Instead of standing further back, he leans on the door frame, propping himself up with his left arm. His head is tilted down allowing his dark straight hair to fall into his wide sparkling eyes.
“I heard that you didn’t want to see me,” he says confidently.
His words catch me by surprise but I don’t let that phase me. “I was at the party,” I say, straightening my back. “I thought you were going to be there.”
“I got held up,” he explains without providing an explanation of anything.
“So…do you want to see me?” he asks. His thick pale pink lips curl at the corners, revealing little indentations in the middle of his cheeks. Those dimples make my knees weak.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I manage to say as I watch him run his fingers along his square jaw.
If this were daylight and I’d had the proper sleep, I would’ve apologized for not coming to see him at night. But something infuses me with extra strength and I refuse to do that.
“Yes, you are,” he says slowly, tossing his hair. It’s razor straight and falls perfectly from one side to another.
I meet his eyes and force myself to not look away first. He seems to find this charming and gives a little chuckle in response.
“Well, I just wanted to introduce myself. My name is Nicholas Crawford.” He extends his hand. I wipe the sweat off my palm on the back of my shorts before shaking his.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say. “I’m Olive Kernes.”
“Well, I’ll let you get some rest now,” he says.
A light breeze picks up and sways his light V-neck t-shirt, pressing it hard against his torso.
My tongue hits the roof of my mouth as I count six clearly defined abdominal muscles. Even though he is wearing a pair of loose-fitting board shorts, they fit snugly around his tight apple butt, leaving little to the imagination. I watch him disappear into the darkness.
Suddenly, something occurs to me.
“Wait!” I yell after him. “Didn’t we meet before?”
He walks back into the light and smiles at me.
“At the beach, earlier today?” I ask. The sun was right behind him, blinding me, and I was too focused on my injuries to get a good look at him, but now I’m certain of it.
“Yes,” he admits.
“Why didn’t you say anything then?” I ask.
He takes a step back and moves his jaw from side to side.
“I thought it would be better if we met at the party but then I got called off on business.”
I nod. Yet another answer without much of an explanation.
“I want you to meet me tomorrow at seven, at the gazebo overlooking the cliffs,” Nicholas says, his eyes meeting mine and refusing to let mine go. “I have something to discuss with you.”
15
When I see her…
The following morning, I knock on Sydney’s door right before nine and it’s the latest that I can possibly wait. She yells for me to come in, but the door is locked. Begrudgingly, she gets out of bed and stomps over to let me in.
“What time is it?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I lie.
She shakes her head.
Her long straight hair falls in all directions but will only require a brief run of the brush to bring it back to its usual luster. She heads straight to the kitchen counter and starts a pot of coffee.
Her robe falls off her shoulder. She’s not wearing anything underneath yet she’s not too quick about pulling it shut. One of the things that I admire most about Sydney is that she doesn’t have the body of a model and yet she acts and feels like she does. Her confidence is contagious. She has big breasts, a narrow waist, and a large booty and she loves every single one of her curves.
Sydney struggled with her weight and body image immensely as a teenager, going through a series of crash diets and binge eating marathons. It didn’t help matters that her mother’s family are all Asian with naturally thin frames and tiny bones.
Neither of our mothers made us feel anything but shitty about the bodies that we live in, blaming us for whatever extra weight we carried as some sort of deficiency in the quality of us as human beings.
Yet, somehow, about a year ago, Sydney emerged with this completely different attitude. Instead of waiting to live her life until she lost those extra fifty pounds, she just embraced who she is right now, in this moment, appreciating the body that she wakes up in every day. That’s when she started sleeping naked and walking around our apartment in nothing but a silk robe in the mornings.
I am about her size, and I try to follow suit. I know that it’s wrong to hate the extra fat around my hips and the fact that my thighs don’t touch. I know that I shouldn’t complain about the folds that my stomach makes when I sit down. Yet, it’s all I can think about.
Especially here.
At least, back in Boston, I could hide behind a heavy coat and sweaters for nine months of the year.
But in Maui? The sun and the humidity and the tropical weather makes it impossible to hide the body that I have.
What happens when I have to wear a swimsuit?
“So…how was your date?” I ask. I’m eager to tell her about Nicholas but I’m equally eager to hear about James.
She takes a sip of her coffee and flashes a mischievous smile out of the corner of her mouth.
“All I’m going to say is,” she teases me. “He’s great in bed.”
I put my mug down onto the counter.
“No, no, no. I need details!” I demand to know, feeling my eyes lighting up. There’s nothing better than hearing a juicy story of last night’s escapades.
Not that this is a normal thing for Sydney, far from it.
In fact, it was me who’d had a few one-night stands over the last two years, never to return the guys’ calls again.
Sydney, on the other hand, has dated the same guy all throughout college and one year into us living together.
Their parents were already making wedding plans when he got drunk one night and confessed to her that he was gay. He comes from a strict traditional family where being gay is out of the question. In fact, he said that he still wanted to marry her and was willing to come to an arrangement where both of them would keep their lovers discreet.
