Stormy Paradise

Pride and money and an A-type personality that just had to chase that next success. I’ve never been happy where I was. I always dreamed of reaching the next level.

Until now.

What makes Holly so special? That’s easy. She’s the best friend I never had growing up. A best friend who actually took an interest in what I was doing. Trusted me enough to move across the country together. To share everything. Plus, she was great in bed.

And maybe that’s why I gave her up. It’s easy to take someone for granted when you’re so comfortable around them that everything always runs smoothly. It’s like you get into this false sense of security that nothing could ever go wrong. I saw all the hardships she went through when we moved to the East Coast. We popped a bottle of champagne when she finally landed a job after months and months of searching. So why did I think she would so easily give it up and do it all over again when New York called out to me?

Easy. I thought she would always be there.

Then she wasn’t.

And now that she’s in front of me again, I’m determined not to screw things up this time.

While we eat, I initiate small talk, dodging any topics that could possibly ignite any rightful fury over me having left. This means no discussing her job, her current housing situation, or whether or not she still plays that childish farming game on her phone every night. After eliminating every topic that may lead down a path of hail and brimstone, I’m left only with our current circumstances. And even with these I must tread softly, as Hawaii was a topic she used to being up at least once a month in wistful tones.

“Are you interested in getting luau dancing lessons?” I ask with a gesture towards the girls on stage.

Holly gives a non-committal shrug, barely even bothering to look over at me. In the past, this sort of thing might push my patience, but I’m the one in the wrong. I know that. All I’m looking for is a fair second chance, but since I didn’t give her a fair first one, I guess karma is leveling out my transgressions.

I try again with a half dozen meaningless questions, all of them either ignored or answered in monosyllabic grunts. It’s not until both our forks have been resting on empty plates for a good ten minutes, and the show concludes with a classic playing of that Hawaiian version of ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’, that Holly finally responds to one of my questions:

“Would you like to take a walk on the beach before heading back?”

I don’t expect her to say ‘yes’. After all, there’s a perfectly nice beach where we’re staying as well, but then Holly shocks me with both her answer and the number of words she uses to deliver it.

“That sounds like a lovely idea. Can you just wait here for a few minutes? I need to head inside and find a bathroom first.”

She even gives me a cute smile before turning away and heading inside the restaurant. My heart thrums along a little faster, daring to dream. Of what this simple walk could lead to. Of how the life I lost can somehow be found once more. My best friend is finally coming back to me.

Except, she isn't.

Five or ten minutes is a reasonable amount of time to wait for another person to return from a visit to the bathroom. Even after fifteen or twenty minutes, you wouldn’t ask the other person upon their eventual return what had kept them. Wouldn’t want to unnecessarily embarrass the other party. But after a solid half hour of waiting, I’m the only one left outside as the busboys tidy up and prepare for the next luau due to start in fift

een minutes.

Finally, I walk inside the restaurant where I ask a passing waitress to check the ladies room for me. Empty, she says. When I go to ask the hostess if she saw Holly, she hands me a note.

“Sorry,” is all the hostess says before helping a couple who’ve just arrived for the next show.

The note is written on the back of a napkin. It’s definitely Holly’s handwriting. She’s the only person I know who still writes in the characteristic cursive we learned back in school. It reads:

Now you know how it feels.

Well, shit.

When I go to look outside to check if her car is still here—which I’m certain it’s not—my server stops me.

“The bill,” is all she says. I pay, leaving the recommended tip in a hurry to get out the doors. Only to find that my fears were right. Her car isn’t here. She’s left me, just as I left her. It’s going to take a lot more than one fancy dinner on the beach to sway her heart back in my direction.

I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me. And a long way back to my rental house.

Chapter 7

Holly

The excited energy that tickled at my skin as I drove back to the rental house with the top down is all but gone. What was a thrill at getting back at Jessie has now fallen to concern. Because it’s been three hours and he still hasn’t returned.

This shouldn’t bother me. It really shouldn't. So why do I keep checking out the window each time a car drives past, hoping it turns down our little street? Why am I second-guessing myself? Did I go too far?