Hula Girl

by Ward Cosio, Lara

“Tonight, is actually a very special occasion,” he continues, and I cringe. This is going to be the toast that Ford predicted would happen. I brace myself for some insulting reference to my rise from Boyle Heights, but to my surprise, he passes on the chance to announce the engagement, instead saying, “Ford, come on up here, won’t you?”

  Ford looks at me and must see a still-worried expression on my face, because he winks before getting up and joining his father at the head of the table.

  “I thought it would be more appropriate to have Ford share his news rather than me,” Ford’s father says and takes a step back.

  It dawns on me that his father has done this not out of respect for it being Ford’s moment, but because Ford hasn’t spoken to him about me. He doesn’t know anything about our “story” and so can’t begin to tell it.

  Ford glances up at the expectant crowd before meeting my eyes. I have no idea what he’ll say, and my stomach tightens in anticipation.

  “Well, quite a few of you have heard the news about my engagement to Ava Ruiz,” Ford says, and the crowd murmurs before settling back down. “But I’ll tell you all a little more now. She and I met by chance in a totally unexpected place. In fact, if it wasn’t for a wild chicken, of all things, running her off the road, we’d never have met.” He pauses to let the laughter die down. “The thing is, as odd as that circumstance was, I think the universe put us in each other’s paths, wild chicken in the road, and all. I know it’s crazy, but I fell for this woman that first day we met. And I’ve kept on falling ever since.”

  I’ve got tears in my eyes, and my heart has twisted and tightened along with my stomach. His choice of words is not lost on me. If I could manage to look across the table at my mother, I imagine she would recognize it too. He’s repurposed the story she told us about meeting my father.

  “And so, I had to ask her,” Ford continues, his eyes still fixed on mine. “I had to tell her that if she would just take a chance on me, on us, I’d promise to make her happy for the rest of her life.”

  The audible coos this receives soon gives way to applause. But I’m so confused. On the one hand, Ford just made an incredibly romantic and seemingly sincere grand gesture with what he’s said. I want to believe he’s genuine. I want to believe that he really feels this way. But on the other hand, I know—he and I both know—that we don’t have a future. That there’s no chance of him making me happy for the rest of my life. Not when we’re both standing our ground in refusing to completely change our lives to make something work between us.

  “So, please join me in raising a glass to my lovely fiancée,” Ford says, holding up a flute of champagne.

  I hadn’t even noticed the catering staff delivering glasses to everyone, including me. There’s a glass on the table in front of me, and I pick it up automatically. Still willing and able to play the part he had asked of me.

  As everyone holds out their glass and choruses “cheers!” and “congratulations!”

  When I pull my eyes away from Ford and look across the table at my mom, I see that she understands my conflicting emotions. I may be holding it together on the outside, but Mama always knows.

  She gives me a warm smile and a little nod of her head. It’s her signal for me to hang in there. To roll with it, just as I had asked her to do with this whole crazy scenario.

  And so, I do. I play the part of the love-struck fiancée as Ford and I mingle among the party guests for the rest of the evening, accepting their well wishes and fending off questions about when the wedding will be.

  If I didn’t know none of this was true, I’d be just as dazzled by this version of a love story as everyone else is.

  32

  Ava

  When it finally feels reasonable to leave, I tell my mom that I’ll just say my goodbyes to our host and meet her at the front of the house.

  I find Senior with my Ford. They’re standing near the ridiculous ice sculpture, deep in conversation.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” I say, and they both turn to me. “I just need to get my mother home. But I wanted to thank you so much for this evening. It was lovely.”

  Senior nods slowly, his eyes leaving mine to scan my body.

  It’s been such a draining day. I’m emotionally exhausted from everything I’ve learned about Randall. I don’t have the patience to endure this casual disrespect.

  “Hey,” I say sharply, and his eyes bounce back up to mine. “That’s better.”

  Ford laughs. “She doesn’t tolerate creeps,” he explains with a shrug when his father glares at him.

  “Anyway, thanks again,” I say.

  “I’ll put you in touch with Paige,” Senior says. “I’m sure she’d love to help plan the wedding.”

  “Uh, sure.” I look at Ford. “Can you walk me out, babe?”

  “Of course.” He looks at his father. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “What were you talking about?” I ask when we’re far enough away not to be overheard by his father.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? Seemed like you had an intense conversation going on there.”

  “No, not really.”

  I look up at him to find his face frustratingly impassive.

  “Ford,” I say, but he doesn’t look at me. We’ve stopped walking and are alone on the first of two landings on the wide staircase that leads up to the house. “Listen, I’m tired. Today has been … a day. So, please don’t play games with me. What is going on?”

  He sighs. “I was just trying to assure my father that what you said yesterday at the office wasn’t true. That you and I aren’t plotting to take business away from the firm.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, oh. That’s all he cares about.”

  He rubs the back of his neck before pulling his tie loose. Though he seems agitated, he’s never looked sexier.

  “Hey, how about you leave with us?” I say playfully. “After we drop off my mom, we can go back to my place. As hot as you look in this suit, I’d love to get you out of it.”

