Chapter 18
lovelillibet What is poi? A root, a starch, a paste, a beginning, a salad dressing. Like so many things, it becomes what we choose to make of it. Poi is a blank canvas, waiting to be transformed, in the same way that each sunrise offers a fresh start. Will it be a gluten-free superfood loaded with probiotics or a humble poi-zza crust? Only you can decide what to make of today.
Food for thought!
Love, Lillibet
Image: Pale purple taro roots surround a plate stacked with poi pancakes.
#superfood #sweetorsour #poundit #getstarchy
Jefferson leaned back in his folding chair at the edge of the lawn, sipping an excellent local porter. The air had stayed balmy as dusk eased into darkness, the first stars winking overhead. There were torches staked into the grass, their flames shifting in the light breeze. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this peaceful.
He was no stranger to beautiful places, the kind that drew tourists by the busload. What was different here was that the best parts weren’t hidden away in a tower or a penthouse or behind a fence, where only the rich and connected could gain access. The fruit, the weather, the flowers, the beach: it was part of normal life. He doubted anyone at the resort down the road was enjoying a better meal or more appealing company than what was on tap here. Keoki’s grandmother had welcomed them into her home with a warmth that put everyone at ease, insisting they call her Tutu. Uncle Richard was immediately smitten, gluing himself to Tutu’s side. Even Hildy had mellowed out, dropping her energy level from an eleven to a six.
Everything felt easier now that they’d come clean to Libby about their non-relationship. A weight Jefferson hadn’t realized he was carrying was gone, leaving his entire body lighter—until he filled that space with kalua pork and greens, slow-roasted in a pit behind Tutu’s garage. Now he was well-fed, under the open sky, with a beer in his hand, enjoying the soft layers of laughter floating from the picnic table where Tutu and Cici were being waited on like queens.
It was traditional for the men to handle the cooking, he’d been told, and not only because Keoki’s slight Japanese girlfriend had what looked like a rubber ball under her shirt. Jefferson had helped unbury the meat from its nest of ash and banana leaves, which was the most they would allow a guest to do.
The screen door swung open. Libby stepped outside, wiping her hands on her hips. She’d been carrying dishes in and out of the kitchen as if she lived there, more comfortable at this modest one-story than her own home. It wasn’t only the teasing of Keoki’s brothers, who communicated mostly via headlocks and noogies, or Tutu treating her like a granddaughter. Her movements were looser, her face more relaxed. The fancy dresses with their stiff fabrics and fussy embroidery had been replaced by a faded cotton skirt and one of those shirts that tied around the neck, baring her shoulders. She looked younger and softer, more Libby than Lillibet.
Jefferson wondered how much her husband’s absence was contributing to her mood. He hadn’t missed the undercurrent of relief when she announced Mr. L would not be joining them. The artist/ex-roommate/not-Irish non-housekeeper was also otherwise engaged, news that seemed to disappoint several of Keoki’s brothers.
Hildy caught his eye, blowing a kiss that Jefferson grudgingly pretended to catch in one hand, tucking it into his pocket. Since her uncle’s attention was split between Tutu and his plate, this performance was almost certainly for Hildy’s personal amusement. Jefferson had drawn the line at letting himself be reeled in by her invisible fishing pole.
The whole thing was ridiculous, and yet he was right there in the thick of it, unwilling to let this interlude end—even if it meant playing ventriloquist’s dummy. Allegedly, Uncle Richard suffered from a condition Hildy had diagnosed as “estrogen deafness,” so if there was something she particularly wanted him to hear, she fed the line to Jefferson first.
“Everyone has flaws, JJ,” she’d patiently explained. “My uncle isn’t going to suddenly shed his chauvinist tendencies at his advanced age, so we have to work around his limitations.”
Things he had been instructed to pass along so far this evening:
Tutu Lua has led a fascinating life.
It would make a great story.
You’d need the right person to tell it.
