by Piper Lennox
But, once again, all I can think about is an incoming flight.
“Working through the weekend?” Parker asks, when he enters to find me pacing my office. Casual Friday means he’s in jeans and a T-shirt, as off-the-clock as outfits come. I, however, am in dress pants and a button-up; my idea of casual is leaving the jacket and tie at home. And I still feel naked.
He’s kidding: I asked off for this weekend months ago. The dates are stabbed through with two big, beautiful red lines on my calendar.
“Before you get too excited,” he adds, “somebody just walked in for a meeting with you.”
I crane my neck, but can’t see past him into the waiting area. “What? I didn’t have any more meetings scheduled today.”
“Schedules, schedules, schedules.” From behind Parker, I hear a voice I know better than anyone’s.
Kai appears in the doorway, flipping his sunglasses up into his hair. “Different job, same attitude.”
My smile instantly makes my face ache. “No way.”
Parker laughs and sidesteps just in time to avoid our brotherly hug, complete with back slaps and punches.
“I thought your flight was delayed,” I tell him, smoothing my hair back after he tousles it.
“It was,” he sighs, and I just know he’s already had to tell his story to every familiar face that’s intercepted him between the airport and here, “but then things got back on track, so here I am. Our luggage is another story.”
“Don’t tell me. The rings...?”
“The rings are fine. Right here.” He pats his pocket. “The wedding dress, however, is not.”
Parker and I pull the same grimace at the same time. “Mollie must be losing her shit.”
“Oh, she was. Until your girlfriend jumped into action, put her in the car, and staked out the one location in Hawaii that might have something similar. So I’m thinking she’ll be calm by the rehearsal dinner. Or drunk. Either way.”
Parker ushers us into the waiting area so subtly, I don’t notice I’m out of my office until he shuts the door behind him. “Go,” he insists. “I’ll finish the report.”
My feet are already pointed to the doors. “You sure?”
“Positive.” He waves his way into his own office, directly across from mine. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Six sharp.”
We call goodbye and head out into the sun.
“I can’t believe you’re getting married, man.” I unlatch the tailgate so he can slide the bike he rode from our parents’ house into the bed of my truck. The rattle as I slam it shut echoes against the building. “Like, it feels way overdue, but just...I don’t know. Weird.”
“Because you were insanely commitment phobic up until, what, a year ago?”
“No.” The cab sways as we climb in. I gun the engine and swing out of my spot. “Just can’t believe a woman like Mollie would want to shackle herself to your ugly ass for life.”
He punches my shoulder as I shift, the car jumping forward.
While we drive, Kai rolls down his window and lets the air lift his hand. Through the trees, the ocean shimmers.
“Good waves yesterday,” I tell him.
“Heard it’s good today, too. We should go.”
The way he says it, I can tell he expects me to say no, purely out of habit. The two years I owned Port, after all, I surfed so few times I could count them on one hand.
But things are different now.
“Okay.” I flip on my signal for the road home. “Just don’t bitch when I end up surfing circles around you. I’ve heard you married types get out of shape really fast.”
“Easy there, Mr. Suit and Tie. I teach surfing for a living, remember? And you know what, I’ll do you a solid: one whole lesson, free of charge.”
This time, it’s my turn to deliver the punch.
“It’s really gone, huh? Must have been hard to watch.”
I barely glance at the bare patch of land. It still hurts to see it: that empty spot where our cabana, the one final piece of our old hotel, used to stand. “Yeah. I kept the doorknob, though. Mom got the décor out, at least.”
“I see they filled in the ditch,” he laughs. “Long overdue.”
“Hey, that lazy river would’ve been amazing.” I look through his window at the scar of soil in the ground. “If we’d ever gotten the chance to finish it.”
As I turn the car around in the cul-de-sac, he peers through the back window at the empty face of the resort building. “Are they keeping the rest of it? The high-rise, the deck, all that?”
