Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Early Sunday evening, Casey’s backyard is dotted with round bar tables and chivari chairs while crisp-shirted servers ferry appetizers and mimosas around the yard.
“Can you believe all this?” he says when he sees me, wrapping me in a familiar, if not showy, hug. I breathe in his scent of pine and soap and home.
“Not hardly. You remember my client, Danny Kekoa?”
“Yeah, you’re the professional wrestler guy, right? Good to meet you.”
Danny ignores the dig and gives Casey a firm handshake. “Thank you for inviting me. You have a beautiful home.”
“Well, Lauren said you couldn’t be left to your own devices long.” His tone is light, but a subtle insult lurks just below the surface. “We have some Gatorades in the kids’ cooler. Help yourself.”
I frown at Casey, but he doesn’t catch my eye. The girls have come over for hugs and are talking over each other, a mile a minute.
“Did you try the food? I chose lots of it,” Emma is saying. “Helena let me because I have the most dietary restrictions.”
“What restrictions?” I say, smiling. God, I’ve missed them all so much.
“Lactose intolerant, gluten-free, kosher, vegan,” she says gravely. “It’s been very difficult.”
“Vegans don’t eat dairy,” Zoe says, “so that’s redundant. And you’re literally holding a bacon-wrapped shrimp.”
“Dad, Zoe called me redundant,” Emma whines.
Casey’s mother, Sheila, materializes in a pastel flowy separates outfit.
“No whining, Emma. Children at parties should be seen and not heard. Hello, Lauren, dear.” She leans in and gives me two perfume-filled air-kisses.
“Are you still doing your little personal training business? With all that working out, you think you’d be more toned.
I’ve been doing Zumba with the girls in the community center. Feel my arm. Go on, feel it.”
“Excuse me for a moment,” Casey says, seeing Helena wave him and the girls over from across the yard.
“Now, he is toned,” Sheila continues, pinching Danny’s bicep with coral fingernails. “Do you Zumba?”
Danny smiles graciously and shakes his head no. Then he leans into me and whispers, “I’m gonna go look at the dessert table to torture myself. Word on the street is they have miniature crème bruleés.”
The moment we’re alone, Sheila starts in on Helena.
“Can you believe her? An evening gown at a garden party. Showy.”
“The girls seem to love her.”
“Children love anyone. Give them a candy bar, and they’ll hop in a white van driven by human traffickers. Speaking of.” She lowers her voice an octave and asks, “Don’t you think Zoe is getting a little heavy?”
I reel back. “What? No. She’s eleven.”
“I’m just saying.” Sheila puts her coral nails up defensively.
“Childhood obesity is a real problem these days, and she’s at the age where good eating habits are established.
I’d hate to see her keep gaining and become the chubby friend.
Look, now she’s drinking a pop. There are over three tablespoons of sugar in that. ”
“It’s a party, Sheila. She doesn’t always have soda. Leave her be.”
Thankfully, Casey and Helena return with champagne flutes for everyone.
“None for me,” Sheila sing-songs. “I only have one glass of sherry a year, and it’s on Christmas. I find people who drink regularly tend to be a bit sloppy.” She leans forward to pluck an invisible piece of lint from Helena’s breast area.
Helena brushes her dress self-consciously while Casey smiles obliviously. What a dummy. He’s always been blind when it comes to the microaggressions of his mother.
“I love your dress,” I say to Helena. “Reformation?”
“Yes.” She smiles gratefully. “I know I should branch out, but they fit so well off the rack. And grabbing a dress and a blazer from my closet each day frees me from decision fatigue.”
“I do the same, but with cashmere turtlenecks.” I smile back. “My friend Maya accuses me of ‘not serving,’ but putting together a whole new outfit every day is too draining.”
“You both should try Chicos,” Sheila says, raising her arms and twirling to show off her pastel separates. “Softer colors are far more elegant than those drab jewel tones you young people are always wearing nowadays.”
I shoot Helena a pointed look, and she covers a smile.
“I’d better go find my client before he succumbs to the dessert table,” I say.
Casey laughs hard. Too hard.
Maybe I shouldn’t have said that; Danny wasn’t even here to defend himself. Why do offhanded comments tend to go so wrong? No wonder so many people suffer from social anxiety. It’s a jungle out here.
“He’s passionate about baked goods, is what I mean,” I explain. “He may be tempted to eat them in order to deconstruct them, from an artistic perspective. Not like he’s a glutton, or a spoiled child who can’t control himself, or anything.”
Three faces blink back at me. Just stop talking, Lauren.
“I’m going to go find him now. Lovely party, Helena. Top notch.”
