“Who’s Buddy? My name is Chase,” he asserts, half sitting up to rub his eyes. At the same time, Buddy’s—or Chase’s—cellphone starts playing the tune of Boney M’s “Feliz Navidad.”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” I shout, but Chase is clueless. I hear the stairs creak at the same time that his mom comes yoo-hooing around the corner. I barely make it out in time, panting like a beast and 100% mortified about our oh-so-sloppy make-out session. Still, I’m grateful for the experience, thanks to the vision of Hawaii that Buddy’s bedroom has burned into my retinas.
I hobble my way through the backyard and onto the main road, ambling along until I find a bus stop. There I sit down on the curb and rifle through my purse for my phone. Navigating to my recent calls, I dial Dale’s number, altogether unsurprised that I have only one missed call and no messages. He answers right away, but I don’t give him a chance to speak. Instead, the words come flooding out.
“I want a divorce.” The next second, I hang up and burst into tears.
Chapter 4
A new year, a new start—once a familiar adage and now a painful reminder for my life. I’ve decided that January will be a month of rebirth, and the moment that we touch down at Maui International Airport, I feel that statement pulsing through my bones.
1. Resignation letter: check
2. One signed separation agreement: check
3. One BMW lease surrendered: check
4. One townhouse in escrow: check
5. One-way ticket to Maui: check
6. One suitcase: check
And a partridge in a pear tree. I’m so pleased that the holiday season is over, with all its in-your-face-joy and cheating-no-good-husbands. Now things can get back to normal, whatever that means. For a moment, I close my eyes in the center of the terminal, letting its energy hit me—the warm breeze blowing through the open air design with fresh leis everywhere and the heady scent of plumeria flowers lingering in the air.
Liquidating your whole life is actually much easier than it sounds. Once the townhouse sale has officially closed, I’ll use my share to pay off my remaining student loans, then stash some savings away while I figure out my next move. One thing is for sure: I’m very glad to be free of the stupid Restoration Hardware furniture. When we first moved in together, my vote was for IKEA, but Dale being Dale wouldn’t have it. I’d managed to sell a whole bunch of it on some community bidding site though, which padded my purse with pocket money and left Dale with nothing but a mattress on the floor (perhaps there was a thing or to I’d learned from Buddy after all).
I retrieve my single suitcase from the conveyor belt and head outside to track down a taxi, finding one right away. The driver leaning against the hood is what I’d describe as skinny-fat, with toothpick legs and a little round belly sticking out from beneath his open button-down shirt. I stare at his dirty flip-flops and work my way up to his face, watching him grin at me with tobacco-stained teeth.
“Mahalo, nani wahine.” His face is warm and friendly, with a soothing effect that matches the breeze itself. “The name’s Paul, but my friends call me Pancho.” He extends a hand and I shake it, unsure whether that means I should call him Paul, or Pancho.
“Hi Paul,” I say, assuming that he and I aren’t friends yet. “I’m heading somewhere called Paia Town. Do you know where that is?”
“It just so happens that I live in Paia. In fact, I’m heading home right now. Just finishing up my shift.”
“Perfect,” I exhale, finally able to relax. He pops open the trunk and reaches for one of my bags, but I packed light and manage to lope it inside on my own.
When I head for the back door, he shakes his head. “Sit up front and keep me company.”
I shrug, joining him in the cab. He turns up the radio and Sublime’s “Santeria” sounds from the speakers. I rest my head against the seat as he crawls away from the curb. Already I feel lighter, like I’m becoming one with the tropical atmosphere. The airport grounds alone are beautiful, but by the time we’re cruising down the interstate, I’ve straightened out my neck to gape out the window. The road hugs the coastline and through the swaying palms, I see huge whitewalls crashing into the shore. It’s worth way more than a postcard.
Paul (or Pancho) interrupts my reverie. “So what’s in Paia? You got friends there?”
“What?” I say, running my hands through my hair, as if trying to tame a wild animal. I can already feel it frizzing in the humidity.
