After the invigorating voyage and a good laugh strolling through the sand, Laurie and I decided to plant our still-loopy selves into a couple of anchored lounge chairs. A poolside waitress wearing itty-bitty shorts and a tank top came over. I asked what kind of tropical drinks they had without alcohol.
“But with an umbrella,” Laurie added.
“Right, with an umbrella. That’s the most important ingredient.”
The waitress pulled a small laminated menu from the back pocket of her shorts and handed it to me.
“This first one with the coconut and pineapple juice sounds good,” I said. “I’ll have one of those.”
“Make it two,” Laurie said.
As the young woman strolled off, Laurie leaned over. “Did you see how she made that menu appear out of thin air? How did she do that? She didn’t have enough room in her tiny back pocket to hold that card.”
“No kidding.”
“What do you think? Sleight of hand? Smoke and mirrors?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I don’t think I ever managed to fit into a pair of shorts that small. Not even in second grade.”
“Oh, I beg to differ. What about those fluorescent green ones you used to wear to go jogging? Remember? The nylon ones with the matching terry cloth headband?”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot about those.”
“How could you forget?”
“Be kind, Laurie. It was the eighties.”
“Hey, I know. I was there, too, remember?”
“What I remember is the time we sat up all night trying to braid those beads into your hair. The next day in chemistry one of the rows came undone, and you dropped beads every time you moved your head.”
Laurie’s laugh switched to a groan. “Oh, that was such a mess. I couldn’t figure out which string had come undone, and when I tried to take all of them out, I lost so much hair. Remember how all those little strands were twisted around the beads? I can’t believe I did that. What was I thinking?”
“You were thinking you were cool because you were.”
“We were both cool.” Laurie looked at me over the top rim of her glasses. “We were both cool then, and we are both very cool now.”
“The coolest,” I agreed.
“Except for when we wore those spandex leggings with the big hot-pink T-shirts.” Laurie made a face. “There is no excuse for that.”
With ideal timing, the waitress returned carrying our tropical drinks, just when we needed to toast something important.
“To friendship that spans the decades.” Laurie raised her umbrella-accented tropical drink.
“And to friendship that spans further than our current hip measurements.”
We merrily tapped the rims of our plastic cups and took our first sip. The beverage tasted like a thick, sweet smoothie with bits of pineapple pulp that clogged the straw. I liked it.
Laurie plucked her paper umbrella from her cup and tucked it behind her right ear. “So, where are you supposed to wear these to show that you’re taken?”
I held my tiny umbrella on the pinnacle of my blue, mountain belly. “Right here should work pretty good for me.”
“Oh yes, like it worked so swimmingly for you back there on the sailboat.”
“Catamaran,” I corrected her with an edge in my voice like the activities director who checked us in for the sail had used. “There is a difference.”
We laughed, and I felt a familiar sensation returning.
“I’ll be right back.” It was easy to roll out of the lounge chair and slip my feet into my wide sandals.
“I admire what you’re doing, Hope.”
“What, going to the bathroom every twenty minutes?”
“No. I think you’re amazing for being pregnant and still doing all this. Coming to Hawai’i, I mean. I thought you might change your mind about the trip. I would have understood if you had, but you didn’t back out, and I’m glad.”
“I’m glad, too.”
“I mean it, Hope. You are the bright, sheltering umbrella in the fruity slush of my life.”
I gave her an appreciative grin over my shoulder and took the shortest route to the lobby rest room. When I returned, Laurie was eating a sandwich.
“Do you want a bite of this? It’s really good.”
“What did you order?”
“It’s mahimahi with mango salsa in a veggie wrap.”
“And what is mahimahi?”
“Fish. White fish.”
“Is it cooked?”
“Of course it’s cooked.”
“I’m not sure Emilee would appreciate my trying sushi for the first time while she’s still onboard.”
“This is definitely cooked, and it’s really mild. Here, have a bite.”
After the first tiny bite, I was hooked. “That is so good.”
“I know. Here, have the other half.”
“You sure?”
“Yep. That way we’ll have room for dessert.”
Laurie looked past me and made a sweeping gesture. “It’s really beautiful here, isn’t it? Incredibly beautiful.”