I bet Lillibet could do it.
Jefferson made a mental note that the next time Hildy proposed a plan, he should assume the wheels were already in motion.
“Is this a luau?” Hildy’s uncle asked in a booming voice. “Is that what makes a luau a luau? Eating squid luau?”
Tutu slid the bowl of creamy spinach and squid closer to his plate. “Less talk, more eating.”
Uncle Richard laughed, like all he’d ever wanted in life was to be bossed around by Keoki’s grandmother. “You’re a very vivacious woman. And such magnificent hair. Have I mentioned that?”
“It’s okay. You can say it again,” she replied graciously. “You got a helicopter at home?
“No, but I do own an impressive collection of model planes.”
“Huh.” That was the extent of Tutu’s commentary on a grown man playing with toys. “How about my story? You going to put it in your newspaper or what?”
He held his phone up to his mouth. “Set a reminder to remind Thelma to remind me to look into a story about Tutu.”
Hildy grabbed the phone out of his hand. “Cancel reminder,” she huffed. “Don’t poach my exclusive.” She circled a finger at Jefferson.
“The story has already been assigned,” he translated.
“To Lillibet,” Hildy added.
Uncle Richard frowned. “I thought her area was more place mats and things.”
“One, they’re called tablescapes.” To Jefferson’s relief, Hildy didn’t ask him to repeat that part. “And two,” she continued, “you can care about aesthetics and still be a skilled professional. It’s called multitasking.”
“Yes, but her poor husband,” Uncle Richard pointed out. “Where does he fall on the list of tasks? The demands of running a business empire are too heavy to shoulder alone.”
“He’s at a builders’ association meeting.” Hildy’s tone suggested this was on par with cleaning the bottom of a birdcage. “I’m pretty sure Mr. L can sell his own faucets.”
“You’ll understand when you settle down and start a family of your own.” Uncle Richard reached across the table to pat Hildy’s hand. Luckily for him, they were using plastic silverware, or he might have pulled back a bleeding stump.
“It’s never enough. We make everything beautiful and stroke your egos and bear your children and then you try and nickel-and-dime us when it comes to pursuing our own ambitions.” Hildy shook her head. “Where’s the justice? Is it any wonder we need a Me-mas?”
“You need a what?” It sounded like Uncle Richard was ready to pull out his credit card.
“Are you seriously telling me you don’t know about Me-mas?” Hildy huffed. “That is so culturally insensitive.”
Uncle Richard caught Jefferson’s eye, raising his brows in a clear bid for man-to-man sympathy. “She’s always been dramatic. I hope you don’t mind her little outbursts. I’m used to it, of course. Like water off a duck.”
Keep telling yourself that, Jefferson thought. Hildy’s uncle might be in charge on paper, but there was no question who was driving the emotional bus.
“I can’t believe you would show up here without at least taking the time to educate yourself about something so important to me.” Hildy added a hitch in her voice that made Jefferson wonder if acting classes had been part of her business school curriculum.
“But Hildy! Sweetheart. That’s why I’m here. Flying all this way to check on you should count for something. I’m a very busy man.”
“Uh-huh. All that golf isn’t going to play itself.”
Libby, who had walked outside in time to hear Hildy’s muttered retort, froze. Her gaze found Jefferson’s, and he suspected they were wondering the same thing: Is this what she meant by keeping her uncle happy? Then again, their argument had the familiar rhythm of an established routine. Maybe this was the Johnson family’s love language.
“How about some music?” Keoki held up a ukulele. It looked like a child’s toy in his hands.
“Wonderful,” said Uncle Richard, already applauding. Either he really loved live music, or he was grateful for the interruption.
As Keoki’s smooth baritone served up a medley of pop hits from the 1980s, Hildy left her place at the table to join Jefferson.
“They’re playing your song,” she said, plopping down beside him with a plate balanced on one hand.
“Yes. Phil Collins was huge in my day. Pretty sure I danced to this at prom.”
