And it would be impossible to count how many of her dance recitals I’ve sat through over the years, even though Mick didn’t always make it to my swim meets.
But after everything, she still betrayed me in the end. I mean, if she’d wanted a boyfriend, fine—but why did she have to go after mine? Why would she do the one thing she knew I’d never forgive her for? Whywhywhywhy?
I don’t know how I’m going to go back to Seattle at the end of summer and show up for my senior year as if nothing’s changed. How I’m going to walk the halls, sit through class, and act as if a few months in Hawaii cured me of everything. Because I know how everyone is going to stare, that pathetic look in their eyes, the tilt of their heads. Like they’re sorry for me, but really, they’re all just hoping I’ll blow up at Tyler or Mick and cause some epic drama in the hallways.
And what do I do if Tyler or Mick tries to talk to me? Do I ignore them? Do I talk to them indifferently? Do I pretend like I’m fine? I don’t think I have enough courage to do that. I’m not even sure if I can handle seeing her pregnant, like that will be the defining moment that makes it all real.
All of it makes me want to stay here, in Hawaii, far away from them and everything else back at home.
I realize my dad is probably in the middle of his morning commute. It’s been a couple of days since I’ve talked to him, so I pick up my phone and shoot him a text:
Good morning…
A second later, my phone rings. “Hey, Dad. You on your way in to work?”
“Hey, kiddo, I’m headed in to the office now. So…do you want to tell me why you’re up at, what is it there, three thirty in the morning?”
“Oh, you know, hard to sleep in paradise.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet that’s really tough. Hey, while I have you on the phone, I should probably tell you that both McKinley and Tyler came over yesterday—not together. Although their reasoning was the same. They both wanted to apologize. And to ask if I’d talk to you for them.”
I squeeze my eyes shut tight. Because it pains me that they would have the nerve to go and talk to my dad. I’m pretty sure I’ve made it clear I want absolutely nothing to do with either of them, so I don’t understand why they think wrangling my dad into all of this is an obvious choice.
I’m trying to move on, and so should they.
“I’m sorry, Dad. What did you say to them?”
“Well, I told them both it’s not me they need to apologize to; I’m not the one they hurt. But I did also tell them that they need to give you some space, let you figure everything out…even if the result isn’t in their favor. But can I give you some advice, Sloane?”
Honestly, I really hope he has the answer to all of this, so of course I’m all ears. “Sure.”
“Even if you can’t bring yourself to let them back into your life, you do need to try to find a way to forgive them for what they’ve done. Everyone makes mistakes, Sloane, some worse than others.” He pauses for a second and maybe I’m just imagining it, but it sounds like he might be talking about more than just Mick and Tyler. “Just know they’ll have to live with the guilt of what they’ve done for the rest of their lives.”
I hear him, but I’m not quite sure how to respond. I think it’s the words “the rest of their lives” that hits me the hardest. Because unless Mick decides not to carry out this pregnancy, in less than nine months, there’s going to be an entirely new person added in to all of this that will be a constant reminder of what happened.
“I’ll try,” I manage.
We chat for a few more minutes about how Hawaii is and how Mom is doing. I know he misses her, and I can almost guarantee there’s a hidden meaning behind what he said. I can’t believe I never put it together before, never really asked why they got divorced. I only cared how much it had impacted me. I guess as a nine-year-old, I only noticed that my mom and dad weren’t both there, together, in the same house. And then as the years went on, it was something I grew used to, never giving it any further thought. Until now.
A few hours later, I drag myself to work for my first day. I can’t stop thinking about what my dad said, and deep down, I know he’s right. But then the beach is there in front of me and the sun is slowly beginning its rise for the day, and somehow that makes it easier to ignore everything else that’s taken an ugly turn in my life lately. Not to mention, just pulling into the hotel parking lot now makes me think of Finn…and I wonder if maybe I’ll see him today.
Then I realize I’m hoping I’ll see him today. And it feels good to be thinking about someone who’s not Tyler—to be excited about someone who’s not Tyler.
I can’t believe how busy the activities counter is, especially at seven in the morning. There are actually people milling around, waiting for it to open. But I guess when you work in a city that caters to people from time zones all around the world, there’s no such thing as closed.
Whoever else I’m supposed to be on shift with isn’t here yet, and I don’t have a key to unlock the door, so I smile and explain this to a few of the guests. I’m not sure if they all understand me, as some of them don’t appear to speak English very well.
A local girl around my age, with tattoos on both arms and wearing the same uniform I am, scrambles my way with less than five minutes before we’re slated to open. I recognize her from the bonfire party the other night, but we never actually met. Her dark hair is still wet, but tied up in a messy ponytail, and she has toothpaste on her cheek. She fumbles with a set of keys to unlock the door.
“Folks, it will be a few minutes while we get everything ready.” She repeats the same thing in Japanese for the customers I feared hadn’t a clue what I said earlier. Everyone nods her way as she turns back to me. “Hey, I’m Maile. And no, even though it sounds the same, I’m not like the singer. And you are?” She unlocks the slatted door and shoves gently against it with her shoulder to pop it open, then motions me inside.
“Sloane McIntyre. Nice to meet you, not-like-the-singer Maile.”
She shoots a grin in my direction, then flings her bag in a closet behind the cash register, exposing another tattoo on the small of her back when her shirt hitches up slightly. She sets about getting everything ready before opening the doors for the customers. I gesture at her cheek.
“You’ve got a little toothpaste there.”
She slaps a hand to her face, yanks open the door to the closet where her bag is stored, and checks out her reflection in a small mirror that’s mounted to the inside.
“Damn. I just can’t get myself out of bed on time!” She scrubs at her face until the toothpaste disappears. “If I’m late one more time, Rick’s gonna fire me for sure.”
I can sense the urgency in her voice as she flings the closet door shut and hurries around the small shack. It’s definitely meant to look like a tiki hut, with a fake coconut tree up against one wall and thatched grass tacked up on the ceiling and counter. Even the floor is covered in a thin dusting of sand.
I feel like I should dash around with her, to get whatever needs to be done, done. “What can I do to help?”
“Turn on the open sign behind you, the printer over there, oh, and you’ll need a name tag.” She points toward the closet where her bag is. I dump my own bag with hers and pull a couple of the name tags off one of the shelves. Yeah, I think I can pull off being Kela Kekai from Hilo, Hawaii, today. I clip the tag to the front of my polo, then scramble to get the other things done as Maile powers up the computer for the cash registers. She motions toward the rolling door over the counter that opens to the outside. “If you can open that window, I’ll get the front door. And would you look at that, we still have twenty-two seconds to spare!”