With all the caring through actions, I’m starting to see signs of Ames running himself ragged. I’m not sure he knows his own limits. I may have a hard time sorting through overwhelming situations or advocating for myself, but I can do that for him. I will do that for him. He should be getting something out of this contract. He puts so much of himself into taking care of me but who takes care of him? I want to be that person for him.
We have plans to eat dinner with my parents on Christmas Day, but other than that, our time is our own. I was a little surprised by my dad’s invitation, but even more surprised that Ames wasn’t. I wonder what happened there. It was so nice seeing my dad acting like his old self and talking to my husband that I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to say anything to mess things up. Once we’re home, I convince Ames we should open our gifts to each other tonight. We said no gifts, but I couldn’t let our first, maybe only Christmas together pass without giving him something and he must have felt the same way because I spy a box with my name on it in his bold, sensible handwriting. We sit on the floor, in front of our cute Hawaiian Christmas tree, and he insists I go first.
It’s unexpected and so lovely. The gold cuff fits perfectly, and I love the classic, Hawaiian heritage design. Like my rings he picked out, it feels like it was made just for me.
“I didn’t want it to move around or make noise while you’re playing,” he explains.
I lean forward, pressing a kiss to his soft lips. “That’s smart and so thoughtful, thank you.”
I take it off to look more closely at the winding vines and flowers and see some etching on the inside. Engraved underneath are lyrics from what I’ve begun to think of as our song, the first song we sang together.
“I’ve been waiting so long for you”
That gets me. My stomach dips at the sentiment hidden in the beautiful gift. It’s thoughtful and unique and perfectly suited to me personally. How is he so good at this stuff? And why on earth does someone like Ames choose to be in a sham marriage with someone like me? I cry a little, kissing him again. I feel badly about my gift now as it’s not meaningful in the same way. I almost want to stop him from opening it, say it’s a mistake or I forgot something, but he’s ripping into the paper before I can think of a plausible excuse. I got him a record player and some albums, including that Brooke Waggoner album, but he reacts like I did to the bracelet. I guess it wasn’t a bad choice after all. Maybe I should try harder to trust my instincts.
He’s as excited as a little boy with a new toy and sets it up in the living room. We listen to an album and then I have other ideas that he gets on board with pretty quickly. It makes me feel all kinds of powerful that I can change the course of our evening with the crook of my finger and the loss of some clothes. The Christmas lights set his skin aglow, casting shadows across his hard muscles and sharp, masculine face. He’s attentive and methodical, kissing and touching my body with his soft lips and warm tongue. He’s tender, always anticipating and taking care of my needs, putting me first, especially in this context.
Those deep blue eyes are gazing into mine as he moves over me, inside me, with me, and I want, so much, to be more than friends. I don’t even know if I’m capable of that, but if there was ever anyone that I’d want to have more with, it’s Ames Cabot. That scares the shit out of me, though. What if I’m not what’s best for him? I’m worried I can’t get through this contract marriage unscathed. I’m not sure if I’m brave enough to try to let this be a real relationship, but it feels like something I need to think about more. It’s going to take a lot of careful, Ames-style consideration. I don’t want to make the wrong choice and I’m terrified of messing up what we already have.
35
Ames
Christmas Day we barely left our bed. It may have been the best Christmas ever. I really hope it wasn’t our only Christmas. I intended to keep occupied, mostly to avoid thoughts like that, but Nalani had similar ideas with a very different outcome. I didn’t manage to do any research, but we stayed busy. And naked. Good Lord, naked Nalani is my favorite. At times there was a strange, underlying tension. Nalani was insatiable and the attention and affection she poured over my entire body made me feel powerful and desired in a way I never have before. But there was also an almost desperation to the sex. I don’t know what it means and for maybe the first time ever, I don’t want to confront it head on. I don’t even want to admit that it worries me.