“As far as I know.” Another hotel chain—far from all-inclusive but, to everyone’s knowledge, scandal-free—bought the property this past spring. They’ve been pretty well-received so far, thanks to their offer to hire back any former Port: Kona employees who wish to join the team.
I’m giving my parents the bulk of the check, then kicking a chunk to Kai before taking the last for myself. After all my lawyer fees, I’m sure it won’t amount to much. But at least my family gets something.
Port left quietly, once the story made rounds on social media. A petition, just like the one that shut down Aruba, flew through emails and shares until corporate had no choice but to pay attention.
That didn’t mean they left without a fight. Just behind closed courtroom doors. I lawyered up; they appeared with an entire legal team. I called contract violation; they screamed “slander.”
When the judge determined they had, in fact, violated our contract, they offered a settlement: full absolution from the terms, except for my non-compete agreement. I wasn’t allowed to work in the hospitality business for two years. The fact they thought this was a punishment almost made me laugh.
It was a nasty few months. My ulcer almost landed me in the hospital, more than once. If I hadn’t been so miserable throughout it all, I would have found it funny, in an ironic way, how losing my job had now become its own career, my late nights filled with legalese and law websites.
By the time we sold the property, I thought the worst was behind me. Finally, I could just be done with it all. No more courtrooms and lawyers. No more Paradise fucking Port.
But Kai was right: it was hard to watch someone else waltz in and take the thing I’d given up so much to grow. The day they filled in the lazy river, erasing it altogether, I purposely drove all the way across the island, just so I could miss any sight or sound of the construction.
The day they tore down the cabana, though...that was the hardest.
“I don’t know why they just can’t leave it,” Mom sniffed, when she and Dad got back from checking on the property. It was our own private car crash, a gruesome thing we slowed down and gawked at every once in a while, whenever our curiosity got too strong. “It’s still structurally sound. Why not use it for storage, the way we did after the franchise came in?”
This was a new habit, one she’d picked up as soon as court proceedings began: referring to Paradise Port by anything but name. “The franchise,” “those people,” and “the suits” were some of her favorites.
“They want everything shiny and new,” Dad muttered. He flipped through the mail in his hand twice, not really reading any of it.
I got in my truck and drove by. I didn’t want to see it get torn down, but something in me had to watch, to believe it.
The bulldozer crashing into the side was the first sight I got when I pulled close enough. The crunch echoed down the hill on the other side, tumbling across that path Tanya and I once took.
My eyes closed. I forced them back open.
You don’t get to ignore this, I scolded myself. I didn’t deserve to. After all, this was exactly what I’d planned to do to Rochelle’s house: tear down every piece, crush it room by room. Erase it from the face of the earth, all so I could have something shiny and new.
“It used to really get to me,” I tell Kai now, as the resort shrinks in the rearview. “Like, for the longest time I just got lost in this loop of ‘what if,’ you know? What if Dad had kept the hotel the
way it was, instead of franchising...what if I’d never come up with that stupid affiliate program in the first place.”
I don’t add the other “what if” that still spins through my head more nights than not: what if I’d kept my gaze bouncing across everything at once, instead of training my eyes so intensely on just the future. On making everything bigger, better, in a constant flux I convinced myself was improvement. If I hadn’t focused all my energy on the wave stretching in front of me, the next step I’d take, I might have noticed the tube closing around me from the sides.
“You can’t get caught up in that.” Kai messes with my radio dials. “I mean, first of all, you can’t change it. Anything you did or didn’t do, that’s it. You can’t go back in time.”
“Pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think?” I ask, suppressing a sarcastic laugh. Until Mollie entered his life—and “therapy” entered his vocabulary—Kai was an expert on living in the past.
“And second of all,” he adds, changing one of my presets purely to annoy me, “even if you had been able to save this location, make sure they did everything right? There were so many other people who Paradise Port would’ve kept hurting and screwing over. It needed to happen, man.”
