Stormy Paradise

He shakes his head. “No, not like that. I mean, I came to Hawaii because of the way you used to talk about it all the time. When I finally closed my big deal and was looking for a place to get away from the city, I kept thinking about how you said nothing could be better than a house overlooking the waters, with the mountains behind you and all that jazz. That’s what you were always saying. ‘All that jazz.’ Remember?”

His ploys to make me feel nostalgic or play up that he remembers little pet phrases of mine are not working the way he probably intends them to. Because all I can see is how he’s stolen my vacation from me.

“What you’re telling me is that you’re so unoriginal that you had to go and copy my dream trip?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s because I’m unoriginal. I was missing you and—”

I can see it on his face. The moment these words slip, he knows that was the wrong thing to say.

“You were missing me?” The energy coursing through my body won’t allow me to simply sit down any longer. I stand up in one swift motion and cross the two steps across the tiny shack until my finger is pointed inches away from his nose. “You’re not allowed to say that. You’re not allowed to say anything after the way you left.”

“I’m so—” he begins to apologize, but I cut him off as swift as a sword in those cheesy kung fu movies we used to love watching.

“I don’t want to hear you. I don’t want to see you. And more than anything, I don’t want to spend another second of my dream vacation thinking about you. So what you’re going to do is you’re going to walk back to your perfect beachfront house, and you’re going to stay there. You’re not going to look this way or even think about talking to me. And if you see me on the beach, you’re going to turn the other way. It shouldn’t be that hard. You’ve had plenty of practice leaving me behind.”

All these words fall out of me like the inevitable vomit after a night of mixing liquor with beer. And at the end of the mental unloading, I’m tired. So I simply jab my finger towards the door and attempt not to blink until Jessie is walking back up to his side of the fence.

I watch him through the back window as he disappears inside. That’s when I finally breathe. When I collapse onto the creaky floor, all those terrible emotions from that first time he left me flood back into parts of my heart I thought were watertight now. After five minutes of tears, I force myself to stand. I wipe my cheek and throw my suitcase open. Unpacking is soothing. With each bottle of lotion I place on the minuscule bathroom sink and each outfit I place in the dresser that looks like it teleported here from the seventies, I’m marking my territory, no matter how pathetic it may be.

When I finish, I’m exhausted but at the same time my legs are restless. I could lie in the grungy bed and hope I’m not eaten alive by bugs while I struggle to fall asleep, knowing Jessie is not even fifty yards away. Or I could set out in the opposite direction and look for something to eat while simultaneously exploring my new neighborhood.

I go with the latter.

My feet lead me straight out the front door and onto the main road. Out of my peripheral vision, I can just make out the silhouette of the house Jessie is staying in. But I ignore it and march straight on, my footsteps pounding on the asphalt of the tiny unpainted street.

The sun is right in my eyes, not far

from setting as I continue my unmarked vigil. And even though it takes far too long in such a picturesque setting, my thoughts slowly slide from focusing on Jessie to the island around me. To my right are these gorgeous volcanic mountains unlike anything we have back home. And I determine then and there that Jessie’s intrusion on my vacation isn’t going to hinder a single thing. Especially not my plans to hike and enjoy the beaches frequented only by locals.

Which is my next destination.

A left turn leads me onto an even smaller residential road, and at the corner of a cul-de-sac, there’s a faded sign pointing to a path between two houses. This leads to the roaring ocean. At the end of the path, I slip out of my sandals and carry them on my way to the water.

After years of imagining this moment and dozens of hours spent traveling here, the waves splashing over my ankles may as well have miraculous healing powers. I close my eyes and just focus on the water lapping at my shins. Squeeze my toes and squish sand between them. Feel the warmth of the setting sun on my cheeks.

And I breathe, letting out all the weight I’ve been carrying.

My life back home is far from perfect, but for the next week, I’m determined to live a new life. One without shitty men who leave you for a job. One without worries of rent and health insurance premiums. No bills to pay or gyms to feel guilty that I haven’t gone to for a month.

I’m in paradise, and I’m going to suck the marrow from my time here.

With this determination encircling my heart like a protective layer, I open my eyes. And find myself face-to-face with the one aspect of my reality I just can’t seem to escape.

Jessie.

Chapter 4

Jessie

That slap took the edge off of my whisky buzz, but it was the walk away from Holly, back to my side of the fence that sobered me up.

It’s only now that I realize how royally I’ve fucked things up between us.

Back when I broke things up and moved in with a friend to sleep on their couch until I could head up to NYC, I was so overwhelmed with the opportunity that I was facing that I saw the end of my relationship from only two vantage points. The first was that if she wasn't going to support me, the earlier we broke things off the better. I didn’t need dead weight holding me back, and when she told me that she wasn’t going to join me on my move, that’s exactly how she felt. Like an anchor keeping me at the docks just as the trade winds blew their strongest and the call of the ocean waves was most irresistible.

Of course, that was a selfish point of view, so I then tried to put myself in Holly’s shoes. And the way I convinced myself further that I was doing the right thing was by telling myself that she was better off without me anyway. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m a selfish asshole at times.

But Holly was a wonderful girlfriend. The best I ever had. After all, she moved to South Carolina with me from California. I initially thought we were equally excited about that move, and then she threw it in my face that she had given up her whole life back home to follow me—like it wasn’t some sort of joint decision. That leaves me here, and if anything, I was more of a selfish prick than I previously realized. Which means breaking up with her should have been the nicest thing I could do. In the long run, at least.