Chapter 21
lovelillibet I reject the tyranny of birthstones. Each of us should be allowed to choose the gem that best represents our inner being, in the same way that it would make more sense if we got to name ourselves, rather than accepting the one imposed on us before we have a chance to assume our final form.
Love, Lillibet
Image: Shells peek from a tangle of kelp.
#treatyourself #youareprecious #chooseyourself
It was late afternoon by the time Libby herded the entire crew down the highway to Laie. Their destination, Hukilau Marketplace, was a collection of shops, restaurants, and souvenir stands that filled the entrance plaza at the Polynesian Cultural Center. It was absolutely geared toward tourists, but with offerings that attracted the occasional local, too—more for the food than for the aloha shirts and ukuleles.
“This is exciting,” Hildy’s uncle said, rubbing his hands together. “It’s been ages since I personally supervised a photo op.”
“Technically this is my operation, but okay.” Hildy handed him a sun hat. “I’m glad you could join us. There’s no substitute for getting out in the field. Is everyone clear on the drill?”
Jefferson shrugged, visibly uncomfortable, but Mr. L piggybacked on Uncle Richard’s nod with a crisp salute.
“Good.” Hildy checked the time on her phone. “Let’s project ourselves into the present, collecting each moment like a pearl to be strung on the necklace of our lives.” She glanced at Libby, inviting her to add her two cents. Or, in this case, nonsense.
“It’s about gathering treasure,” Libby improvised. “From the—deepest part of our inner core.”
“The appendix?” Uncle Richard guessed, pressing a hand to his lower back.
“Those are the kidneys,” Jean informed him.
“I had mine removed,” Mr. L confided.
Hildy’s uncle blinked at him. “Your kidneys?”
“Appendix. But I still have my gallbladder.”
“We all have empty spaces,” Libby said, before anyone else could join the roll call of missing organs. “And yet we find a way to be whole.”
“Some holes are easier to fill than others,” Jean quipped, helpful as always.
“Amen, sister.” Hildy stationed herself at Jean’s side. “Speaking of treasure, you’re coming shopping with me, right?”
Libby watched the two of them link arms, trying not to feel like the odd woman out.
“We’ll leave Lillibet in charge here,” Hildy said, offering Libby a trusting smile that somehow doubled as marching orders.
“I’m perfectly capable of overseeing matters,” Uncle Richard said.
“I’m talking about the jewelry,” his niece informed him. “Lillibet’s sense of style is on a different plane from yours. No offense. Besides,” she added, cutting off Uncle Richard’s sputtered protest, “you’re too recognizable. Whereas Lillibet can still go incognito—for now.”
That perked him right up. “We should have disguises.”
No sooner had Uncle Richard spoken than Mr. L trotted off, returning with free maps of the park from a nearby kiosk. He and Hildy’s uncle immediately unfolded theirs, holding them in front of their faces.
“Surprise me,” Hildy told Jefferson in parting. “But let Lillibet choose, because I don’t want to look like a rodeo princess.”
“So no horseshoes?”
Libby caught the trailing end of his almost-smile. His eyes looked even brighter now, set off by the tan he’d picked up since arriving on the island. How was it possible she’d only known him for a handful of days? It was as if every minute they’d spent together weighed ten times as much as an ordinary one. Maybe that was a side effect of living a double life—especially when part of it felt so real.
If she hadn’t been halfway to infatuated already, his gentleness when she burned her finger would have tipped her over the edge. Being taken care of was Libby’s emotional Achilles’ heel. She had formed attachments to drugstore employees who helped her choose the right shade of lipstick, never mind emergency first aid.
“Um, the jewelry place is over here.” Libby rotated her arm like she was backstroking on dry land, almost taking out Mr. L. He frowned, possibly reevaluating his choice of fake wife.
“The photographer is in place,” Uncle Richard reported as they wove through the crowds.
Despite having most of a journalism degree, Libby had been unaware until today how many of the paparazzi shots on the pages of celebrity magazines were prearranged by a publicist. Hildy and her uncle had placed a few calls to ensure that someone with a camera would be on hand to “surprise” Jefferson while he “shopped” for rings. Nice to know she wasn’t the only one on the fringes of the media ecosystem with a dubious relationship to truth.
At the Pearl Diver booth, they left Jefferson staring down at a display case while Libby and her businessman buddies hovered awkwardly out of the frame. She almost looked like one of them, thanks to the powder-pink suit Jean had strong-armed her into wearing. The sleeves barely reached her elbows and there was a brightly patterned scarf around her waist, concealing the fact that the skirt was too small to fasten, but it was still twenty times snazzier than anything in Libby’s closet.
Think of it like Spanx, Jean suggested when Libby complained about the itchy fabric and tight fit. It’s a reminder to keep sucking it in.
At least she’d gotten to wear her own clothes at Tutu’s last night, since Mr. L wasn’t there to notice. Plus Keoki’s brothers would have teased Libby mercilessly if she’d shown up dressed like an uppity Realtor.