Top notch? I have never uttered that phrase in my entire existence. What is wrong with me tonight?
Nothing is wrong, I realize. I’m just at my best friend’s going-away party, hosted by his glamourous new girlfriend who is everything I am not. And, oh, the client who’s sex-training me is dangerously close to taking out the entirety of the dessert table.
Danny is deep in discussion with the head caterer about his popovers and oven temperatures when I approach.
“Hi,” he says, his face brightening when he sees me.
“I made a mean joke about you eating all the desserts behind your back, and I feel really bad about it,” I say immediately.
“I see.”
“I’m afraid I’m gonna need to Ho’oponopono you.”
“What, here? At a backyard party?” Danny looks around, then back at me with his eyebrow raised. “That’s pretty kinky, Theranos, even for me. But, sure, I’m game. Let’s do it. What are you thinking? Like, behind the planter?”
“No, I mean actually Ho’oponopono you. The exercise for reconciliation and restoring balance.”
“Oh. Well, that’s way less fun.”
I grab both of his hands in mine and close my eyes, facing him as if standing at the altar.
“OK, ready?”
“This really isn’t necessary,” he says. “I did almost eat all the desserts. You were just speaking the truth.”
“Be quiet, please. I want to get this right.” I clear my mind, only focusing on the sound of my breathing and the weight of Danny’s hands in mine.
“I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you.
I love you.” I exhale hard, then reopen my eyes.
“Man, that really works. I feel so much better. It’s like it never happened. ”
“Don’t look now, but I think your friend was watching us.”
“Casey?” I look wildly around the yard.
“What part of ‘don’t look now’ was unclear?” Danny laughs. “And, yes, he was watching us. You, to be more specific.”
I bite my lip.
“You wanna talk about it?”
God, I’m so confused. Pulled in two different directions. On one hand, there’s Danny, so hot and mysterious and just … like, this dangerous Hawaiian sex god, pushing me to my limits. Then there’s Casey, my home base. My comfort zone. My human Xanax.
And the scary thing is, even if I were to choose, who knows if either one would want me? I mean really want me.
“Let’s just drop it, please,” I say aloud. “I just want to get through this night and go home.”
“Why don’t we just leave now?”
“Because we can’t. It would be rude.”
“But you’re miserable.”
“Yes.”
“So, let’s go. If something doesn’t feel good, you leave. Trust me, it’s a much better way to live.”
“See, that’s what scares me about you,” I say. “You can’t always just leave. Not in social situations, not in interviews. And not when a relationship gets tough. Sometimes, you just have to sit in the misery and do what you can to make it tolerable.”
I slug a glass of champagne from a passing server.
“OK,” he says slowly. “We’ll stay.”
We spend the remainder of the party chatting with people from Helena’s law firm who are actually not scary at all, and also humoring Casey’s mother.
Danny does most of the heavy lifting, finding topics that hold her interest long enough to keep her insults at bay.
Finally, the first guests take their leave.
While Sheila is distracted criticizing a server, I raise up to my tiptoes to whisper to Danny, “It’s now socially acceptable to leave. Thank god it’s over.”
“Mind if I steal Lauren for a minute?” Casey says, sneaking up behind us and resting a hand on my lower back.
“Oh, sure,” Sheila says, glaring at her son. “Continue to abandon me at this strange party where I don’t know anyone.” A passed appetizer on a silver tray is offered to her, which she smells and replaces.
“Sheila,” Danny says, offering his arm. “Let’s go check on the caterers in the kitchen. Maybe we can help with some of the cleaning.”
“Or make sure they aren’t stealing the silver,” Sheila nods, tapping her nose. “Good idea.” They walk together into the house.
“It’s good to see your mother,” I say, skipping into step next to Casey as we exit the backyard and start down the sidewalk.
“Liar.” He gives me a small grin. “I just figured you deserved a moment to yourself. You must be tired of spending every waking moment with your creep of a client.”
“He’s not a creep.”
“The ‘Lothario of Lahaina?’ ” Casey smirks. “Please. I Googled him. He’s a walking red flag.”
“The league branded him as the bad boy, but he’s nice. You have to get to know him.”
“I don’t want to talk about your client.”
“No?”
Oh, thank god.
“I was hoping we could talk about our last phone call,” Casey says, eyeing me.
Fuck, that’s worse.
“Ancient history,” I say, waving it off.
“Lauren, it happened two days ago.”
I frown. That can’t be right. So much has happened since then. The earth has shifted on its axis. Gravity has been disproven. I’d discovered I’m capable of vaginal orgasms.