  There’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth before he shoots me down. “I, uh, should probably go back and reinforce what I already told him. I just need to be sure he chills out. He’s kind of agitated about it.”

  “He’ll be fine,” I tell him dismissively. It’s odd to see him so preoccupied by what his father thinks. All he’s ever wanted is to be free of him. “Let’s go.”

  He hesitates, looking around, looking anywhere but at me. We’re alone, with most guests having left and the remaining dozen or so clustered with their backs to us as they stand at the bar down in the garden.

  “I just need to be sure he’s good, okay?” he says, still distracted.

  I wait a beat. Wait for him to say that he’ll meet me at my place later. Wait for him to make some sexy suggestion for what we’ll do together. But his head is somewhere else. He doesn’t say a word.

  I can’t help but feel rejected. He’s leaving LA soon. We both know it’s unlikely we’ll see each other again. The fact that he’s not interested in spending every spare second with me before then is a rude awakening. It feels like now that I’ve served my purpose in this fiancée game, he has no use for me.

  “Yeah, well, you gotta do what you gotta do,” I say and start up the steps once more.

  “Ava,” he says, his voice flat.

  That inflection tells me he doesn’t want to fight about this. That he doesn’t want to put in the effort to make this better. So, I don’t turn back, and I don’t stop walking. I do, however, start to feel deep regret over how I allowed my heart to be toyed with by this Surfer Boy.

  “Stop,” he calls after me.

  I make it to the top of the staircase and he’s just a half-step behind. He grabs my hand and pulls me so that I twist toward him, and he wraps his arms around my waist and shoulders, bringing me in close against his body. I lower my gaze to his chest, not wanting him to see the hurt in my eyes.

  “I want to be with you, I do
,” he says urgently into my ear. “I just need a minute to deal with him, to make sure that he’s not going to do anything—”

  But the damage has already been done, and I suddenly feel cold. Suddenly feel rejected by his clear lack of interest in me now that we’ve pulled off the fake fiancée ruse. And I lash out.

  “Yeah, sure,” I say. “Go ahead and work on that grand plan of petty retribution against the man you’re suddenly so concerned about. That’s time well spent, I’m sure.”

  “Why do you care so much about what I do with him, anyway?” he snaps back.

  “Because it’s not who you are. It’s not the man I met in Maui. The man who told me about directing mana in a positive way.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I’ve got to go.”

  I start to move toward the house.

  “This is all you finding an excuse to walk away,” he says and I stop. But I don’t turn around. I just listen as he continues. “You just can’t stand to let me in, no matter what I say or do. Called it right from the start, didn’t I? Closed off. That’s safer than letting me really know you, isn’t?”

  My chin is trembling from trying to stave off tears. I’m so hurt and angry. He knows this is the way to get to me. He knows that the loss of my father is why I might be “closed off” and that I’ve spent a lot of years trying to protect myself against a similar kind of hurt. And then the minute I do let someone in—because that’s exactly what I’ve done with him—he uses it against me.

  “But the thing you need to know,” he says before I can respond, “is that you don’t have to put up your walls.” I feel him wrap his arms around me from behind, holding me tightly. “I’m the same guy from just a little while ago who made that toast about taking chances, about falling for you no matter how crazy it seems. That wasn’t pretend. I don’t want to pretend with you, Ava. I want reality. Even if it’s complicated and hard. I want it as long as you’re along for the ride with me.”

  I want to sink back into him. Sink to the ground with him. Just to feel his strong and reassuring arms around me. But that would require taking a chance. Something I just don’t think I’m capable of doing right now.

  Instead, I say, “I have to go. My mom is waiting.” And I pull away from him, hurrying into the house.

  33

  Ava

  The minute we drive away, leaving Ford behind, I feel cold. I hadn’t realized what a warm, bright presence he has been in these last few days. I mean, there’s no doubt that I’ve had a good time with him, but I hadn’t understood how much space he had taken up in my life. In my heart.

  “You don’t have to stay, mija,” Mama tells me when I follow her into her house. “It’s okay if you want to go be with Ford.”

  I take a deep breath to try to clear away those unwanted pangs of missing Ford. “No, I want to. I’m going to find some clothes to change into. We can get cozy and watch something on TV.”

  She nods, unconvinced by my forced enthusiasm.

  In my old bedroom, I keep a stash of emergency clothes for when I decide to stay over at the last minute like this. It includes shorts, sweats, T-shirts, and even some work clothes. I may have officially moved out years ago, but I’ve never really left. I feel safe here. And being here for Mama always feels good.

  It strikes me that I feel the same way about my firm. I feel safe there. And I like being there for Randall.

  At the same time, I imagine that neither Mama nor Randall would want me to feel obligated to stick around for them.

  But that’s too bad, because I’m not going anywhere. I’m definitely not running away from my life like Ford seems to want me to do.

  With that thought, I sit heavily on my bed, focusing on that word: safe. It’s the same word Ford used in accusing me of not letting him know me—because I thought it was safer to protect myself. He’s right, of course. Because I’ve operated out of that sense of wanting safety above all else for so long. Financial safety for my mom and me after my father passed away, work safety with my loyalty to Randall, emotional safety with only allowing so much intimacy in my relationships. Until Ford came along, that is.

