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“Appropriately excited.”
Our dialogue hasn’t changed since that first performance. It’s our thing and has become a good luck tradition. Love me my bald Bobby. He knows exactly how my wardrobe should look and hang. He can spot one leaf out of line or lock of hair misplaced. I trust his particularly critical eye.
“Who’s the guy?”
There is no pretending between us. We speak shorthand.
“Oh good, he made it. My date. Auntie Nani’s son.”
That gets his attention.
“Is she coming?”
“No.”
“Is he?”
I slap him on the arm.
“You didn’t say no, Queen,” he says, chuckling and moving away.
There’s my intro music. Right about now the dancers move from the center of the stage, making room for the arrival of Pele.
When the music swells, curtains rise and the spotlight finds me. Hula!
Three hours later, Alek and I dine under arching palm branches. The whole thing is a sensory experience. Small fragrant white flowers, against stiff green leaves, make the table’s captivating backdrop. An intimate setting with a mood. His choice was flawless.
The night is starry. There is a magical quality to the small brick patio, tucked in a garden. It feels timeless. We feast on impossibly fresh seafood and vegetables, subtly lit by candlelight. A trio of musicians, backs against the restaurant, play soft music in front of an empty dance floor. The steel drum, bass, and keyboard blend beautifully.
Lighted bulbs are strung in the trees. Scents of night blooming flowers mingle with sweet plumerias. I am in a happy mood, made even better by the interesting conversation that comes easy. Making this the very best first date in my history of first dates.
“So how badly did my aunt intrude on your private life?” I say it lightly, despite holding my breath for the answer.
“Not at all.”
I stare him down.
“Maybe a little. We had an hour wait. She did ask me what my wife died of, and how I got through it.”
I cringe at the thought.
“It’s alright. Truth is, Jody found out she was ill right before we got married.”
“How horrible. I’m sorry.”
“It was. But we went into it knowing her life expectancy was very limited. We didn’t expect the four years we had. Or the chance of a child.”
“Really?”
“She wasn’t supposed to be able to conceive. Then we got the one miracle that was meant to be. Alana.”
A lump rises in my throat.
“God. What a heartbreaking story. I hope my aunt didn’t press for private details.”
He must be used to the wound, because there is a gentle smile.
“She made up for it when she told me things about you.”
