Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lilavati
There’s no time for breakfast in the resort before we head off for our snorkelling adventure in Molokini Crater because we have to be there before six, but Ant assures me we’ll get breakfast on the boat.
It's a disappointment to be missing those malasadas, but snorkelling in a volcano crater seems like a better than even exchange. Add in spending another whole day with Ant away from the family and I couldn’t be happier.
I’m also not inclined to be argumentative because Ant was proved right. He didn’t oversell outdoor sex. I might have grazed knees, but I feel fantastic.
I was furious with him last night for maybe a nanosecond.
Sure, I wish he hadn’t lied to me. But I’m kind of glad he gave me the opportunity to get to know him the way he did.
Because he’s right. If I’d had any inkling he was more than met the eye when I suggested this arrangement, I may well have run screaming from the idea.
I have to be careful not to let Ant’s situation fool me, though.
It’s still true I really don’t have time for a relationship, and it’s still true that Ant and I are not really suited.
We’re complete opposites. And despite how supportive and attentive he’s been, despite how attractive he apparently finds me, he didn’t argue at all about this being a holiday fling.
Mei was right, as usual. A sneaky link in a tropical paradise is just what I needed. For once in my life, I’m not going to overthink it. I’m going to make like my best friend and enjoy the moment.
The boat taking us to our snorkel spot is a small but beautiful catamaran with only four other passengers. We sail through the bluest waters I’ve ever seen, eating fresh fruit and pastries in the sun on the back deck.
I nearly jump out of my skin when no more than twenty feet from the boat, a humpback whale rises out of the water, slapping its tail on the surface before disappearing again, only to reappear again and again as though it’s following us, raising a flipper now and then as if it’s waving to us.
Eventually, we pull up at a crescent moon island of rock and grass that rises out of dark blue water. We’re the first boat here, but I can see three others in the distance, all heading for the same spot.
I slip on my new rashie, and Ant plaits my hair while we listen to the safety instructions from the staff.
Who knew there was a right and wrong way to jump into the water from the back of a boat?
I’m convinced water this deep will be cold, but as I land, braced for a chill, I find it’s actually warmer than the water in Kapalua Bay.
Snorkelling in the bay and getting so close to the turtles is amazing, but Molokini Crater is next level.
The water is a little surgier than in the bay, but Ant takes my hand and doesn’t let go.
In no time, I’m so entranced that I’ve forgotten that we’re in the middle of the ocean.
The flow of the water, the tight grip of Ant’s hand and the colourful sea life we swim over have transported me.
After what feels like only minutes, but turns out to be over an hour, we climb back on the boat and the crew serves us morning tea. It’s not until I’m out of the water, flat on my back on the deck, that I realise how exhausted I am. Snorkelling is hard work.
“Have you had enough?” Ant asks, his elbows resting on his up-drawn knees beside me.
“What? No! I just need to catch my breath. We’re going to Turtle Town next. Not missing that.”
Ant laughs. “Have I created a monster?”
“Quite possibly.” Snorkelling is fast becoming a bit of an addiction. “I’m thinking when I get that fellowship and I don’t need to work so many hours, I might see about doing a dive course. Imagine being able to go down into the deep? The captain said there are reef sharks a little further down.”
“I think you’d love diving. There are some amazing spots for it around Sydney, although the water won’t be quite as warm. I was thinking we could even go up to Ningaloo Reef and snorkel with the whale sharks. That would blow your mind.”
My head pops up off the deck, and I squint through the bright sun at Ant. His body is relaxed, face turned to the sun. I can’t see his eyes because of his sunglasses, but his expression is tranquil. He looks happy. Does he realise what he’s said, or was it just a slip of the tongue?
Maybe he's open to this fake dating thing, that somehow morphed into a holiday fling, to end up being something else entirely. I can’t honestly say I’m mad about that.
I’ve made lots of excuses about being busy and Ant not being the right person for me.
And it’s becoming clear that’s all they are.
Excuses. More and more, I’m beginning to realise that was my sense of self-preservation talking.
Plausible deniability. If you don’t care, you don’t commit, you can’t get hurt.
The truth is, if I wanted to make it work, I’d find a way. And I think maybe I do.
But there’s still that voice of doubt, of lifelong insecurity, in the back of my mind.
I’m about to ask what Ant’s thinking when the engine rumbles to life and the boat starts to cut through the water towards our next snorkel spot.
“Ten minutes to Turtle Town,” one of the crew shouts.