Dinner with the in-laws ends up being really special. Since I talked to Daniel one on one, they’ve been very accepting of me and our relationship. I never ended up telling Nalani about our talk. I couldn’t think of a way to share it without telling her what we discussed. I for sure don’t want that to be the way she hears that I’m in love with her. Even with her confused looks at the two of us when she thinks my attention is elsewhere, I’m glad for a quiet family meal without drama or tension. We exchange gifts and get back home at a decent hour where we end up back in our bed, naked and cuddling. Afterwards, Nalani falls asleep easily, but I sit awake, worrying over the appointment with the genetic counselor, what she’ll ultimately decide, and skipping right over what Nalani isn’t feeling in comparison to what I am. That’s one crisis too many. I fall into a troubled sleep and wake to the smell of eggs, bacon, and coffee.
Nalani is in the kitchen in my favorite of her pajamas: my white undershirt. She beckons me over and cross contamination be damned; I eat her on our countertop before breakfast. Kissing her soft, full lips with the taste of her still on my tongue has me rock hard and the bacon burns while my wife has me in her mouth. We didn’t need bacon anyway.
Once we’ve eaten breakfast, my brain is jumping ahead to what I can accomplish today, but Nalani climbs into my lap, straddling me, and takes my face in her hands, forcing me to look in her eyes.
“Maka, we need to talk.”
My stomach lurches. She can’t have already made a decision; we haven’t even talked to the genetic counselor yet.
“Is something wrong?”
“Yes, you’re doing too much.”
I immediately start to protest, and she presses her fingers to my lips.
“No, Maka, listen. I see you running yourself ragged. You're filling every moment with lists and tasks and extra work. You need a break or you will be the one breaking. No work today. Just be with me. Can you do that?”
“I want to be with you constantly, Lani, but after what we just did, I need some time to recharge.”
She rolls her eyes at me.
“I want you all the time too, you sexy man, but that’s not what I meant. Today you don’t have to be on. You don’t have to achieve anything. You don’t have to take care of me. We’re going to go over to Hungry Ear Records and browse. We’ll likely eat something bougie in Kaka‘ako. We’re going to listen to music and get naked again and there will be no outside expectations on you. Got it?”
I clench my fists, fighting the worry that I’ll fail at turning myself off for the day, but I agree. I can do this if it’s what she wants. The day off ends up being exactly what I need. We browse Hungry Ear for a solid hour, laughing over funny old used vinyl and sharing nostalgic finds. We each choose a few records to add to our collection and any time spent hand in hand with Nalani, talking and laughing, is not wasted.
We eat huge, fancy sandwiches at The Butcher & Bird while people watching all the hipster, Kaka‘ako shoppers. We make up backstories for couples we see, like the tall, ripped, bearded blond dude with the man bun walking and laughing with the tiny dynamo with a severe, dark brown bob and moody dark lipstick. Nalani decided he was a basketweaver that brews his own beer, and she was a professional cage fighter.
Another hour is wiled away looking through dusty shelves of used books. Nalani declares it the perfect date and I’m inclined to agree. We head back home and spin our new-to-us records and dance. As musical as she is, it shouldn’t surprise me that my wife has some moves. From dance hall grooves to slow dancing, we’re breathless and laughing.
> “I think dance parties need to be added to the contract. I need more of this, with you, on the regular.” I twirl her, dipping her back for a kiss.
“Write it up! While you’re at it, I think we need to make music together more too.” She giggles breathlessly with that light, melodic sound I love so much.
“Consider it added!”
The slower pace, the conversations, the music with our feet up on the coffee table, the playful and energetic sex, it all leaves me feeling more peaceful than I have all month. Considering that fact is a bit overwhelming. How can I take care of Nalani if I let myself get so worn out? We’re lounging on the couch, our girl Jessica Fletcher on the tv, but I can’t follow the storyline. The reality of today has me both happy and…pensive? I’m not sure, it’s a foreign feeling for me. Nalani, ever intuitive to my feelings, turns and studies me carefully.
