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“Mrs. Weston, hello. It’s lovely to meet you. Can I get you a drink?”
My mother looks her over with an approving little nod. “I’m Malya.”
“I got them something. Sit and join us.”
She does, and for the next two hours we chat about everything—places we love visiting on the island, the fact that everyone except Makuahine hates poi, what it’s like to grow up here versus moving to Hawaii from the mainland. We talk some about my career, Harlow’s plans to pursue speech pathology, and Trace’s on-again-off-again interest in leaving his current job to pursue something that makes more money.
The easy conversation buoys me. It’s as if Harlow fits right into my family. She and my mother bond over their mutual passion for home decorating shows and The Rock. My brother and I both shake our heads.
When Makuahine sets her coffee aside and stands, she takes Harlow’s hand. “It was lovely to talk to you, but it’s nearly ten o’clock—way past this old woman’s bedtime. I hope we meet again.” She turns to me. “Walk me out,keikikane?”
“Son,” I interpret for Harlow. “I’ll be right back.”
“Nice to meet both of you,” Harlow says to my family as she takes the dirty cups and empty bottles to the kitchen. “’Night.”
I follow my brother out as he helps our mother navigate the path to the car.
“She’s awesome,” Trace says. “You seem really…complete when you’re with her. Don’t let her get away.”
Complete describes how I feel with Harlow. His observations validate my feelings. “Thanks, bro. I’m going to try like hell.”
“She likes you but she’s reserved.” My mother shakes her head. “Afraid.”
“Yeah.” But I’ve got to keep trying.
“I think she could make you very happy,keikikane. But you’ll have to reach her heart and make her feel secure first.”
So everything I’ve suspected and believed about Harlow is spot on. Now that people more objective about our relationship have confirmed that, I’m feeling way better about where I’m at with her. “That’s what I plan to do.”
No matter what it takes.
Once my family leaves, I return with my gaze locked on Harlow. Regret is all over her face. “I’m sorry. I never thought trying to seduce you on your patio would embarrass you in front of your family.”
“You didn’t, baby. It’s fine. They like you.”
She relaxes a bit. “I liked them, too. Your mom really loves you. She’s so proud.”
Something about the envy in her tone gives me pause. I don’t assume again that her mom is proud of her, not after she corrected me once. “Have you talked to your mother since last weekend? I know she wanted you to marry well and now you haven’t.”
Harlow shrugs as if it doesn’t matter, but I think, deep down, it does. “Running out on the wedding is just the latest in a long line of disappointments I’ve dealt her. I didn’t want to be the star of Ms. Hattfield’s Dance Academy when I was six. I didn’t want to be a child model when one of my dad’s Hollywood clients mentioned that he could get me work. I didn’t become Miss San Diego County when I was eighteen because I couldn’t stand the artificial bitchery of a contestant who was sleeping with two of the judges to ensure her win, so I rubbed icy hot in her bikini bottoms. In general, I didn’t add any razzle-dazzle to Mom’s name so the rest of her country club friends could ooh and aah when she walked in the room. I’ve learned to live with the fact that she’s always going to think that I’ve failed to live up to my full potential.”
Harlow gave me more information than I expected. Generally, that’s a good sign, even though her mother sounds totally bent. “Those were her dreams. You were right to pursue your own.”
“Yeah, but she’s forever telling me I’m too strong-willed. She tried to call me for days after I ran out on Simon. I haven’t answered. I don’t have anything to say that’s going to make her feel better.”
So they’re not close, and I’m sad for her. If I’d suffered such a public breakup, I know I could count on my makuahine’s comfort and words of wisdom. Harlow would never want to lean on her brothers when they’re just getting started in their own happily ever afters. She must feel completely alone.
Well, she was. Now, she’s got me.
“Anything you have to say, you can always tell me,” I promise her.
“Thanks.” But she doesn’t divulge deeper feelings or let me in on her innermost thoughts. “Now that your family is gone, can we pick up where we left off before we had unexpected company?”
“I’d like that.” And if I get to touch her when she’s feeling a little more vulnerable, I might be able to open her up more. Every little bit helps.
We both know what we want and no words are necessary. I take her hand. She curls her fingers around mine and lets me lead her upstairs.
Inside my suite, I seduce her slowly, punctuating every move with a brush of my lips across hers, a nip at her neck, a whisper in her ear. Under my touch, her breath turns shallow. She shivers. The pulse at her neck picks up speed.