My eyes shift back to the rearview. “I know. Guess it’s just still hard to believe, that’s all.”
“Silver lining,” he adds, holding up his finger. I stop him.
“Let me guess: you getting a huge check out of all this.”
He laughs. “Okay, two silver linings. That, and the fact that all of this made you and Tanya come to your senses.”
I try to stifle my smile, not wanting to show him I agree. When it cracks, he laughs again.
Tanya
“Oh, my God.” Tears are in my eyes before I can stop them. “Moll, you look incredible.”
She looks down at herself, running her fingers over the fine lace and delicate little beads sewn in along the bodice of the dress. “You know, it might just be because my dress is lost somewhere in an airport, but I think I like this one even better.”
I fan my face as she spins in the triple-mirror setup. A bridal shop employee hands me a tissue. “No, it’s definitely the dress. This was the dress you were meant to get married in. End of story.”
Her giddy little laugh cancels out the head-shake she gives me. “Maybe,” she concedes, after she looks past her reflection and sees the employees nodding in agreement behind me.
I loop my arm through hers as we leave the shop, the dress swinging in its garment bag from my other hand, held high above our heads like a victory flag. With less than thirty hours before the wedding, there’s no time for alterations—thankfully, we know a guy.
Well, a woman.
“Are you sure it fit okay?” When we’re in my car, she starts biting loose skin on her lip, twisting in her seat to look at the garment bag. I knew she’d second-guess it once we got out of the store.
“Positive.” I resist the urge to flip off a cyclist who jumps into my lane without warning. “The size was perfect. All it needs is a couple inches taken off at the bottom. And quit biting your lip. You don’t want them all chapped and bleeding in your wedding photos, do you?”
She pulls both lips into her mouth, licking them, then sighs. “I should have put the other dress in my carry-on.”
“Will you stop worrying? You’ve got a dress you look gorgeous in. You’ve got the rings. You’ll have people there, plenty of good food, and music. That’s all you really need for a wedding, right? The rest is just gravy.”
“And alcohol,” she adds softly, her subtle way of telling me I’m right.
“Exactly. Recipe for a great night.”
I can tell, from the way she slumps in the seat and folds her hands in her lap, that she’s calm now. As calm as she’s going to get, anyway.
“Think you’ll be next?” she asks.
“Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?” I laugh, my faux-sneer drowned by the wind whipping through our windows. I tuck a loose piece of hair back into my braid.
“Tanya,” she scolds.
“I don’t know.” My blush is easily erased by a sip of half-frozen water. I take my time drinking. “I guess I’m not opposed to the idea.”
“So if Luka asked, you’d say yes?”
“If he asked in the right way...yeah, I would.”
“And what’s ‘the right way,’ exactly? Wait, wait—let me guess.” She sits up and gestures wildly with her hands, the car rocking. “Sunset, with a sky-writer spelling it out above the beach, while you watch from some fancy five-star restaurant.”
“Impressive,” I laugh, “but no. Still too predictable.”
“You told a guy yes when he put the ring in some damn cake.”
“Look at you, bringing out the claws!” While she gets over her giggling fit, I add, “Guess Kai proposing with a movie theater marquee’s made you a proposal snob, huh?”
“How about this,” she says, ignoring me. “Luka organizes a huge flash mob—”
“I’m sure I’ve got a while to worry about that. Let’s focus on the actual bride in the car, hmm?” I turn down the radio. “Have you decided how you want your hair done?”
“I thought I wanted it down, but Rose said the wind is supposed to be pretty bad tomorrow.” She rests her head against the seat and sighs. “I don’t want my hair flying around everywhere, but I haven’t seen any updos I like.”
“We’ll figure something out.” The road’s pavement gets rougher the closer we get. While we bump along, Mollie periodically checking the backseat to ensure the dress’s safety, I run through the to-do list in my head. I’d never admit it to her, but getting everything done on time is going to be close to impossible.
