Chapter 13
lovelillibet What are the simple pleasures that take you back to childhood? For me, it’s the delicate richness of lobster bisque, which we had for dinner on Saturday nights. Nothing makes me feel young again like dipping a sterling soup spoon into a vintage porcelain dish of creamy seafood goodness.
Love, Lillibet
Image: Hundreds of tiny crabs crawl across a sandy beach.
#homesweethome #islandlife #comfortfood #foreveryoung
“I couldn’t let you come all this way and not sample the most famous local delicacy,” Libby said when they joined the line outside the shave ice parlor Island nICE, as if bringing them here had been a selfless act of hostessing duty.
It was a relief to talk about something she understood, instead of faking her way through another lifestyle humblebrag. When it came to shave ice, Libby’s opinions were firm and backed by years of experience. Her guiding principle could be summed up as “yes.” Ice cream, azuki beans, sweetened condensed milk, mochi: yeses across the board. Jean tried to argue with her about flavor combinations but was hampered by an inability to pronounce most of them with her accent. Guava became guab-er and lilikoi picked up three or four new syllables before she managed to spit it out.
“Is this the place Obama likes?” Hildy asked, as they neared the register.
“The line’s even longer at that one,” Libby said as they shuffled forward a step. “We don’t go near it this time of year.”
“A charry leem man, he is,” Jean chimed in. There was a pause as they all worked out that she was saying cherry lime before she turned to Jefferson. “You strike me as more vanilla.”
“Not today. JJ needs to get something exotic, because I’m going with the house special. Always start with a baseline menu item. I learned that from one of our food critics. It’s like putting a racehorse through its paces. At an Italian restaurant, you order the lasagna first, to check how they handle the classics, and so on. Hence why I’ll get the tropical trio.” Hildy linked her arm through Jefferson’s. “And you can choose something different. As long as it’s awesome. Like melon. And lychee. Or pickled mango. With some of that li hing mui.”
“Anything else?”
“Just some extra mochi.”
“I live to serve,” he said dryly.
“Another reason we’re so perfect together.” She gazed up at him from under the brim of her hat, which was working overtime to hide her distinctive curls.
“Because you live to give orders?”
“Bingo, babe.”
Libby pretended to study a rack of postcards, sparing herself more of their cute coupleness. When Hildy insisted on paying for everyone, calling it a business expense, Libby didn’t argue, because (a) she was afraid her card would be declined, and (b) when she reached into her bag for her wallet, the first thing she found was a brochure for Invisalign. Mr. L must be trying to sweeten the pot. She shoved the glossy bribe to the bottom of her purse before summoning a (crooked) smile of thanks.
They found a bench outside, ignoring the sticky patches left by previous customers.
“Is this giving you flashbacks?” Hildy asked Jefferson, helping herself to some of his sunset-colored shave ice.
“To my Snoopy snow cone machine?”
“Our blizzard, Iceman. The deadliest meet cute.” She frowned. “Still workshopping that one. But you know what I mean. Mounds of snow everywhere. The helicopters circling.”
“Shork wortch,” Jean attempted to say.
“Shark watch,” Libby translated. “That’s what the helicopter is doing.”
Hildy shivered. “That’s one thing we didn’t have to worry about on the mountain. You know what was weird? There we were, surrounded by snow and ice, which is basically water, and yet I got so thirsty.” She clutched Jefferson’s arm. “Remember when you melted snow in your little collapsible cup? Get you a man who can light a fire in the middle of an ice storm, ladies. You would not believe the things he had in those pockets.”
“We’ll not be needin’ to see any o’ that.” Jean narrowed her eyes at Jefferson as if he might be on the verge of whipping out his equipment.
“So you spent the night outside.” Libby nodded at Hildy to continue.
“In our little snow fort, yeah. Which has honestly cured me of any desire to ever go to one of those ice hotels. And then the helicopter found us in the morning, as soon as the wind died down. Thanks to my little signal.”
“Flare gun?” Libby guessed.
“That would have been badass.” She pretended to cock a bazooka. “But no. This was inspired by one of my sorority sisters who got married on the beach last summer. The photographer did these aerial shots where they spelled out ‘Mrs. and Mrs.’ with driftwood and then they took pictures with a drone. Black-and-white, so tasteful. Although some people”—she cut her eyes at Jefferson—“are too old school for drones.”
“They’re a nuisance,” Jefferson countered. “It has nothing to do with my advanced age.”
“How old are you?” Libby tried for casual, but judging by Jean’s glare, she’d missed the mark.
“Askin’ as a journalist, she is. Likes to have all the facts. ’Tisn’t that she’s personally interested, mind you.”