My moment is lost. Which is maybe for the best. This is—could be—a big step. Best to think it through carefully. Because, for probably the first time in my life, I’m in danger of letting my heart rule my head.
We’re exhausted but relaxed by the time we get back to the resort. Is there a word for that? If there is, I don’t know what it is, but it’s a great feeling. Unfortunately, we only have a couple of hours to enjoy the feeling because we have to back up and do the hens’ and bucks’ parties tonight.
“Do we really have to?” Ant moans as we flop onto the big, round outdoor bed on the lanai, our bodies salt-crusted and limp from the snorkelling.
“Honestly, if you don’t want to go to the bucks’, you can beg off. But I really don’t want to deal with the fallout if I don’t go to the hens’.” Although my personal preference would be to stay in and relax with Ant. Naked. “At least we have time for a nap.”
“Nah,” he sighs. “If you can do it, I can do it. How bad can it be?”
Turns out, on that scale of root canal to having outdoor sex on a blanket, the hens’ party is root canal squared.
After a short ride to a nearby resort on golf carts, Emily’s maid of honour, Megan, gathers us around her, clapping loudly. She’s the kind of girl who was the captain of the netball team in high school and still expects everyone to do as she tells them.
“She hasn’t changed since school,” Louise mutters in my ear. “She was Head Girl and thought that was code for Headmistress.” Called it.
“Right, ladies, what we’re going to be doing tonight is”—Megan pauses and looks around the sea of faces for dramatic effect—“learning to hula!”
I’m struck dumb. I can think of nothing I want to do less than learn to hula. Oh, wait a minute, I spoke too soon.
“And then we’re going to perform our fabulous dance for all the boys and other guests at the luau on the eve of the wedding. Isn’t that fun?” Megan squeals, clapping and shaking her hips.
Ah, no. Like I said. Root canal squared.
It’s not that I don’t think hula dancing is beautiful. It is. When performed by trained professionals. Not people with two left feet and no hip action, like me. I’m just going to butcher it and humiliate myself.
“She’s got to be fucking kidding,” Louise hisses under the cover of the excited chatter that’s broken out around us.
“Do you think anyone will notice if we sneak off?” I whisper.
“Don’t you dare,” my mother growls—yes, growls—from behind me. I wish I’d known she was there. I thought this was just an event for the younger women. Looks like Mum and Aunt Caroline are here to supervise. “Emily has gone to so much trouble to set this up.”
I glance over at Emily, who is laughing and doing a few hula moves with her friends. Her outfit of a bikini top and sarong-style skirt makes more sense now.
Louise and I exchange rolled eyes as staff begin to move through the crowd of maybe fifteen women, handing out beautiful grass skirts and anklets, leis and flower crowns.
What follows is three hours of utter torture. There are not enough mai tais or pina coladas in the world to take the pain out of tonight.
“Lili, perhaps you should be in the back row?” Megan says as I stuff up yet another run through of what is apparently the most basic routine. The staff had arranged us according to height, which meant I was in the front row. Until now.
“Good idea,” I mutter, swapping places with the woman behind me, putting me next to Louise, who is actually pretty good at this.
“It’s all in the hip action,” she says with a dirty laugh. Easy for her to say. She has more curves than I do.
“No, no, no,” screeches Emily after yet another failed run-through. I suspect she’s been having private lessons in preparation because she seems to have the moves memorised. Not that she’s what you’d call skilled. “Okay, it’s clearly time to take a break and have something to eat.”
I hear a few sighs of relief. At least I’m not the only one who is not enjoying this.
“You know, Lili, as my cousin, I thought you might put in just a little more effort for my wedding to be a success,” Emily says from behind me at the buffet table.
I see red, and the sharp tongue Grandie is always warning me about starts working before I think it through.
“Well, Emily, not all of us have such ample curves to work with.”
Emily bristles. “This is payback for not being included in the wedding party, isn’t it?”
She’s got to be kidding.
“No, Emily. But I’m happy to sit the dance out if my performance is not up to standard. Although at least my aesthetic is somewhat Hawaiian.”
“Lili,” hisses Mum, before turning to my cousin. “She didn’t mean that, Emily. Perhaps if one of the teachers could give her some one-on-one attention?”
Emily glares at me, clearly torn between taking me up on my offer to leave and Mum’s suggestion. Sadly, she goes with Mum. “That’s a good idea, Aunt Marion.” And off she stalks to line up a teacher for me.
“Warren will be hearing about this, young lady,” Aunt Caroline snaps, stomping after her daughter.
I hope Ant is having a better time than I am.