Sydney told him that this was 2019, not 1879, and she would not be marrying anyone who was not one hundred percent in love with and sexually attracted to her. Given that her mother was best friends with his mother since they were young girls, her mother did not understand and even refused to accept the fact that her friend’s son could be, in her words, one of those.
“Are you going to tell me everything or what?” I ask as Sydney takes one tiny sip of her coffee at a time.
“He took me to this beautiful cove where we walked on the beach and talked about everything from school, our work, our parents, the moon, and the stars,” she says, her eyes twinkling.
“The moon and the stars?” I ask.
“Astronomy is a hobby of his. James just got this big telescope that he uses to look at everything up there,” she says, pointing up. “I don’t know anything about it since I got that one C in Bevler’s Intro to Astronomy. But the way he talked about it, it made it sound, I don’t know, interesting somehow.”
“Yeah, a hot guy walking with you on the beach under the moonlight would make just about anything sound interesting,” I joke.
“Oh, c’mon now, that makes me sound like a total creep,” James says, walking out of the bedroom and startling me. I jump a whole foot away from her, spilling my lukewarm coffee all over myself.
Sydney starts laughing.
“You weren’t going to tell me he was here the whole time?” I ask.
“Eh, I was waiting for him to scare you.” She smiles.
As I clean myself off, James walks over to Sydney, puts his hand around her shoulder, and pulls her cheek close to his for a kiss.
“Hey there, beautiful,” he whispers into her ear quietly so that I wo
n’t hear it.
I hang out in the kitchen with them for a while, watching them swoon all over each other. You’d think it would be annoying, or gross even, but I’m really happy for her.
She spent a long time dating someone who never made her feel good enough and then more time alone thinking that she would never feel like anyone liked her again. So, watching her now with him makes me utterly happy for her, from the inside out.
I still want to tell her all about Nicholas, but for now that will have to wait.
16
When we spend the day together…
When James goes to work, Sydney and I decide to spend the day together. We look up some stuff today and ask Amelia if we can borrow a car. She offers for Thomas to drive us but we decline.
On the drive over to the nearest hiking trail, I tell her about Nicholas and what happened the night before. I gloss over the intimate details and just focus on the fact that he first asked me to come see him through Amelia and then showed up directly at my door in the middle of the night.
“I don’t get it, he just showed up?” she asks, tying her sneakers in the passenger seat. I lost the coin toss and got the dubious honor of driving down the winding Hana Highway first.
“Yeah, and with this attitude, too. Like I owe him something.”
“Well, you sort of do,” she points out. I roll my eyes and turn up the music. “So, what did he look like?”
“Really, really attractive. He looked a bit like Tom Cruise in Jerry McGuire actually.”
“I like him better in Mission Impossible,” Sydney says.
“How can you tell the difference? He hasn’t aged in decades,” I joke. She laughs.
“But Nicholas is taller, over six foot two, I think. With broad shoulders. Really nice abs.”
“You saw his abs?”
“He was wearing this really tight t-shirt and the breeze pushed it against his torso. Once I saw it, I couldn’t look away.”
Out of the corner of my eye, while trying to focus on the sharp turn around a cliffside, I see Sydney lick her lips. She has never been this exuberant or lusty. I don’t know if it’s the tropical heat or the physical heat between her and James but she’s different here. More alive somehow.
“But I didn’t tell you the whole story,” I continue.
“Okay…” She braces herself by holding onto the side of the car, turning her body toward mine.
“He asked me to meet him tonight at seven at the gazebo,” I say the words slowly and deliberately. I wait for them to sink in before adding the last part. “He said that he has something to discuss with me.”
“What the hell does that mean?” she squeals in an excited, high-pitched manner.
I shrug my shoulders. “I have no idea.”
I park near a small turnout, near the beginning of a hiking trail. I grab my backpack, which is stuffed with a water bottle, granola bars, and other goodies as well as an external charger for my phone, a small tripod in case we want to take any stylistic photos for Instagram, and a paper map of the area that Amelia insisted that I take. Sydney puts on her own backpack and we follow the sign leading down a small path into the tropical rainforest.
The leaves are wide, thick, and incredibly green. Only a few steps into the forest and I can barely hear the traffic outside or see the road. The leaves all around us are covered in droplets of water, as if it had just rained. A few rays of sunshine stream in, creating a kaleidoscope of light.
We walk for some time, filling the space around us with voices and laughter, and then we reach the waterfall. It comes from somewhere high above our heads, dropping the water into a small pool right at our feet. It’s about the size of a small pond, but it never grows any bigger and I wonder how that is physically possible.
“Here, let me take a picture of you here,” Sydney says. I groan silently to myself, thinking that she won’t notice.
“C’mon. This place is beautiful. You’re beautiful. Don’t let this moment pass you by without a picture,” she says as I take a few steps toward the waterfall and position myself into the pose that I have practiced a million times in the mirror.