“What’s bothering you, my Maka?”
“I, uh,” I’m struggling to name what I’m feeling. It’s not surprising. There’s been lots of therapy to help me with this very issue. “I don’t exactly know.”
“Is it about today?” I nod. “Bad or good?”
“Good, I think.”
“I loved today. I love spending time with you. And you seem less manic. Hopefully today did you some good.”
“Manic?”
“You’ve been a bit…frenzied, Ames. You deep cleaned my mom’s car. At 6 o’clock in the morning. I was getting worried, to be honest.”
An old fear, one I thought I had banished, rears up.
“You think I’m too busy? That I should do less? Be less?” Exactly like this morning, she climbs into my lap, straddling me and putting her hands on my cheeks. Anger flares up and I clench my fists, gritting my teeth. “This always happens. I can’t be anyone other than who I am, Lani. I need goals, I’m not idle. I don’t know why being driven has to mean I’m boring!” My heart is racing, and my stomach is churning.
“Listen, Ames. You are an accomplished, successful guy, but sometimes you’re not very good at truly listening.” She kisses me quickly, as if she’s trying to soften the blow. “I like that you’re a hard worker. I appreciate your work ethic and your drive. And I never said you’re boring. Who you are isn’t a bad thing. But this isn’t about who you are. This is about you filling every moment with a job of some kind and keeping yourself so busy you don’t have time to feel anything. I know you, Maka, and I’ve seen it in your eyes this month. You’re running. You may not shut down like I do, but you’re avoiding this in your own way.” I start to reply but she stops me with another kiss. “Please, take a minute to listen. In here.” She presses her hands over my heart. “Hear what I’m saying to you. Please?”
I breathe deeply, closing my eyes and loosening the grip of my own fingers. My jaw is clenched, and I don’t trust myself to respond. Where is that peace I was feeling earlier?
“Ames? Baby, why would you say this always happens? What are you talking about?”
I scoff, irritated. “You’ve heard mention of how long it had been since I dated before I met you.”
“Yes. I thought it was impolite to ask, but I do find it confusing that someone that is as hot and caring and thoughtful as you are has been single for so long.”
“Well, it seems like you know now,” I say bitterly.
“But I don’t,” she says patiently. “I don’t know why you hadn’t dated, and I don’t know why you seem mad at me. And you know how hard it is for me to say this to you right now.” That last part loosens the tight grip of anxiety around my heart. She’s right. I know how much Nalani would do to avoid a fight or confrontation. She’s more likely to ignore her own feelings if it means keeping the peace. It’s unfair to assume she’s picking a fight with me, that’s not who she is.
I exhale loudly, meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry. This conversation, although maybe without the kisses and careful, considerate wording, is a familiar one. I shouldn’t have assumed you were coming from the same place.”
“Would you tell me about it?”
“There’s not much to tell. I dated in high school and college, of course, but never seriously. I was focused on sports and my grades. The couple of times I did want something more, who I am became the stumbling block. I was too focused on work, I’m too rigid, I’m boring and uptight, relationships ‘aren’t tasks to be accomplished’… the last girl was after Officer Candidate School, at my first duty station. I think she liked the idea of dating a Naval Officer, with the white uniform, but the reality of me and my job didn’t mesh with her dreams. She said I worked too much, was too focused on my career, I spent too much time trying to fix things for her and was overbearing. She called me an unfeeling robot who only cared about appearances, like how things looked to other people. It was harsh. Obviously, we weren’t a good fit. But she didn’t say we weren’t good together. She pointed out that who I am, deep down, would never make a good boyfriend or husband. And I didn’t want something as important as a real relationship to be what I failed at. So I stopped trying.”
Thankfully Nalani doesn’t try to placate me or give me counterarguments to what my ex said. She’s quiet, still in my lap, looking at me with careful consideration.
“Do you think that’s what I said to you?” She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, nibbling on it. “Do you think that’s what I think of you?”