“No way! You went to prom?” She laughed at her deliberate misunderstanding of his joke, forking up another mouthful of pie. “I don’t know what this haupia stuff is, but I could eat a truckload.”
“Coconut pudding,” one of Keoki’s hulking brothers said in passing. He tried to ruffle Hildy’s hair, but she ducked out of the way.
“Respect the curls.”
He pretended to be scared, backing away with his hands raised defensively as Keoki launched into a melancholy version of “Private Eyes.”
“What did you think?” Hildy asked Jefferson.
“It was very good.” He was running with the assumption that they were no longer talking about the music. “The pork was extremely tender.”
“Not about the food, JJ. Respectfully, you’re probably the least gourmet person here. Although you’re right about the pork.” Hildy nodded at Lillibet, who was laughing with another of Keoki’s brothers. There seemed to be an infinite supply of them.
“She’s in her element.” If the full belly, dark beer, and gentle breeze were lulling him to sleep, awareness of Libby kept him on the alert. The chance of catching her eye, or a fleeting smile, was a constant hum at the back of his mind. She was part of the slip-through-your-defenses magic of this place, as pleasing to his senses as the rest of the scene.
Hildy’s gaze sharpened. “I was talking about how I handled my uncle. Got him on the defensive. That’s how I soften him up so he’s in a more receptive frame of mind. To give me what I want,” she added when Jefferson looked at her blankly. “But I guess you were too busy thinking about someone else to notice my sick moves.”
“Hildy.”
“Jefferson.” She mimicked his long-suffering tone. “I know you’re super-sad and lonely right now, but life is long, Emo Oldster. For some of us more than others, but still. You never know what the future holds.”
This time he knew exactly what she meant, even without the head tip in Lillibet’s direction. Or the wink.
“I know what it doesn’t hold.”
She scraped up more of the coconut filling. “What?”
“Breaking up a marriage.”
“Hmm.”
Jefferson sighed. “Yes, Hildy?”
“At any point today I could have said, Hey, Lillibet, where’s Jefferson? and she would have been able to answer without even thinking about it. Same goes for you.”
“That’s beside the point.”
“Then I guess you have no interest in coming to work for me and seeing if your paths cross again one day. Like if someone were to put you and Lillibet on the same assignment. In a remote location. With lots of alone time.”
“We barely know each other,” he said, sidestepping the question.
“When you know, you know. That’s the kind of guy you are.”
“You barely know me, either,” Jefferson reminded her.
“Are you really going to sit there and nitpick my brilliant insight into your life? This is quality life coaching.”
“Should I write you a check?”
“How modern of you, JJ. Will you send it to me via the United States Postal Service? With a stamp and everything?”
A flash of blue caught his attention, his brain instantly cataloging the shade of almost-lavender as Libby’s skirt.
“You obviously like her,” Hildy said, watching him watch Libby disappear into the house with a serving bowl in each hand.
It wasn’t technically a question, so he kept his mouth shut.
“That’s the essential fact, right?” She grabbed his beer and took a sip. “I see you as a person who doesn’t overcomplicate things. You call ’em like you see ’em.”
He reclaimed his beer before she could finish it. “Maybe I don’t make things complicated enough.”
“Said absolutely no one ever. Why would you want to do that?”
“To learn from my mistakes.”
Hildy sighed. “Is this about your ex? Better question, is Lillibet anything like her?”
“Not so I can tell.” He frowned. “But I didn’t know Genevieve was like Genevieve until it was too late.”
“Okay, I need there to be like ninety percent less Genevieve in this conversation. That’s the first thing. And secondly, no one’s asking you to marry Lillibet. Because that would be bigamy. Maybe it’s a fling, driven by pure physical attraction. Think about that for a second.” She waggled her brows.
Jefferson didn’t feel the need to share that the most casual hookup of his life had lasted three months, until her research grant on the western glacier stonefly ended and she went back to her teaching job in Florida. The real issue was that it didn’t feel right to think of Libby like that—as an itch he could scratch and be done with.