“He’s thirtysomething,” Hildy said, as if the exact number didn’t matter once you got up that high. “Anyway, there we were in the middle of this vast expanse of white. Absolutely no way they were going to be able to spot our snow cave from above. I could tell JJ was worried, but he didn’t want to say anything because he’s so protective.”
Libby found herself nodding and hurriedly assumed a neutral expression. “And then?”
“I suggested we drag some branches over to make an arrow, pointing at the cave. And it worked.” She gave a modest shrug.
“It was a good idea,” Jefferson said.
“All’s well that ends well, am I right? Look at us now.” Hildy plucked a piece of mochi from his dish, popping it in her mouth. “Alive and thriving.”
It was hard not to be charmed by Hildy, even when she was causing Libby acute stress, with a side of envy. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Hildy gave an eager nod. “It’s like coming full circle. The whole reason I was out there is because of you.”
The shave ice reconstituted inside Libby’s stomach, a lump of frozen dread. “What do you mean?”
“Remember that post about how getting lost can be the quickest way to find yourself? You were describing that silent retreat you went on.”
“‘I speak to myself with the voice of the trees,’” Jean quoted, puffing out her cheeks to make whistling-wind sound effects.
“It—can be, uh, good. Spending time on your own. Alone.” Libby was clinging to a buoy of make-believe in a sea of guilt. There were a lot of things you could say about Lillibet, but she’d never guessed “accidental murderer” would be among them.
“Right? And like you said, surprising things can happen when you open up to inspiration. Like, I thought it was going to be a weekend of mountain air, digital detox, and thinking deep thoughts in my yurt. The perfect conditions to put together a killer business proposal. Which is a whole other topic.” She made a swiping motion with one hand, physically shoving it to one side. “Back to our adventure. All my plans went out the window when I met JJ.”
“And almost died,” he reminded her.
“Because an experience like that makes you realize there’s no time to waste. You have to pay attention to the signs telling you, This is your moment. Grab it while it’s hot.” She looked to Libby for affirmation.
“Yes,” Libby said slowly. “Although, there are signs, and then … there are signs.”
Jean gave her a look that said, Are you stupid or just an idiot?
“Do you believe in coincidence?” Hildy asked.
“That depends.” Libby would have left it at that, but Hildy was hanging on every word. “On your definition of coincidence.”
“Like take me and JJ. He wouldn’t have been out in the woods that day if his girlfriend hadn’t dumped him. Personally, I think it’s good riddance, because she sounds like a nightmare. Have you ever met someone who adopts a new personality based on who they’re sleeping with, like why figure out your own mess when you can date your way to an identity?”
That one hit a little close to home. Rather than saying, Yes, and she was my mother, Libby pretended to take the high road. “You met her?”
“No, but she has a big digital footprint. Unlike JJ. So right there you have a mismatch. My read is that this Genevieve”—Hildy made air quotes around the name as if it were just as likely to be an alias—“is an emotional vampire. She’s looking for someone to be obsessed with her and tell her how beautiful she is twenty-four seven.”
“Is she?” Libby couldn’t stop herself from asking. “Very beautiful?”
“Eh.” Hildy tipped the paper bowl to her mouth, swallowing the last of the melted ice and sugary syrup before setting it on the bench beside her. “Under the makeup and filters, who knows? But she must think this new guy is going to give her more status, or stroke her ego, even though he seems pretty into himself. Look at me, I’m a butcher who does interpretive dance. Pretentious, much? Guess what he calls his business.”
Libby glanced at Jefferson, whose stony expression made it clear there would be no hints from that quarter.
“Bite Me?” Jean guessed. “Stuff My Sausage? Porky LaBeef?”
Libby frowned, silently encouraging her to stop there.
“Deep Cut.” Hildy paused to let that knowledge settle in. “I left him a one-star review on Yelp for having terrible taste in women. No offense, JJ.” She leaned her head against his shoulder for half a second before sitting up again. “If anyone understands the pain of giving your trust to a two-faced user, it’s me.”
Libby pretended there was something in her eye, rubbing it with her finger to hide the twitching of her lid. Two-faced? How terrible!
“Just the one face on our gal.” Jean smacked Libby’s cheek like she was waking her from a faint. “But it’s a good ’un.”
“With a skin care routine like hers? Of course it is!” Hildy stroked her own firm young neck. “And speaking of what goes around comes around, it’s lucky for me this guy was such a tragic loner, or he wouldn’t have been out in the woods that day. And then I wouldn’t be here, alive and on the brink of realizing my professional goals.” She shifted on the bench, taking one of Libby’s hands in both of hers. “Which is where you come in.”