  I want to scream into my pillow to relieve the frustration and heartache I feel. Instead, I change into sweats, a T-shirt, and a Southwestern Law hoodie. When I return to the living room, I find Mama setting out a bowl of freshly popped popcorn sprinkled with spicy Tajín seasoning. This snack was a staple of my teenage years, whenever I was heartbroken either by a boy or by less than perfect test results. It meant sitting on the couch with Mama, snacking, and vegging out while we watched telenovelas. And it was always the perfect remedy to take my mind off things. She knows me too well.

  I sigh and plop down on the couch. Grabbing a handful of popcorn, I know it’s no use to pretend that everything’s okay. Mama knows better.

  She sits next to me and pulls my left hand toward her, looking at the ring I’m still wearing. The weight that I’d earlier lamented has gotten comfortable surprisingly quickly.

  “Is it real?” she asks, and I laugh.

  “I asked the same thing. He says it is very real. He said it cost him ten thousand dollars.”

  She gasps. “Why would he do that? Can he return it?”

  “I don’t know, Mama. I don’t know why he’s done a lot of things, honestly.”

  Sitting back against the cushions, I close my eyes. A blur of images comes to mind. Not the sexy moments we’ve had, but the moments of genuine connection. The times when I opened up to him about my father, about how hard I worked to help keep my mother from falling apart after he passed, about how I’ve dedicated my life to finding success in my career. And all the while, he listened and offered gentle support. More than that, actually. He gave me big gestures like with the Dodgers game, and even with this ring. Why did he buy me a real ring? He didn’t have to do that. And why did he say that I haven’t let him in. Doesn’t he know that I’ve let him in more than I’ve let any other man in? Though my eyes are closed, I have to open them to blink away the tears that are forming.

  “There isn’t a lot of ‘pretend’ in this thing you’re doing with him, is there?”

  “What?” I sit upright and try to put on a blank mask.

  “Ava,” she says softly. “It’s okay that you feel something real for him. I can see why you would. He’s very good looking.”

  That makes me laugh, which I know was her intention.

  “But also, he seems to feel something for you, too.”

  I shake my head. “It’s no use, that’s the thing. He’s going back to Maui. I’m staying here.”

  “That’s the end of the story?”

  I nod. “That’s the end of our story.”

  “There’s no chance one of you can move to be with the other?”

  “No, it doesn’t seem so.” I laugh in frustration. “I just—I really don’t discount the work that he does at the music school, but I just wish he was open to moving here. I mean, why can’t he be the one to give up his life to be here with me? Why does the woman always have to make the sacrifice?”

  “Like I did to be with your father?” Mama asks gently.

  “No, I didn’t mean it like that. That was different. You chose that, right? You didn’t feel like your hand was forced, did you?”

  “No, not in the way you’re thinking. I mean, it was hard to leave Zacatecas. I had my family and friends there, of course. But with your father, I got so much more. He was what I needed. I’m not ashamed to admit that.”

  “And I love that. But I need more than a man. I need my job. I need to feel like I’m accomplishing things.”

  “You deserve every happiness, mija.”

  I lean into her, and she wraps her arm around me. “Thank you, Mama.”

  “Just don’t let the happiness of your heart suffer by thinking it shouldn’t come first.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “This man, he cares for your heart. That makes him a chance worth taking.”
r />   “This isn’t the same as it was with you and Papa,” I say, suppressing a yawn.

  “No, not the same,” she agrees. “But not all that different from what I can tell.”

  “You just like him because he ate six of your enchiladas the other night.”

  She laughs. “Probably so, mija.”

  * * *

  After we clean out the popcorn bowl and shut off the TV, I go to bed. As tired as I am, though, I can’t sleep. Instead, I lie on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I wonder what Ford is doing. I wonder if he’ll want to see me again before he leaves for Maui.

  Purely as a thought-exercise, I try to envision what it would look like if I did as he suggested and moved to Maui. I’d be walking away from all the years I invested in Miller, Newell & Kahn. I’d be walking away from a clear career path. I’d have to study for and pass the Hawai‘i bar exam. And there’s no guarantee that I would be able to create a successful practice. I also wouldn’t have my mother close by. And I’d never see the Dodgers play in person.

  It sounds terrible so far. Turning on my side, I try to focus on the positives instead of the negatives. I’d live on an island paradise without all the Los Angeles drawbacks like smog, and traffic, and crime. I’d have complete control over whether I succeed or fail with my career if I had my own practice. I might even be able to make my own hours and create that elusive work—life balance I keep saying I want but haven’t managed to find yet. I’d watch every Dodgers game on TV, just like I have for all these years. I’d bring Mama over to visit, and maybe even convince her to retire there and live a well-deserved life of leisure. And, I’d have Ford. Ford, the man who has turned my world upside down and shown me an incredible amount of caring in such a short time.

  I don’t get to an alternative thought-process whereby Ford is the one to give up everything and move here because my phone buzzes and I’m shocked by the text message that comes through.

  It’s from Ford. He must have spent an hour keying in his message on that old flip phone of his.