“Was it like this when you met she who must not be named?” Hildy prodded, twisting sideways in her chair.
He thought back to his first meeting with Gen, at a gallery downtown. In hindsight, he guessed she’d liked the fact that he was one of the photographers whose work was on display, putting him over the very, very low bar for local celebrity. All he’d seen at the time was a lively, attractive woman who made a joke about the cheap wine they served at these things. Or maybe it hadn’t been a joke, any more than Genevieve was genuinely interested in his work. She wanted to be part of a couple that fit a certain image—and had mistaken him for the type of person who spent his Friday nights making the rounds of the “right” parties and restaurants. They all felt wrong to Jefferson, the uncomfortable clothes and awkward conversations in crowded rooms, whereas Gen thrived on dressing up and being seen.
“The thing with Gen just kind of happened.” A not very inspiring summary of that year of his life, but true enough.
“Totally different scenario this time,” Hildy said.
“There’s no scenario.”
“Not if you don’t lower the drawbridge at your Fortress of Solitude. I don’t mean that in a sexual sense, by the way. I know men of your generation are scared of talking about their feelings.”
“It comes up at all my AARP meetings.”
“Good. Then you’re not as rusty as I thought.” She raised an arm over her head, waving it like a checkered flag. “Hey, Lillibet? Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t,” Jefferson warned.
“I’m not going to do anything. This is all on you.”
They watched Libby approach, feet bare and skirt swaying in the breeze. Her smile was uncertain, possibly because Keoki was singing the saddest version of “Rhythm Is Gonna Get You” ever performed.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“It’s been such a great night, hasn’t it, JJ?”
“Yes.”
Hildy shook her head when he left it at that. “We wanted to thank you. For everything.”
“It’s not me.” Libby contemplated the grass at her feet. Jefferson wasn’t sure whether the praise or the subtext made her more uncomfortable. “All the credit goes to Keoki and Tutu. They have the magic touch. If you overlook their taste in music.”
“You grew up around here?” Jefferson heard himself ask, ignoring Hildy’s smug look.
“Right here, most of the time. At Tutu’s house. Sometimes for days on end. My mom was big on needing a break, because of how hard it is to be a single mother. Which I’m sure is true, but maybe don’t mention it in front of your kid all the time.” Her eyes squeezed shut. “Sorry, party foul. Didn’t mean to kill the mood. Can I get either of you something to drink?”
“I’m fine,” Hildy assured her. “Jefferson’s sharing with me.”
Sighing, he handed over the bottle.
“Okay, everybody, bring it in. Time to talk story.” Keoki’s brother Michael bellowed the announcement, while Jimmy pounded the bottom of a Tupperware bowl like a drum.
“Here we go.” Hildy rubbed her hands together in anticipation. “I cannot wait. You’re going to sit with us, right?” She pointed Libby toward the empty seat next to Jefferson.
“Um, okay.” Libby sat, her arm brushing his before they both rearranged themselves, hands on laps.
Good to know a half second of forearm contact could give him a coronary. He seriously needed to get a grip. As soon as that half of his body stopped tingling.
“You were out at the island today?” Tutu asked.
Hildy nodded with the eagerness of a star student. “Yes, Tutu.”
“Powerful place. Especially for women.”
“I felt that,” Hildy agreed. “The energy.”
“Want to hear the story of how it got its name?”
“Yes,” Hildy said, only a beat ahead of her uncle’s, “Hear, hear!”
Tutu inclined her head, like a queen acknowledging her subjects.
“There was once a great king.” She let her gaze stray to Uncle Richard, who bounced with excitement. “Strong, with plenty of taro to feed his many wives.”
Hildy choked a little. Her uncle remained rapt.
“But this king was getting older. He asked his queen, ‘Who will rule my kingdom after I am gone? I need a son.’”
