were all staying but where the wedding would take place. Because that was too many damn texts in an already congested group chat. I didn’t need to read Maya’s dissection of how many sea turtles she’d seen while looting the beach for shells.
They’re called honu. They’re endangered green sea turtles, omg, they’re gorgeous. OMG, they’re adorable! This one loves me. Look at how it looks at me! I’m in love, you guys! Can’t get too close to them. There are signs everywhere!
Followed by a dozen pictures that looked like either her camera zoom capabilities were excellent or she’d gotten closer to the turtles than she was legally allowed to.
More importantly, after a long day of traveling and cramped leg space during a seven-hour flight, I wanted to shower before seeing my boys. No matter how excited we were for this week, there was no amount of bro love that could outshine the level of travel gross I was feeling.
But fate had other plans.
“What do you mean there’s no reservation under my name? Try it again,” I said to the man behind the front desk.
The staff uniforms consisted of dark blue and green Hawaiian shirts in an open-air lobby that allowed optimal airflow from the ocean to the left. Granite floors, tall vases filled with fake flowers, large paintings on the wall, and water features everywhere gave this hotel an immediate welcoming calm. The gentle ukulele music over the speakers helped, too.
“Seems that you were supposed to check in yesterday,” the man explained.
I showed him the reservation on my phone. “No. It’s for today.”
He typed away and I noticed beads of sweat gathering at his temple. It was humid, but also packed. The phones were ringing off the hook and the line behind me was getting longer by the minute, despite six staff members working furiously behind the counter. The place looked incredibly busy for a mid-October Tuesday.
I patiently waited another few minutes when the man excused himself and another person slid over to assist me. The manager. Which was never a good sign.
“I apologize, but it seems that we don’t have any rooms available except for the luxury suites,” he said with a worn expression, as if I wasn’t the only snafu of the day.
I grunted. I just wanted to shower and change and maybe nap. “How much per night? Can I get it for the rest of my stay?”
“Eight hundred a night.”
I balked at the price. The hell? Was it lined in gold?
“Although the only suites we have may be available beginning tomorrow night.”
I blew out a breath, my chest tightening in the already humid air. “You don’t have anything else?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“But I had reservations.”
“I’m very sorry. We had a hiccup in the system. Since it said your check-in was yesterday, we gave your room to those on standby,” he tried to explain and imperceptibly nodded toward the secondary line full of impatient guests. “We’re at max capacity.”
I pressed my lips together. There was no point in arguing or yelling. This wasn’t his fault, and the situation was what it was, but shit, this was bad. “Can you let me know if anything opens up tonight?”
Even for eight hundred a night. Damn, Sam and April were not a cheap couple.
“Of course. Please enjoy a complimentary drink at the bar for the inconvenience,” he added, slipping a drink voucher across the counter.
The look on my face must’ve conveyed a much lower level of patience, or maybe just the right amount since so many were getting visibly upset around me. Some had even started muttering and one man became loudly irate. In any case, the manager slid a few more vouchers toward me.
I thanked him. He was kind and worked within his limits, and I wasn’t a jackass. I was, however, going to break the bank at this rate. Easing away, leaving the crowded lobby, I was immediately met by a balcony-style enclosed lounge overlooking lush gardens with vibrant blooms, a manicured lawn with a generous pool beyond, and in the near distance, the ocean. The ocean breeze swept up and into my nostrils, soothing any irritation.
It could be worse.
Sitting at the bar and furiously looking up every hotel in the vicinity—which honestly wasn’t a lot, but then again, this wasn’t a city—I ordered a drink and began making calls.
One after another. Everyone was booked.
“Why’s it so busy?” I asked the bartender.
“Ironman,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.
“What’s that?”
“The worldwide championship triathlon. Brings in thousands of visitors, athletes, and spectators to the island.”
Talk about bad timing. The couple had been so careful to plan around holidays and times that were inconvenient for their guests and wedding party, yet here we were.
Not to worry. Surely someone wasn’t coupled or rooming with another person and could spare some space. Maybe?
Who would I ask? Sam was definitely a no. He might’ve had his own room, seeing that the bride wanted the bridal suite to herself to relax in and get ready at before they met again as a married couple, but I couldn’t crash with the groom. He was probably stressing out and had a detailed itinerary down to the minute. He was one of the most particular men I’d ever known, a perfectionist to heart.
Aamar, the best man, was here with Maya, his girlfriend and the maid of honor, and they probably wouldn’t like having a third wheel during what was most likely a romantic getaway for them.
The only person left was…
My ex was here somewhere. Sejal, who always found a way to remind me that my emotional range was about as robotic as the coding I wrote. She’d wanted me to be a grand gesture type of guy. But she equated my level of devotion to how many roses were left on her workplace desk, the amount spent on gifts, or whirlwind surprise weekend getaways.
“It’s social media; people try to look perfect,” I’d told her. “Life isn’t that romantic.” (I’d learned that wasn’t ever the right thing to say.)
“Romance takes effort!”
“Then tell me what to do and I’ll try.”
“I shouldn’t have to tell you!”
I’d tried, although according to Sejal, I hadn’t tried hard enough. What my ex wanted was a romance book lead: someone who knew what the hell he was doing and did it well.
“Ever think maybe she just didn’t inspire you?” Sam had once asked me.
The thought had boggled my mind. But I’d loved her; why wouldn’t she inspire me? And if she, a woman I’d been with for years who had woven herself into the very fabric of my family and life, didn’t inspire me, then no one could.
Maybe she was right. Maybe I was dead inside. A robot better suited for typing out millions of lines of letters and numbers and symbols to make something from nothing, a digital hunter of 404s. Not a person meant to show affection.
I’d known all along she’d be here. Sejal was April’s close friend and a bridesmaid. I was Sam’s close friend and a groomsman. He’d checked with me to make sure I would be okay with the arrangement, but what was I supposed to say? No, have the bride take her out of the wedding party?
Bracing for her presence only added to my anxiety.
I threw back the last of my drink. The sour burned down my throat. I should probably eat something or else I was about to be drunk without a room to crash in.
Back to making more calls, this time with hotels in Kona. The closest, and largest, nearby town was a good forty-minute drive. Which meant I’d have to get a rental car of my own.
The few people around the bar shuffled out.
I groaned and glanced at the pool, my gaze drifting toward a woman two seats down the counter. I hadn’t noticed her before because a behemoth of a man was sitting in between us, but I noticed her now. It was hard not to see her with her nose in her tablet feverishly reading away and sipping a tall, iced glass of what was probably water or clear soda.
That pulled-back purple hair.
Those sweatpants.
Bane . In the frumpy-ass flesh.