“On your six,” Uncle Richard murmured. “Our shutterbug has arrived.”
If it hadn’t been for the glint of sunlight reflecting off the camera lens, Libby wouldn’t have spotted the photographer. Blending into the background must be part of the job. Sort of like Jefferson’s work, only more predatory.
“He’s not smiling,” Mr. L observed, peering around the edge of his map at Jefferson.
Uncle Richard gave a thoughtful nod. “It is a weighty decision. I don’t like the pressure myself, which is why I generally leave such things to Thelma.”
Libby stopped herself from pointing out that he wasn’t really going to propose to Hildy. The less talk about fake engagements the better, especially in present company.
Uncle Richard’s phone buzzed. “Yahtzee,” he said, checking the notification. “He got the shot. We’re in business.”
They rejoined Jefferson, who was still scowling at the glass display case as if it contained rotting meat.
“See anything you like?” Mr. L asked Libby.
Uncle Richard pointed down at a massive black pearl flanked by diamonds. “That one’s nice.”
She almost choked when she saw the price.
“I won’t count it against your … allowance,” Mr. L assured her. “Think of it as a bonus.”
Jefferson frowned at him.
“A bonus gift,” her would-be husband corrected himself, smiling at his own cleverness. “To commemorate our pre-anniversary.”
“I’m good,” Libby said.
“What about a seahorse?” Uncle Richard was still studying the jewelry. “Hildy loves horses. She’ll talk your head off about them.”
Somehow Libby doubted that Hildy was still in her horse girl phase.
“Does she know the Lipizzaner stallions of Vienna?” Mr. L made a series of prancing hops, arms held in front of him like a second set of legs as he turned a slow circle around them.
The woman staffing the cash register flashed them a bright customer-service grin. “Are we shopping for a special occasion?” Her blue uniform shirt had a hibiscus print, and she was wearing a silk lei that partially obscured her name badge. Something ending in -cia.
“Wait, don’t tell me,” Felicia or Patricia said, after surveying the group with a practiced eye. “I hear wedding bells. You two must be her proud dads.” She smiled at Uncle Richard and Mr. L. “We do monogrammed cuff links, FYI.”
“I do love a cuff link,” Uncle Richard said, clearly pleased she’d recognized that about him.
“He’s not my father,” Libby told Maybe Morticia. “Neither of them are. And they’re not a couple.”
“Though I would be honored.” Mr. L bowed to Hildy’s uncle as if they were about to waltz.
“Likewise, I’m sure,” Uncle Richard replied.
“Okay.” The saleswoman nodded her understanding. “I get it. You have a complicated family.”
“I feel I’ve learned something from each of my marriages,” Hildy’s uncle mused. “Like water under a bridge. Turning the wheel that makes grist for the mill.”
“Did you know they have a waterfall here?” Mr. L asked.
“I did not.” Uncle Richard sounded intrigued.
Libby’s pretend husband extended an arm. “Shall we?”
“After you,” Uncle Richard said.
The saleswoman sighed as the two titans of industry walked off. “They’re sweet.”
“I’ve always thought so,” Jefferson deadpanned.
“Now, what about you two lovebirds?” Possibly Alicia asked.
“He needs a gift.” Libby fully intended to explain that it wasn’t for her, but the woman behind the counter didn’t give her a chance.
“And you’re here to make sure he doesn’t cheap out. Say no more. Wish I’d done that with my last boyfriend. He gave me lingerie for Valentine’s Day. No tags, I thought to myself. He must be pretty confident he got the right size. But was that why the tags were off?”
“No?” Libby guessed.
“No,” the other woman confirmed. “It was because he borrowed the whole set from his other girlfriend. Who had already worn it, by the way. What kind of person does that?”
This time Jefferson filled in the blank. “Your ex?”
“The tightwad! A nightie, maybe, but a G-string? No, thank you.” She stared into space, lost in memories.
“Sounds like you’re better off without him?” Libby ventured, when an uncomfortable amount of time had passed.
“Dropped him like he was hot. Which he wasn’t. A tiger in the sheets, though. Short guys.” The other woman tapped her temple. “They have more to prove, if you get what I’m saying.”
“I—think so,” Libby said.
“File that away for later. In case you don’t always have this tall drink of water to quench your thirst.” She eyed Jefferson appreciatively.
“It’s not like that.” Libby was pretty sure her cheeks were hotter than the crepe pan she’d burned herself on this morning.
“Can’t get enough, huh? I thought I was picking up those crazy-in-love vibes. You’re going to want something to help you remember this feeling later, when you start to get on each other’s nerves. A tasteful pendant, perhaps?”
The speed of the pivot left Libby dizzy. “He’s not here for me. I’m helping him choose—for someone else.”
“My sister,” Jefferson said.