“I have two,” Uncle Richard whispered, holding up two fingers. “Sons.”
“The king was very lucky. The next full moon, his wife gave birth to a fat, healthy baby.”
Keoki rubbed Cici’s stomach.
“The baby”—Tutu paused dramatically—“was not a son.”
“Shark baby?” one of Keoki’s brothers asked.
Tutu frowned at him. “The baby was a girl. A beautiful daughter. Any man would be proud—except that stubborn king. He only wanted a son. So the queen hid her daughter away in a cave, and told the king the baby was stolen by menehune.”
“Uh, Grandma?” Keoki sounded nervous. “That’s a little dark.” He tipped his head at Cici.
“Pshht.” Tutu flicked her hand at him. “She’s a lot tougher than you.” Cici patted his shoulder.
“This princess grew up wise and strong,” Tutu continued. “Skilled at hunting and fishing, weaving lauhala, tending her garden. They called her Malaekahana, and word of her bravery spread to the old king. ‘If only I had a son like Malaekahana,’ he said to his queen, for there had been no more children. ‘Then I would know my kingdom will live on, even after I am gone.’”
“The queen said, ‘Why not make Malaekahana your heir? Everyone loves her. And she has great hair.’ But the king said, ‘Bah. A woman cannot rule. It has to be a son.’ And so that stubborn king never saw what was right in front of him. On the day he died, with no daughter to comfort him, or keep his kingdom strong, he could barely whisper, ‘Bring me Malaekahana.’ But it was too late!” Tutu raised her index finger. “By then, Malaekahana had her own kingdom. After the king passed, she took his land, too, and that’s why her name is spoken to this day—but the king is a nameless ghost.”
“So sad,” Hildy said after the applause died down. “It was right there in front of him the whole time. A worthy successor. If only he hadn’t been blinded by his outdated patriarchal assumptions. He must have so many regrets.” She side-eyed Uncle Richard.
“Is that a real story?” Jefferson pitched his voice low so only Libby could hear.
“Tutu made a few modifications. Too on-the-nose?”
“I think the intended audience liked it.”
They watched Hildy throw herself at Tutu in an exuberant hug, while Uncle Richard told anyone who would listen that he’d always considered himself a feminist.
Keoki picked up his ukulele and started strumming. He didn’t sing the lyrics, so it took Jefferson a few measures to recognize the tune as “I’m Every Woman.”
“Do you think it’ll make her happy?” Libby asked quietly. “If she gets her way about the job—whatever it costs. Will it be worth it in the end?”
Jefferson tapped the neck of his beer bottle as he considered his response. He was close enough to sense the tension in Libby’s body, even without touching her. There was a question behind the question, and he couldn’t deny the spark of curiosity it lit within him. Was this about working with Hildy, or something more personal?
Maybe it was all his imagination—with a little help from Hildy’s insinuations—and Libby was perfectly happy in her marriage. He forced himself to take the high road, playing it cool and neutral.
“I don’t suppose there’s any way to know before it happens.”
She opened her mouth to say something else, but before she could speak, Keoki called down the table.
“Li’l Bit. You need to get back to the house.”
“So soon?” Uncle Richard pouted.
Keoki nodded. “It’s Goat Time.”
“Did he say Go Time?” Hildy’s uncle asked, looking from face to face to see if anyone else knew what was going on.
“Goat,” Keoki corrected. “Baaaaaa.”
“That’s a sheep, bruh.” His brothers started making noises of their own, a chorus of bleating and shrieks rising in volume and pitch.
Hildy clapped her hands in delight. “Goats!”
Beside him, Libby rubbed her temples. When she realized Jefferson was looking, she pasted on a smile.
“Let’s go meet the goats. I mean, you’ll be meeting them. Obviously, I already know them. Since I bottle-fed them from infancy. After they were tragically orphaned. As you may know.”
Jefferson nodded slowly. “I do now.”