Panic zoomed through her bloodstream, and her heart skipped a beat when she didn’t immediately locate her phone. She peered over the side of the bed and eyeballed the space around the nightstand. Trying to remember where she’d last seen it felt like extracting answers to the mysteries of the universe. Outside? During her failed jogging attempt? When she’d thought about calling a taxi to bring her sorry ass home even though she was only one house down the street? An ambulance would have been dramatic. A taxi driver wouldn’t ask questions and would have been a lot cheaper.
Maleah pushed herself up to look for her phone on the counter or in the restroom and something foreign brushed against her skin. She reached beneath the covers and pulled her phone out from under her butt. At least my phone is getting a little action. She used the sheet to wipe away the smudges on the phone screen—the streaks on the glass weren’t really from her ass… she hoped—and then checked for new messages.
There was a voicemail from her mom. As she was about to hit the send button to listen to her message, she had a paralyzing, possibly life-altering, memory of drunken texting to Holden. Maleah’s mouth went dry. She checked the text history and almost died again. Why couldn’t the Marsala have just put her in a coma? Maleah groaned. She’d sent Holden gifs of funny baby elephants having a bad day. Then she invited him to come over and asked if he would bring wine because hers tasted awful. Thank God he hadn’t replied. He knew where she lived and that the apartment was small, but she didn’t actually want him to see how small and terrible her place was.
Closing her eyes and taking a few long, slow, and centering breaths helped ease the embarrassment that had her blood pumping as if she’d been running from a madman. She grimaced, but there was nothing she could do about the drunk texting. Holden would probably find it hilarious and totally justifiable. She did lose her job after all. He was a mess too. Maybe he drank all night and passed out before seeing her messages. Then again, he hadn’t replied. She tucked her lower lip beneath her teeth and listened to the voicemail.
“Hi, sweetie. This is your mom.” Jona Hale stated the obvious, as if Maleah didn’t know it was her. She kept listening, hoping the familiar sound of her mother’s voice would help soothe the unbearable ache that had replaced her vision of the future.
“I know yesterday was your big day. I can’t wait to hear how everything went. You’re probably out celebrating right now with that handsome boss of yours. I hope I’m not interrupting.” Her mother’s voice sweetened. “You’ve worked so hard for this moment. Your father and I are proud of you no matter what you do.”
Maleah listened to the rising swell of emotion in her mother’s tone and felt the proverbial knife twisting inside her gut. Ugh.
There was a slight pause, and then Jona said with a tempered and more serious voice, “When you have a few uninterrupted minutes, will you please call me back? I have some news to share with you too. Call me as soon as you get my message, okay? Talk to you soon.” And she hung up.
If Maleah wasn’t already overwhelmed with sudden and shocking changes in her career, life, and the domino effect of being jobless was going to create, she would have worried more about her mother’s last words in the message. But in the moment, all she could think of was how she was going to settle her upset stomach, get rid of the dehydration headache, and survive on one hundred and seventy-six dollars and a maxed-out credit card.
After taking care of the bodily necessities, Maleah settled back onto her bed with a cup of ginger mint tea. The tea recipe was her mother’s cure for everything, and it soothed her stomach and warmed her hands. She was about to call her mom and share the bad news when her phone rang. Her heart pinged as she thought it might be Holden checking in, but it was her mother again.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Sweetheart? Thanks for answering this time,” Jona said, as if Maleah had been ignoring her mother’s calls. She never did. Her mom continued before Maleah pointed out that she always answered. “No one answers the phone. You have to send a text message or an email. Does anyone talk to each other anymore? It’s not like that here in Waialua. Everyone enjoys seeing one another. Our neighbors are so wonderful. When can you come to visit, Maleah? It’s been a long time.”
Maleah cleared her throat. She hadn’t gotten a word in yet.
“Sorry. Forget I asked. I know you are busy. I can’t believe I have to call and ask a favor of you today of all days. But before I tell you what happened here, you tell me how it went at your plastics company yesterday.”
“Wait. What’s going on? Is everything okay?” Maleah remembered the change in her mother’s voice in the message.
“No, no. My news can wait. Did you get the job? Is it official? Oh, and did you and your handsome man go out and celebrate last night? Your celebrations are more important than my bad news.”
“Bad news?” Maleah didn’t know if she could handle more disappointment or stress. She sipped the magic tea and prayed it really was a cure-all. “Please tell me and get it over with.”
Jona said, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. The timing is awful, which is why I didn’t call yesterday morning after your father’s accident. It’s just as well, though, because I received another upsetting call about an hour ago.”
“Mom, please, tell me. I’m not good at holding my breath.” Maleah set the cup down and clutched the phone tighter. “What happened to Dad?”
“He’s okay. It’s nothing major,” she said, but Maleah heard the tiredness in her voice. “He had an accident pruning the palm trees and fell off the ladder yesterday. He had the long pruning pole in his hands and ended up in a terrible mess. Anyway, his left foot is broken, and he sprained his right wrist. We spent the better part of the day at the hospital. What a zoo that was. I think he might take my suggestion and hire some men to do the trees next time. Those coconut trees can be such a hassle, you know.”
“Oh, no,” Maleah said. “Does he need surgery on his foot?”
Mom’s Japanese-American accent was getting stronger as she talked about Albert. “No, no. I don’t think so. He’s right here. You speak to him after we’re finished.” She paused, and Maleah heard a muffled exchange between her parents. Jona returned to the conversation and said, “Albert says he is fine and nothing hurts, but I can tell he’s playing the tough guy. He’s more upset about not being able to drive than anything. His ego is bruised more than his thick head.”
“He hit his head too?” Maleah’s anxiety was creeping higher and higher the longer the phone call continued. She gulped the tea, then set the cup down so hard that it splashed over the side and onto the table.
“Yep. Good thing he is so hard-headed. The doctor says Albert doesn’t have a concussion, thank Wakea.” Jona’s exasperation was transmitted three thousand miles away to Boulder, Colorado, where Maleah sat on the bed feeling slightly befuddled on top of concerned.
She asked, “Did you just thank a Hawaiian god?”
“Wakea? Yes, yes, I did.”
“But you don’t practice the Hawaiian religion,” Maleah said slowly.
“You’re right, I don’t. But you know how it goes. When in Rome, do as the Japanese Hawaiians do.”