I square my shoulders with her and turn my torso to the side, bending the leg that’s closest to the camera. I place my hand on my waist to create the angles that all the models on social media are always photographed with.
I’ve always hated myself in pictures, but after I watched some YouTube videos and practiced a lot in the mirror, I memorized the position that my body should be in and now the pictures all turn out pretty well. Occasionally, I stick my head out too far back instead of elongating my neck or slouch a bit too much. But this one turns out perfect.
“There!” Sydney announces, looking back at it on her phone. “See, it’s perfect!”
Yeah, I say to myself, letting out my stomach that I have sucked in until it couldn’t be sucked in anymore. The pose is God-awful uncomfortable, but it also makes me look incredibly slim and photogenic. It’s a small price to pay.
“So, what do you think he wants to talk to you about tonight?” Sydney asks as she strips down to her bikini and poses in front of the waterfall like a model with years of experience in front of the camera: she extends her arms to the sky, pops her back, and sticks out her butt. Her smile is effortless and relaxed and the photo comes out magical.
“I have no idea,” I say, letting out a sigh.
17
When I meet him at the gazebo…
We get back from hiking wet and sweaty and I immediately jump into the shower. I have an hour to get ready and I have no idea what that even means. What exactly am I getting ready for? What does he want to discuss with me?
Sydney sits on the couch waiting for me to finish before taking her shower. She can just as easily go to her cottage, but we have been roomies for so long that old habits die hard.
“What are you going to wear?” she yells over the rushing water. That’s the million dollar question.
“I have no idea!” I yell back.
“Did you get the vibe that he’s into you?” she asks when I come out with a towel wrapped around my chest. The water from my hair drips onto the floor, making a little puddle.
“Why don’t you ever wrap it up in another towel?” Sydney asks, exasperated, throwing her hands up.
We’ve had this discussion before, more than once. The thing is that I don’t like the feel of a towel piled on top of my head. It’s heavy and cumbersome, and it makes me feel like I’m about to fall over. Instead, I pick up the other towel off the counter and dry the ends.
“The hair on your head is still wet,” she points out. “Unless you dry all of it and wrap it up.”
I shrug my shoulders. “Can we not discuss this now? I have enough on my mind.”
She smiles and comes over, squeezing my shoulders a little.
“C’mon,” she whispers into my ear. “I’m just trying to distract you a little. I know that you’re a ball of nerves.”
I nod and give her a little smile. I take a moment to collect my thoughts after she undresses and gets into my shower.
What should I wear?
It’s getting dark, but the weather is just as humid and warm as it was earlier this afternoon. I don’t know what I’m walking into so whatever I wear, I have to be comfortable. Nothing that pinches me or digs in anywhere. At the same time, it should be flattering.
The shoes are the easiest decision. I only brought three pairs: beige wedges, flip-flops, and sneakers. I wore the wedges to the party last night, and while they are agreeable enough, they make me feel a little bit too fancy. I know that Sydney will protest, but I’m going go with the flip-flops.
I turn my attention to my clothes. I could go with the leggings again, but they left me quite sweaty at the party. No, I need something that will let some of the breeze through. Luckily, I brought a short dark blue dress with cap sleeves. It looks nice for a dinner out, but paired with the flip-flops, it has an easy going, casual feel to it.
; “You look beautiful,” Sydney says, coming out of the bathroom. I smile and mouth thank you. I am glad that she does not make me second-guess my outfit more than I already am.
My hair is still damp by the time it’s almost seven, but I don’t blow dry it. The strands around my face make loose, beachy waves that are actually quite pretty. I do take a moment to reapply my eyebrow tint, a fresh coat of eyeshadow, another swatch of the eye liner, and the mascara. I finish my look off with a peach-colored lipstick that glistens in poor light.
“Good luck,” Sydney whispers. “I’ll be waiting on pins and needles to hear what happens.”
She takes my hand in hers and gives me a little squeeze. My stomach makes a loud rumbling sound and I cover it to try to calm my nerves.
“It’s going to be fine,” she adds. “Trust me.”
We promised each other that we would stop making promises that we can’t keep a while ago, but I’m glad that she breaks it.
I walk down the path away from my cottage with trepidation.
I see the gazebo in the distance, in front of the house. There are lights strung up around it, and I try to remember if they were there last night.
As I get closer, I see the outline of a man leaning on the railing. As I get closer, the path turns from dirt to large flat stones. My flip-flops make a loud smacking sound with each step and Nicholas hears me approach.
“I am glad you came,” he says, extending his hand toward mine and helping me up the step into the gazebo.
“Thank you,” I say breathlessly, mainly as a result of my nerves.
I feel his eyes moving slowly up and down my body. There’s an intensity to them, the kind that is difficult to describe. It’s almost as if he were looking straight through me, through my clothes, through every armor that I put up, and into my very core.
I look at him in return.
Dressed in a black slim fitted suit, his legs look long and toned. The collar of his white shirt is starched and his tie has a tiny asymmetrical design to it.
Tell Me to Stop Page 6