“No friends. I found a place to rent online. It looked very peaceful.” I’d found the place on Airbnb, after searching for listings on the North Island. Google said that the island was more secluded in the north, and since I’m not into dealing with people right now, that was perfect. Besides, the rental was about a third the price of similar vacation rentals in many of the more tourist-popular areas, so it really was a win-win.
“It’s peaceful for sure.” Pancho nods. “It actually means peace.”
“What does?”
“Paia. The word means peace in Hawaiian.” He rolls down his window and hangs out his arm into the wind.
“That’s pretty perfect then. It’s my first time in Hawaii,” I admit, and he whistles.
“Alright, an island virgin…” He draws out the last word, and I can feel the blush creeping across my cheeks. “How long are you here for pretty lady?”
I clear my throat. “In Paia? Not sure yet. A while.”
“Well, you picked the right spot, and it’s pronounced Pah-ee-ya, just to give you a heads up—locals can be fussy.” He shoots me a wink. “It’s the last stop on the road to Hana and a place where lots of tourists fill up on gas, but we get some of the most wicked swell here—surfers, windsurfers, you name it.”
I’ve seen movies set in Hawaii, but experiencing it with my own two eyes is still surreal. I might only be seeing it through the cracked windshield of Pancho’s cab, but it’s already one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been. Calling it paradise might seem cliché, but paradise is the only word that fits its impression upon me. Even the air smells different, fresher somehow—clean fragrance and fruity scents—and as we cross into more jungle-like territory, I see an actual, no joke rainbow curved across the sky.
“It’s an awesome community, once you get to know the locals,” Pancho adds.
His statement makes me wonder what the community is like if you don’t know the locals, but I don’t say anything. Instead, my eyes travel to the cubed picture frame dangling from his rearview mirror. It holds a photo of a little girl, probably no more than a few years old, with chubby cheeks and shiny black curls.
“Is that your daughter?”
He flicks the cube with his finger. It spins around in a circle and a huge grin spreads across his face.
“That’s my Melia. She’s eight now, but I can’t bring myself to take it down—even though I know she hates it.” He chuckles.
“She’s beautiful.”
His voice rings out with adoration. “You should see her now.”
“Trouble ahead for you?” I tease, and he laughs at my comment.
“Nothing I can’t handle.” The way he speaks about his daughter tugs at something deep in my chest. It’s a look that parents often wear on their faces, a feeling that cannot be replicated, characteristic of a secret club that no amount of money or favor can penetrate. I’m both in awe of and sick with jealousy at the same time. While starting a family was initially Dale’s idea, it became my passion, until suddenly I had to manifest enough passion for both of us.
“Ohana,” Pancho mutters. “It means family, and family is everything here in Hawaii. You’ll see.” He raises his eyebrows at me in the mirror. I stare out the windshield, watching as the road narrows and winds into lush vegetation. “Welcome to the North Shore.” Pancho gives me a welcoming nod.
As we pull onto the main drag, he explains that it’s literally a one stoplight town. I’m immediately drawn in by the Western-style buildings, painted in a patchwork o
f pastel colors. We pass a surf shop, café, gelato shop, and this place selling expensive-looking beachwear. The vibe is old country charm mixed with bohemian beachside funk.
“It’s perfect,” I say, my voice coming out all breathy.
He laughs. “It ain’t perfect, but it’s ours.”
“About how many people live here?”
He shrugs. “A few thousand, I think, but it’s busier with the tourists.”
We cruise down the narrow main street, flanked by power lines and skinny palms. I read some of the storefront business names aloud: Paia Inn, Mama’s, and Charley’s, as Pancho gestures to the right.
“There’s a great beach down there called Paia Bay,” he explains, and I catch a glimpse of sparkling white sand and navy blue ocean between one of the buildings. The town center doesn’t appear to be more than half-a-mile long.
As we head upcountry, the vegetation thickens for about five minutes until we pull off the road. The taxi bumps down an unpaved route, kicking up dust as it lurches to a stop before a beautiful house with a thatched roof, floor to ceiling windows, and a wrap-around verandah. Set back from the ocean by sixty feet, the house appears almost circular, allowing it to blend and camouflage with its surroundings. One glance at the place tells me that it doesn’t match the pictures of the apartment that I booked.