I force myself to review what she said to me, her actual words and not how they made me feel. “No,” I admit.
She kisses me softly. “Good. That’s not what I was saying. Here’s what I see: your job and accomplishments are important to you. You’re not always great at talking about feelings BUT you care through actions. You show me that you’re a caring man every single day. You were keeping yourself busy to the point of exhaustion to avoid feeling things, and I care about you too much to let you get burned out that way. I need you to know, you don’t have to be accomplishing things to have value. You are worthwhile no matter what.”
That revelation hits me so hard it’s almost like a slap to the face. The air leaves my lungs in one giant whoosh, leaving me dizzy. She’s right. That’s what I’ve been doing. That’s what I’ve done my whole life: tried to be seen as worthwhile by being accomplished. Years with my therapist and I never saw it.
“Here’s the deal: when I see you running yourself ragged, I’m going to make myself be brave and call you out on it. Okay? I’m going to tell you, it’s time to slow down or take a break and you are going to hear that I am saying let me care for you NOT you’re failing.”
I nod, swallowing hard, and hug her tightly. I feel almost afraid to speak. It takes me a couple of minutes to be sure of my control over my emotions, but I need to tell her what I’m feeling. I speak softly in her ear, not wanting to let her go enough to be face to face.
“This was the good feeling I was trying to name. I don’t think anyone has ever seen me the way you do. Thank you for making me feel like I’m valuable just the way that I am, even if I’m not doing anything to earn it. Thanks for taking care of me today.”
She hugs me tight. “Do you think a day of relaxing with me helped? Was it a success?”
I stand up, keeping her wrapped around me, and carry her to our bed.
“I think we have a few more things to try. We need to be sure we’re fully relaxed before we can say today was a success. Are you up for it?”
I toss her back onto the mattress and she eyes me appreciatively. “I can see you’re up for it, Mr. Cabot. Show me what you had in mind.”
36
Amended Contract #2
Marriage Contract Rules Between
Ames Harrison Cabot &
Nalani Mino‘aka Kimura Cabot
The first rule of the Marriage Contract is don’t speak about the Marriage Contract.
Nalani has final say and authority on all of her medical care decisions.
This original contract will expire in 1 year ending in divorce or renegotiation.
This is a real, leg
ally binding, and monogamous marriage.
Sex is awesome and makes everything better, it should happen as often as possible.
Day 1 of marriage began as something confusing, we’ve stopped trying to figure it out.
Nalani will take Ames’ last name. Being a Cabot rocks.
We will share a bed, sleeping together is the best.
All decisions regarding the couple will be made together.
Nalani is the best big spoon, there’s no reason to mess with that.
Murder, She Wrote, and cuddling are non-negotiable.
Dance parties should happen at least once a month, if not more.
Nalani and Ames need to make more music together. This is not a sex reference.
We are both valuable and worthwhile partners, just by being ourselves, no “earning it” required.
37
Nalani
Ames was more relaxed through the rest of his holiday leave. It still felt like there were some unresolved issues hanging over him, but whatever they are, he didn’t let himself fill our time with busy work. We spent New Year’s Eve at the Hammonds'. Of course, Norah and Ka‘eo were there too. We snacked on puu-puus (appetizers) all night, played rowdy card games, and watched the fireworks.
I feel sad for anyone that’s never experienced a local Hawaiian New Year’s Eve! This isn’t a state sanctioned experience, with an expensive, carefully choreographed pyrotechnics display. This is local kine action. All across the island, regular people spend a crazy amount of money on illegal fireworks. When midnight strikes, those things are shot off from driveways and dead-end streets, on beaches ,and backyards for a full twenty minutes or more. It’s loud and crazy and fucking fantastic. We had a great view of all the different pops and bangs and riotous colors from the Hammonds lanai. The local news always covers it the following day and I love getting to see what it looked like all over without having to risk being on the road with inebriated drivers.
Like a Good Wife (Oahu Naval Officers Book 2) Page 19