9. anything goes
anything goes
MARLEY
It’s too good to be true.
All of this.
My mother always says, “A smooth road doesn’t mean there aren’t potholes waiting ahead.” I used to roll my eyes whenever she’d drop little warnings like that, convinced she didn’t want me to be happy. But right now I feel her words settle into my chest like a brick.
Othello’s charm sinks in slowly, a lazy warmth that sets off butterflies in my stomach. He’s thoughtful and easy to talk to.
Too easy.
It should take longer to feel this comfortable with someone, shouldn’t it? To laugh this hard? To trust this much?
We’ve settled back into the convertible, the warm Maui breeze and the soft throwbacks playing tunes from Othello’s phone.
We chat about everything and nothing. His poetry. Grief. Books. Doughnuts. Pet Peeves. My road to success and how the road to staying on top is just as demanding. We talk about the days ahead, and how beautiful Maui is until the radio suddenly slips into a familiar 90’s R&B groove.
My eyes light up, and I can’t help but turn the dial to raise the volume. Othello glances at me before shaking his head as I croon the words to Mary J Blige’s “Sweet Thang”.
I stop mid-chorus, catching the amused but unimpressed look in his eyes. “What? You can’t tell me you don’t remember this one.”
“Oh, I remember it. Mary is a legend, but nothing beats the original.”
“Chaka did her thing, but Mary added that razzle dazzle of hip-hop flavor.”
“True, true. But since we rockin’ throwbacks, tell me what you know about this one,” he says once the song ends. The next melody floats from the speakers and into my memory. A smile plays out on my lips. “Wow,” I drag out. “Okay, okay, you might know a little something.”
“I might?”
“This song takes me back to high school,” I tell him, snapping my fingers to Miguel, Sure Thing.
“Music always takes you back to a place or time. When I hear this, it reminds me of road trips with my dad. He’d play this song, singing off-key at the top of his lungs. I used to act like it annoyed me, but I’d give anything to hear him sing it again.”
My chest tightens and the playful energy between us shifts.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to kill the vibe.”
“You didn’t,” I say quickly. “That’s…really sweet.”
He smiles faintly.
Trying to lighten the mood, I nudge his arm. “So, did you inherit the off-key gene or do you have the vocals?”
Othello coughs out a laugh. “Oh, I got the vocals.”
The next song makes both of our eyes expand, and we turn to each other in unison. “Oh shit!” He exclaims.
“This was my song!” I say, clutching my chest and belting out the lyrics of Bruno Mars, Just the Way You Are.
“What are you thinking when you hear this song?”
“Homecoming. 2007. I was dancing with Tony Wayne. He had the biggest hands I’d ever seen on a ninth grader.”
We laugh. My favorite part comes on when Bruno starts belting his heart out about how this woman is already enough.
Othello joins in, using a water bottle as a microphone as he belts out the lyrics. When he breaks it down on the bridge, I lose it, my side aching from laughing so hard.
“Please, stop!” I holler.
“What? That’s how he looked in the music video,” Othello chuckles, taking mock offense.
The rest of the ride turns into a full-on concert.
A throwback battle neither of us is willing to back down from.
Othello croons a Jodeci classic, and I fire back with a power ballad from Mariah Carey, the car filling with off-key high notes and breathless laughter.
By the time we pull into the Grand Palms, we’ve butchered at least thirteen R&B classics.
The Hawaiian breeze of the evening wraps around me as Othello opens the car door for me, and I step out with a sigh of relief.
We’re finally here.
The staff of the luxurious resort greets us with warm smiles, handing over frothy cocktails and draping fresh orchid leis around our necks. A bellman gets our names, then wheels our luggage away inside the resort. Othello idly brushes a fingertip over the petals resting against my collarbone.
“I guess this makes it official. We’re on vacation now.”
We finally enter the Grand Palms, a rush of cool air greeting us after being in the heavy Maui humidity outside.
The lobby hums with a thrilling, blissful energy.
Music plays somewhere in the distance, and guests drift through in a carefree manner.
Everything, including the ambiance of the beautiful resort, is so intoxicating that for a second I want to forget about my list, crumple it up, and throw it in the nearest trash bin.
I want to go anywhere the Maui wind blows me.
We fall in line at one of the four check-in stations. Each one has a line that makes it clear we’re not the only people eager to start this vacay. My eyes scan around, taking in this haven that will be my home for the next several days.