“Welcome to Kane’s place. He’s probably not home, but I’m guessing you booked the Ohana suite.”
He leans back against his seat and points at a smaller one story cottage situated even closer to the ocean. It looks cozy and inviting, with its pitched roof and plantation shutters. I hop out of the passenger-seat and head for the trunk, with Pancho following suit.
“Need any help?”
“I think I’ve got it. The owner left pretty detailed instructions.” I haul my suitcase onto the pavement, struggling with the bulky handle.
“I’m not surprised. Kane likes his peace and quiet—the less talking, the better.” He chuckles with a smile that touches his eyes.
“Thanks for all your help, Paul.” I hand over a wad of cash and before I can say goodbye, he envelops me in a bear hug.
“Please, call me Pancho.”
“Okay, Pancho. Umm…just curious though, why are you hugging me?” Even though it’s weird and surprising, it feels kind of nice.
“You look like you need a hug.”
His embrace matches the rest of him, from his cartoon-wide smile to that grounding deep-throated chuckle. I feel my eyes start to water; I cannot remember the last time anyone treated me so tenderly. Dale was definitely not a hugger, and neither was Jamie—not to mention that I grew up in a pretty formal household. My proper English parents never placed that much value on physical affection. I sigh when he releases me from his clutches, giving me a little wave before jumping back into his car.
“A hui hou. Hope to see you around, Red!” He shouts from the window, as the taxi pulls away in a cloud of dust.
The front door of the cottage is actually around the back, closer to the road. I pull up my email for the keypad combination, freeing the door from its hinges. Inside, I find a spotless white kitchen, scuffed wooden floors, and handmade rattan furniture. It’s what I’d classify as “shabby chic” and far more space than I’d expected for the price. I fall in love with the round dining table set, the worn loveseat against the wall, and the back bedroom partitioned off with a wicker divider. The air conditioning is cool bliss, as I drop my bag on the floor and release a pent-up breath.
“I’m finally here,” I say, to no one but myself, closing my eyes and meditating on everything that I gave up to arrive at this here and now—this little piece of my own freedom. I notice a set of glass doors just past the kitchen and slide them open with a well warranted gasp, for the view is something beyond beauty. My foot creaks onto the small lanai, a kind of Hawaiian patio that I’ve only seen in pictures, revealing an expanse of emerald green Bermuda grass. Beyond it lies the never-ending sparkle of turquoise ocean.
The view is the most impressive aspect of the property by far, and I don’t have much to complain about. Still, I can’t help but notice a big rectangle in the shape of a pool at the front of the house, long ago filled with lumpy, gray cement. It doesn’t match the meticulously maintained property—in a word, it’s ugly. I know the upkeep for pools is expensive, but surely there’s a better option than plugging it with rocks. Despite the eyesore, I’m lucky to have found this little piece of paradise. I’ve pre-paid for a month’s stay, but I’m thinking of asking the owner to extend the reservation. The wind chimes clanging together behind me are the only item that needs to go. They’re cute and made of intricately woven shells, but I hate the clanging sound as much as Boney M’s “Feliz Navidad.”
Heading back inside, I spot an outdoor shower made entirely of bamboo beams. Showering outside wasn’t generally acceptable in our upscale San Fran neighborhood, but I’m a long way from home now and fully intend to embrace my surroundings. I glance once more at the tidy little kitchen, and a handful of new recipes spring to mind, but first I need a shower and a moment to unpack. More importantly, I need to call Jamie. I dial her on my cellphone—the one possession that I couldn’t part with—and she answers on the first ring.
“So, you’re alive?” She says, dryly, before I can even say hello.
“I’m just calling to let you know that I made it here safely—as instructed.”
She snorts into the phone. “I don’t know whether to congratulate you, or hire some local to personally smack you upside the head.”
“Congratulations will do for now, I think,” I say, wondering where she’d find anyone so inclined in a town like Paia.
She sighs. “I miss you already. I hate Dale even more for driving you out of San Fran.”
“He didn’t drive me out, Jamie. I made this decision by myself. We both know it was time to go.”