“Ye hear that? Listen up,” Jean hissed.
“I am listening.” Libby squeezed the words out of the side of her mouth, maintaining eye contact with Hildy. “We’re both listening. Very, very quietly.”
Hildy let the silence build as she stared into Libby’s eyes. “Are you for real?”
It was hard to say whether Libby’s strangled laugh sounded more like a rusty screen door or a Muppet facing a firing squad. “What?”
“You strike me as very self-aware. A savvy businesswoman who knows her audience and creates the content they want.”
For an endless, excruciating moment, Libby was sure her secret was out.
“Your feed is highly curated,” Hildy prompted, before Libby could blubber a confession and beg for mercy.
“Yes, well. Aesthetics are—so important. I’ve always felt.” Libby’s nose was probably growing by the second.
“Proper actualized, she is,” Jean chimed in. “More herself than most anyone else.”
Hildy waited to see if Lillibet had anything to add to this ringing endorsement before continuing. “And what do you envision, moving forward? Because I sense the hunger. To put yourself out there. To express yourself. To be known.”
It was so stirring the way she described it, one fist clenched, that Libby was halfway convinced. Had they forged a magical mind meld across an ocean of flimflam … and also a real ocean?
“Do you want to stay the course, grow Love, Lillibet into a global brand? Because I can help with that.”
Womp womp. “I’m not necessarily locked into a specific paradigm.” Or, you know, saying things that made sense.
To Libby’s infinite relief, Hildy looked pleased. “Then you’re open to other possibilities.”
“Yes.” So open. The Grand Canyon of openness. How to put it in Lillibet terms? “I truly believe that I am ready to … manifest my freedom. Of self-expression. In a fluid and evolving way.”
“Like one o’ them lamps,” Jean suggested. “With the swirling blobs.”
Libby paused. “A lava lamp. Indeed. But less, you know, lampy. Lamps can be beautiful and, ah, light-giving, but they’re also so contained. If you see what I mean.”
“Yes! We have to break the glass! Ceilings, walls, all of it.” Hildy bounced with excitement. “That is exactly my struggle.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, I think the time has come. Can I be completely honest with you?”
Please don’t. That was Libby’s first, conscience-stricken thought, since there was no chance she could return the favor. But she nodded anyway, and not only because Jean was glaring at her. If this had anything to do with the reason Hildy had flown here to meet Lillibet, then Libby was all ears.
“I’m still working on the pitch, but it’s like you said. Practice is progress.” Hildy leaned back and then forward again, rolling her shoulders. “Okay. I’m going to dive in. What if there was a magazine that was like the big sister you never had? A place to turn for advice, inspiration, a sense of community, or when you just want to hang. It would be warm yet light, deep but also a distraction when you need one. Impeccably designed but with enough meat to sink your teeth into, only not to the point where you feel like a bad person if you don’t read every single word and then you wind up with a stack of shame on your living room floor. Cough New Yorker cough.”
“Sounds bloody fantastic,” Jean said.
“What do you think, Lillibet?” Hildy’s expression was so vulnerable, Libby would have said anything to reassure her. Only this time there was no need to pretend.
“I love it.”
“Yeah?” Hildy flashed a dimple. “Is that an environment—and a way of approaching the world—you might want to be part of?”
“It sounds like my dream job,” Libby said truthfully.
“Maybe even the Me-mas of careers?” Hildy asked, face shining with hope.
Libby hoped her faint smile would read as agreement. She tucked a flyaway piece of hair behind her ear, trying to quiet the uproar in her mind. Was it time to tell Hildy something real? It felt like trying to step off a moving treadmill. Her gaze flicked nervously from Hildy to Jean before landing on Jefferson.
He looked back at her with an air of calm that settled something inside Libby. It was like pulling on a sweatshirt when the temperature is just cool enough to make you shiver, and feeling your tensed muscles relax. She’d already shared this sliver of truth with Jefferson, and he hadn’t laughed.
“I’ve always wanted to write human interest features. In-depth profiles of people.” Who are not me. “There’s one I’ve been working on, about Keoki’s grandmother…” Libby trailed off at Hildy’s frown. “Does that not fit with your vision?”
For once, Hildy seemed to be at a loss for words. “I guess I was thinking we would do something more you-focused,” she said at last. “Advice and stories from your life. Meet Lillibet, our in-house adulting consultant, here to share a woman’s wisdom—that kind of thing. Expanding on what you’ve already created, only on a much bigger scale.” Her laugh was closer to a sigh, heavy with self-deprecation. “I had this picture in my head that you would be the beating heart of Life-comma-Styled. Which is the name of my magazine. Although the comma is silent. Obviously.”