Across the way is a lounge, where Latin music spills out of its open doors, festive and lively.
The soft buzz from the drinks Othello and I had earlier seems to hit me hard right here and now, fueling this sudden sense of freedom.
The night is still young. And I’m tempted to do exactly what my mother told me to do.
Othello beams down at me with that same admiring smile he’s been wearing all day. My hips begin to sway before I can stop them, threatening to give a shimmy the judges of Dancing with the Stars would be proud of.
“Well, well, well, look at you. I didn’t peg you for a dancing-in-public type of girl.”
“That shows you have no idea what I’m capable of.”
Othello looks at me with newfound interest. Butterflies have gone mad in my belly. I no longer hear the music or see the people. It’s just the two of us standing there in our own world, my mind on everything I can’t wait to do and want to do to this man.
Let your hair down.
I can do that. And I will. My mouth opens to ask if he wants to meet me back in the lobby after we’ve freshened up. If he wants to go dancing with me and—
“Ozzy! Is that you?”
My attention turns to see who has interrupted my attempt to prolong this day with this fine man.
It’s a cluster of women.
They’re all gorgeous. And they’re all holding flasks and wearing little to nothing.
It’s hard to tell which one has called Othello, Ozzy, until the one demanding the most attention in her white backless cowl-neck halter top and white sequin disc mini skirt asks him, “Are you seriously just getting here?”
It takes me a minute to realize the woman calling Othello by a pet name and questioning him like a child is Carina Sterling.
Oh my God. Carina?
Right here in front of me.
So many things hit me at once. The fact that she’s here in the flesh. Carina is getting married. She’s beyond beautiful. Her breasts look good in that top. I love her Giuseppe’s. Who does her makeup? And then…this is Othello’s ex?
I’m trying not to look dumbfounded, but my brain does a full record scratch.
And so does my mood. My eyes bounce between the two.
Othello looks like he’s been caught with his pants down, and Carina is squaring her shoulders like she’s stepping into the spotlight.
She stands there, front and center, her entourage of four parading behind her like glamorous back-up dancers.
Bodyguards nearby, standing like soldiers awaiting orders.
The ladies all look fabulous, dressed down in beachy regalia fit for a Miami Swimwear fashion show.
But Carina steals all the attention, as she should, with her white ensemble and sparkly Bride-to-Be sash hanging across her perfect, well-endowed breast. Her doe-like lashes seem to bat flirtatiously at Othello.
Her full lips, coated in glossy pink lipstick, give him a smirk I can’t quite make out.
Or maybe it’s just all in my head. Carina flips her thick, long black hair over her shoulder.
She could very well pass for the singer Amerie.
“I thought that was you,” she says once she is up close and personal, so close that I can smell her Delina Exclusif perfume. Her eyes flash with something unreadable. I can’t tell if she’s irritated or delighted to see Othello.
“Gavin and I have been trying to call you all day.”
Othello pulls his phone from his pocket, eyes widening at the screen before shaking his head. “Yeah… I forgot to take my phone off airplane mode.” With a few taps, his phone comes alive, vibrating and chiming with missed notifications.
It’s only then that I realize he hasn’t checked his phone once since he and I were together.
“What took you so long?”
Me. It was me. I want to raise my hand and confess, but instead, I stay silent, standing beside him while my thoughts race.
Carina Sterling.
She is here. Right here. My team was right. A wave of nausea seems to hit me, and the room tilts ever so slightly.
The bride’s bosom buddies give me looks of curiosity, but the bride herself hasn’t laid eyes on me yet. And for some reason I feel like it’s deliberate.
As I take in all this, reality seeps into my brain like an ink stain, spreading and bleeding over my good mood. Othello is here to be the best man. To attend pre-wedding festivities. To make up with his cousin. And bond and have fun with the wedding party, and his gorgeous ex-girlfriend.
Oh, and strippers. I most certainly couldn’t forget about them.
Because there’s definitely going to be a bachelor party, right?
Drunken nights. Regrets. Partying in Maui.
Because let’s be honest, he probably won’t be able to resist temptation with all these beautiful women around. Othello is on vacation.
Anything goes.
Including me.
Right?
Stop this.
Why do I care? I’m not here for this man. I never was. I’m here for peace. Reading books in a cabana. Sunrise yoga. Excursions. Hikes. I have a whole agenda. A list of peaceful things to do.
Othello is here for a wedding celebration. I’m here for a relaxing vacation.
Two completely different things.