“Have you heard from him?” She asks, bitterly.
“Not since the day before yesterday. He’s still pretending that I’m on vacation, and he definitely hasn’t acknowledged that I resigned, despite that my signature’s drying with HR as we speak. If I’m lucky, I’ll only have to speak with him a few more times, about the house sale, as the final draft of our separation agreement is already in place.”
She changes the subject then, probably sensing my fatigue. “So what’s it like over there?”
“Well, I’ve only seen the coastline and the airport so far, but those were both stunning. The vacation rental I have is pretty perfect. It’s right on the beach with a private outdoor shower! I basically have my own house.”
“That sounds pretty incredible,” she concedes. “Meet any hot guys yet?”
I roll my eyes, though I know she can’t tell through the phone. “I’ve been here, like, an hour, Jamie. The only man I’ve met is Pancho, the cab driver.”
“Poncho? Like the rain jacket?”
I shake my head and giggle. “His name is technically Paul, but friends call him Pancho.” Jamie always has a way of making me laugh.
“Well, is he hot at least?”
I laugh out loud this time. “You’re impossible.”
The line goes silent for a moment, and then Jamie’s voice echoes across the Pacific Ocean. “Ashley, just come home, okay?”
“I can’t,” I whisper.
“Then I’m coming to you.”
“Anytime—the sooner, the better.”
“Let me find some space in my work schedule, and I’ll be there. You can be my unofficial host, provided you show me everything that Maui has to offer.”
“Done. I love you, Jamie.”
“I love you too, Ash. Call if you need anything.”
Something gnaws at my gut the second that I hang up the phone. Did I just make the biggest mistake of my life? I tell myself that it’s only day one. Until I’ve had time to clear my head and give Paia a try, I must not second guess myself. In the meantime, a short nap should restore my internal sense of carpe diem. I sl
eep for a while and awake to the blistering hot afternoon sun streaming in through the windows. I glance at my phone, realizing that it’s already after four o’clock. The second that I rub the sleep from my eyes, my stomach grumbles in warning. I don’t have any groceries yet, so I take a quick shower and throw on a knee-length turquoise sundress and matching sandals, setting out to find a restaurant A.S.A.P.
The walk into Paia Town doesn’t take long, even at a turtle’s pace, but I’m surprised by how undeveloped the area remains. It’s got this great hippie-surf-town vibe that you simply couldn’t fabricate—I know because Silverdale Developments had tried in planned housing communities on many occasions, but without much success. At the end of the day, you just can’t manufacture laid-back. I stop and snap an iPhone picture of some colorful surfboards all bound together in a fence. Carrying on with my walk, I pass buildings trimmed with turquoise, street buskers playing acoustic guitar, and this one preacher trying to sell me salvation from a street corner.
I finally stumble upon an open air Tiki-style bar called Salty’s, bringing to mind old memories of college trips and tequila shots, with its hanging bamboo sign and bright green façade. I wander inside through a narrow courtyard flanked by Tiki idols, which opens up into a magical little backyard haven. There are two deck levels shaded by wooden gazebos and one pergola teaming with lush jungle vines. Potted palms dot the space as colored Christmas lights zigzag across the ceiling. I notice a handful of tables with stools made out of tree trunks, plus an outdoor fireplace flanked by Adirondack chairs. There’s even a large hammock at the back (currently occupied by a young guy with dreadlocks), but the bar seems quite empty for this time of day, with only half a dozen people scattered around. It’s the kind a place a kid would design, with no limits placed upon the imagination, and it was easily my new favorite spot in town.
I make my way to the upper deck and take a seat at the most catching bar I’ve ever seen. The counter looks to be constructed entirely of driftwood, and there’s a pitched tin roof over the whole area, which I bet sounds amazing in the rain. However, my attention doesn’t linger that long on the countertop, my eyes locking with the bartender’s deep set hazel eyes. He’s big—really big—both wide and tall and honestly kind of intimidating with his arms like crossbones over his enormous chest—not that I was looking at his chest or anything. One might describe him as beefy, but right now he’s glowering at me like I’m the last person on earth he wants to serve.
Aloha in Love Page 3