“Susan, you mean? Or do you have another one?” Was it pathetic how excited Libby was to show off her insider knowledge of his life? A little. Was that going to stop her? Nope.
“She’s the only one. What about you?”
“No siblings. It was just me and my mom.” When her mom was around. “She used to bring me here. To try her luck.” Libby nodded at the shallow tank of pick-a-pearl oysters, fifteen dollars a pop. “Never stopped believing she was going to find a huge one, worth way more than she paid.”
Jefferson considered this for a moment. “Gambler or romantic?”
“Yes.” Also easily distracted by a bit of sparkle. Ready to buy into a good story, even if she’d made it up herself. Always chasing something new instead of being satisfied with what she had. Once, Libby had opened a tin on her mother’s dresser, expecting breath mints, and found a dozen mismatched pearls, dusty and forgotten. It was the getting that mattered to her mom, not the keeping.
And yet she constantly complained about how hard it was to find lasting love, never considering that maybe she only thought she wanted to settle down. Her mother’s choices—still serial dating, after all these years—told a different story. The last time they talked, her mom was in Vegas with someone new. Libby hadn’t bothered committing the guy’s name to memory. As a kid, she’d made the mistake of believing one or two of her mom’s boyfriends were stepdad material, in it for the long haul, but it always turned out that she was more attached to them than her mother had ever been.
Was that what she was doing with Jefferson? Deluding herself into a broken heart?
“Should we give it a try?” he asked.
It was an effort to wrestle her thoughts back to the present. “An oyster?”
He nodded.
“Okay.” She would do it for Susan, whom she would probably never meet. “What are your nieces’ names?” Libby asked suddenly, wanting to collect another piece of Jefferson.
“Abby and Louise.”
“Pretty.”
“I’ll tell them you said so.”
The thought of Jefferson mentioning her to his nieces lodged in Libby’s chest like a warm little ember of hope.
The saleswoman put down the mirror she’d been pretending to polish. “What are we thinking, secret lovers?”
“We’d like to pick a pearl,” Jefferson informed her.
Even though Libby knew the reason he hadn’t corrected the “lovers” part was that this lady lived in her own reality, she couldn’t help reading into it a tiny bit. Watching Jefferson distracted her from the familiar ritual of choosing the perfect oyster, then counting down until it was pried open, at which point another salesperson rang the bell mounted on the side of the booth to alert passersby that someone had been lucky enough to discover a pearl. (Even though it said right there on the sign: GUARANTEED AUTHENTIC PEARL IN EVERY OYSTER!)
“What a beauty! See that hint of pink?” Felicia, whose name had been revealed when she bent to measure the pearl’s diameter, continued to praise its exceptional specialness, as if it were somehow set apart from the hundreds of others she saw in a week.
“Here you go, sir.” She deposited the pearl in Jefferson’s palm. “Why don’t you hold it up to her skin? Are you more of a white or yellow-gold person, ma’am? Or platinum?”
“Um.” Libby was tempted to say, Whatever’s cheapest, because the real answer was that most of her necklaces were on wire or string. The fancy pendants, from Jean’s glassblowing phase, got a leather cord.
“Yellow,” Felicia decided, handing Jefferson a gold chain.
It seemed easier to play along instead of arguing. That was definitely why Libby unfastened the top button of her borrowed jacket, and he brought his hand up to rest ever so lightly against her throat, holding the pearl and the strand of yellow-gold in place. There was no doubt in Libby’s mind that he could feel the throb of her pulse, so close to where his fingertips brushed her skin.
“Try a little lower,” Felicia suggested. “Down in the valley, as they say.”
Libby blushed as she undid the next button, and not only because she didn’t have a valley so much as a pair of speed bumps. Jefferson let the chain slide lower. It felt cool and smooth, though it was only a matter of time before her internal combustion heated the metal until it burned them both.
“I can show you a few of our settings.” Felicia slid an album with laminated pictures of necklaces and rings across the counter. “We have options at every price point.”
Libby was grateful to have a place to point her face. Jefferson joined her in studying the catalog, both of them as serious as if they were shopping for a house instead of a souvenir trinket.
“Which would you choose?” Jefferson asked.
“I like simple.”
“Me, too.”
“My favorite is the whale tail,” Felicia volunteered. In case they were wondering. “Though we are running a special promotion on rings. Twenty percent off if you buy one of our premier settings with the matching band. Free engraving.” She glanced at both Libby and Jefferson, like they were all in on a secret.
It was a bold sales pitch: Maybe you should get married while rings are on sale? Libby should have been used to playing along by now, but this was a step too far. She hit the wall, unable to stand there another minute and pretend it meant nothing, that she didn’t wish they were a real couple with a future that might or might not involve semiprecious jewelry.
Lie about her name? No problem. Fake being a self-obsessed housewife? Sure! Act like she didn’t want to melt every time Jefferson looked at her? Forget it.
“I’ll let you finish up,” she mumbled, already walking away.