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I catch my reflection in deep thought. Think I already flossed this tooth. Shit man. Snap out of it. Grabbing the toothbrush, I squeeze a fat line of paste across the bristles. Brushing my teeth does not stop the train of thought my brain wants to board again.
The last two days should be enough to prove to her I’m not a stalker. Despite the fact I have spent a couple nights going through her social media. I won’t be sliding into her DM’s, but a little reconnaissance never hurt anybody. It’s smart. At the very least it tells me how obsessed a woman is with her own image. If there are puckered lips and filters past a certain age, I want to puke. That is a huge turnoff.
The Instagram account is all professional hula and handmade swimwear pictures. No surprise she has four thousand followers. There’s just as many guys as girls. I stopped counting the come-ons, hearts and likes and loves. Fuckers. Horny men have nothing else to do. I can see the draw for kids, but there’s every age of man there. And every one of them sound like needy assholes.You’re so pretty! Can we meet up? You’d look hot in that red suit!Originality is dead. At least she hasn’t answered any of them.
Her personal Facebook page is private . The profile picture is nice, hula hands lifted to the sky. Could not see photos or friends. I don’t know if she is even active. I cannot find a Twitter or TikTok account, but that does not mean they don’t exist. If I could I would ask for Alana’s help. She knows more about navigating this than I do. But no way I will do that.
Found out when she is appearing at the Four Seasons. Tonight’s some other show, but is she staying home, waiting for my call? Maybe I have been forgotten entirely. I don’t want to have to leave a voice message. I’ll text.
Walking into my bedroom, I stretch out on the bed and get to it.
Evening, hula girl. Are you up for a conversation?
Like she hasn’t heard that one before. Sounds like a ‘you up?’ Hawaiian booty call. What’s next, ‘Netflix and chill?’ Trash it. Try again.
Hi. Thought this would be a good time to talk.
Jesus. Backspace. Forget it. I’m calling.
She is probably on a date. That’s just logical.
It rings and immediately goes to voicemail.
“It’s Alek. Call when you can.”
Boom. Short and not embarrassing. If I have to err, want it to be more casual than eager. What are the odds of her calling tonight though? It’s already nine-thirty. Maybe I should have called during… the cell sounds and shocks me into the present.
“Hi, hula girl.”
Idiot. Why? But when she chuckles, it sounds musical. Uh oh. I’m fucked.
“I was hoping not to go to your voicemail.”
“My phone is right next to where I’m sewing. Akoni is supposed to call tonight. So if he does while we’re talking, I need to take it.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
Hope she heard the question in my voice.
“I’ll explain another time. If he calls, I’ll call you back, Alekanekelo.”
Does she sense my smile?
“Now how did you know that? You psychic?”
“Fortunately, no. I wouldn’t like knowing what’s coming in life.”
“Same here. Sometimes it’s a good surprise, but there’s too many plot twists. So how did you know?”
“Paula. She put the puzzle pieces together when I said you were Auntie Nani’s son. Her husband knows Noa.”
“Really? Have you noticed there aren’t many degrees of separation between us?”
“I know. We were bound to formally meet sooner than later.”
“It only took two decades.”
“Not really. You picked me up once, when I was crying on the beach. Do you remember?”