Not that I still won’t try like hell to make it happen.
Whenever my mother would talk about our future house, the one she’d continuously plan and scrimp towards whenever Alastair came around, then forget about the second he left, I’d think about what my bedroom would look like.
It never existed, but I knew every detail. When I was four, it was going to be neon pink and yellow. I’d have an entire net filled with Beanie Babies over my bed, including the rare ones girls in my class smuggled into school in their backpacks.
When I was seven, I had my own bedroom again, but it was tiny. Mom still talked about when Alastair would come back and we’d upgrade the house he’d bought us. I told her I wanted a sky painted on the ceiling with glow-in-the-dark paint.
“Soon, baby girl,” she promised.
At twelve, I wanted posters everywhere and a huge walk-in closet, filled with all the clothes and shoes I couldn’t afford.
By sixteen, I’d given up on the house ever becoming reality. All I wanted was a place as far from my parents as possible. It didn’t have to be my own room. It didn’t even have to have a bed. I’d learned to expect nothing, by then.
When I moved to Kona, I refused to let Luka help me. It caused more than a few arguments—and make-ups—between us.
“So you’d rather blow through your savings,” he snapped over the video call, when I insisted on signing for an apartment myself, “instead of taking just the tiniest bit of help from me. And it’s not even help. It’s just a...a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
“I don’t want a roommate right now.” I set the phone down and fixed my hair back into its clip. “And I’ve never lived with a boyfriend before. Let’s take things slow.”
His eyes narrowed. Before he opened his mouth, I shushed him.
“Don’t.” The comments about my whirlwind engagement were getting old. Especially since, just two weeks after our breakup, Oscar was posting daily photos with a new girlfriend. Talk about moving fast. But I was happy he’d found someone who clearly liked him as much as he liked her, even if she looked a little vanilla herself. Maybe, for them, vanilla was perfect.
“When the house is finished,” Luka said, after a minute, “will you move in with me?”
I pause
d, hands still fussing with the clip. “Can I have a walk-in closet? And a skylight in the bedroom?”
He tongued his cheek and laughed. “Of course. Can’t imagine giving a girl like you anything but the best.”
“Whoa.”
I smile at Mollie’s shock when we pull up to the house. “Believe it or not, this isn’t nearly as extravagant as what Luka originally wanted.”
“Oh, I believe it.” She unbuckles her seatbelt and gets out, eyes still on the facade. It does make a hefty first impression, I have to admit: a huge wall of windows that spans two stories sits front and center, with the enormous steel door and wood-grain cladding giving the whole thing the ultra-modern look Luka spent years planning.
Size-wise, it’s less than half of the 4,500-square-foot behemoth Luka’s blueprints first depicted, but it is filled with most of the same luxuries we both wanted. Including my closet and a few skylights, right over our bed.
“Pictures definitely didn’t do it justice.” She takes a minute to enjoy the view before grabbing her dress from the back. “I told my parents we’d be getting married at ‘a friend’s house.’ They so won’t be expecting this.”
“Speaking of,” I say, checking my watch, “do we know when everyone’s getting into town? I need to make sure we’ve got enough air mattresses.”
“Oh, my parents are staying at a hotel, don’t worry. And Carrie and Ted won’t get in until early morning, Macy’s sick....” She runs through the guest list on her fingers. “So Kai has thirty people coming, and I’ve got…five. That’s kind of pathetic.”
“It’s not pathetic. It’s just small. Which is what you wanted, yeah?”
“Yeah, because I thought it would make me less nervous.” As we start up the walkway, she sets to biting her lip again. “I still am, though.”
“About marrying Kai?”
“No, that’s the one part that doesn’t make me nervous.” Mollie watches me fish my key from my purse. “Being in front of a crowd, even a small one. That’s the only part I don’t like.”
“I know.” I almost laugh, remembering all the nights she texted me something to the effect of, That’s it. We’re eloping. I mean it this time.