“That’s—wow.” Libby had never imagined feeling simultaneously flattered and horrified. Jean was shooting her murderous looks, silently urging Libby to promise the moon and worry about the details later.
“No pressure. Just because I’ve been building the entire concept around you doesn’t mean you have any obligation to take the job. And by ‘you’ I really mean ‘us,’” Hildy clarified. “I’ll be a presence behind the scenes. Unless you’re a person who checks the masthead, in which case my name will be right there.” Her shoulders sagged. “I came on too strong, didn’t I? I’ve been told I can be a lot.”
“You’re the exact right amount.” Libby had spoken without thinking, wanting only to wipe that doubtful look off Hildy’s face, and the result was a strange hybrid of her real self and something Lillibet might say. Probably another sign of the end times, but at least Hildy perked up.
“I think this is one of those release-and-reflect moments,” she said with renewed confidence, patting Libby’s thigh. “We both need to ask the mirror and then reconvene to share our insights. Am I right?”
Jefferson’s brows lowered in confusion. “You have a magic mirror?”
“It’s a form of soul-searching,” Hildy corrected. “Lillibet can explain it better.”
Libby turned her gaze to the sky, as if hunting for the perfect words. That were not a stream of profanity. “Well, it’s a lot like it sounds. You stare into a mirror and wait. To see what bubbles up.”
“Like that Candyman movie?”
“No, JJ.” Hildy swatted his arm. “It’s about self-reflection. I look myself in the eye and sink deeply into my own consciousness, swimming through the layers of resistance until I make contact with my core feelings. What did you call it again?”
“Mirror diving.” Which was almost as bad as Me-mas. One of Libby’s main takeaways from the last twenty-four hours was that Lillibet’s thoughts were even more vomit-inducing when you had to say them out loud.
Mercifully, Hildy’s phone dinged. She checked the screen, huffing with impatience. “I better take this. My uncle’s been calling all day. Like it would kill him to send a text.”
She stood and walked a few paces before accepting the call. “Hi, Uncle Richard,” Hildy cooed, using the singsong cadence of a preschool teacher. “You know your camera is on, right? Because I’m getting a really intense close-up of the inside of your ear. Seriously, what happened to that trimmer I got you for Christmas?”
She moved out of earshot before they could hear more, leaving behind a thicker-than-usual silence.
“Anyone see the game?” Libby prayed there had been a game. Any game.
Jean’s only response was a what-is-wrong-with-you? scowl, but Jefferson shook his head.
“Keoki used to play,” Libby rambled on.
“That so?” he asked, with what was clearly more politeness than interest.
“Yes. He did. Football.” Too bad it wasn’t track and field, so he could run up and javelin Libby right now.
“But he’s reinvented himself.” Jefferson didn’t phrase it as a question. Did he know something? Or suspect?
Libby gave a nervous laugh. “I wouldn’t say that, exactly. I mean, it’s not like he invented anything. Per se.”
“Being a chef,” Jefferson clarified. “It’s a departure from football.”
“Ah. Yes. That much is true.” She couldn’t seem to stop nodding. “Oh, look! Here comes Hildy.” Libby pointed like a sailor spotting dry land. Then she got a better look at the younger woman’s face. “Is everything okay?”
“In a word, no.”
“What is it?” Jefferson asked, and in spite of the dread pinching her stomach, Libby paused to appreciate his gruff concern. It sounded like he was ready to do battle with whatever Hildy was facing. Blizzards, bears, poor cell reception—you name it, he was the man for the job.
Hildy blew out a frustrated breath. “We’re hosed. Well, mostly me. But also the rest of you.” She scrunched her loose curls into a bun, holding it with one hand. “It’s my uncle.”
“Aye,” Jean agreed. “We got that much.”
“He’s squelching my independence. Again. How far do I have to go to get some breathing room?”
It was impossible for Libby to tell whether this was a legitimate complaint or more along the lines of, He canceled one of my seventeen credit cards!
“So annoying,” Hildy muttered, letting her hair fly free. “I suppose we better go back. Before he gets into trouble.”
“You’re leaving?” Libby and Jean asked, almost in unison.
“I’m not leaving.” Hildy clutched her heart. “I was here first. If anyone should leave, it’s Uncle Richard.”
“Here as in here?” Libby checked the shave ice line, not spotting anyone who looked like the head of a media dynasty. Surely there would be suspenders.
“He’s at your house.” All the bubbliness had fled Hildy’s voice. “That’s where he was calling from.”
“My house? Here? On this island?” As opposed to her many other homes.
Hildy grimaced an apology. “Surprise.”