“I didn’t think it would be like the postcards, but it is. I love those trees. Plumeria, aren’t they? They have such a great shape with their long, slender branches. And this sky is so blue. We rarely see it this blue at home.”
“Same with us.”
“We’re really in Hawai’i, aren’t we, Hope? We finally made it over here.”
“Yes, we are in Hawai’i. Finally. And it is beautiful here. It’s amazing what you start to notice as soon as you get a little pineapple in your system.”
“Pineapple, nothing. It’s this mango salsa.”
“Right, the mango salsa.”
“I have to take some pictures.” Laurie finished her half of the fish sandwich and reached for her camera. Handing me my little umbrella she said, “Here, pop this behind one of your ears.” Laurie always was big on props.
Since I was eager for her to use up that roll of film, I entered in willingly. “Which ear?”
“Either one. Doesn’t matter.”
I posed for her. “This will give us something to laugh about when we’re sixty, right? I mean, if I could go jogging in public wearing skimpy lime green shorts at twenty and laugh about it when I’m forty, then I can pose in a maternity bathing suit at forty, and we can laugh about it when we’re sixty.”
“We won’t laugh,” Laurie said. “We’ll say, ‘Hey, we looked pretty good back then. Better than we do now!’ ”
“Do you honestly think we’ll say that?”
Laurie put down the camera. “Yes, I do. We’ll wonder why we were so self-conscious about our bodies when they were being so nice to us.”
I was twisting the paper umbrella between my fingers, contemplating Laurie’s comment, when she snapped the first picture.
“Hey, I wasn’t ready.”
She snapped another one. “Just pretend I’m not here. Think of how you and I are entering the era of being comfortable. This is the time in our lives when we should focus on contentment rather than appearance.”
“Is that supposed to make me smile for the camera?”
Laurie kept talking with the camera in front of her face. “Gabe’s mom says the first twenty years are all about charm. From twenty to forty, it’s about beauty. Forty to sixty is the contentment season, and then sixty to eighty are the dignity years.”
“That’s profound.”
“Yes, it is. More of my over-forty sage insights. Now put the umbrella behind your ear and give me your best Honolulumama grin.”
From the profound to the fruity. I went for the left ear. “You know, I think you had a pair of earrings about this size our freshman year.”
“Careful,” Laurie said.
“They were bright yellow, weren’t they?”
“How can you remember that?” She lowered the camera. “They were bright yellow with black stripes. All bees in Santa Barbara thought I was their mother.”
I laughed, and she snapped another shot. Then a sound I’d been hoping for came to my ears. Laurie had hit the end of the roll, and the camera was automatically rewinding the film.
“We could see if the hotel has a one-hour developing service.”
“No, that’s okay, Hope. I prefer the service I use at home. I’ll send you copies.”
I knew then that my mission would be to snag that roll of film when Laurie wasn’t looking and find a way to have it developed here.
Laurie put away her camera while I ambled over to the pool to wet my feet. I stepped into the shallow end and went down the steps until the cool water was up to my knees.
My legs were still white. Winter wonderland white. The clear pool water seemed only to emphasize that disturbing fact.
Laurie joined me, sitting on the edge of the pool and dangling her legs in the water. “I think the tops of my feet got sunburned,” she said. “I always forget to put sunscreen on my feet. You look like you got some color on your face.”
“Really?” I instinctively touched my cheeks. “It’s probably my normal mama-glow instead of sun-glow. I seem to have no difficulty showing a little color in my face lately. It’s these white legs I was hoping to bronze up.”
Laurie’s legs already were warming up with a deep glow the color of Darjeeling tea with milk. The only warm tones that showed up in my skin were brown spotty freckles on my arms and legs.
“I have an idea,” Laurie said. “Let’s pop into the gift shop and buy some instant tan in a can for your legs.”
“You just want to see that guy we embarrassed at the counter last night.”
“Correction.” Laurie scooped up a handful of pool water and let it fall over her knees. “The guy you embarrassed trying to purchase every home pregnancy test on the island.”
“I don’t think I can go back in there if he’s working this afternoon. Poor kid.”
“Then I’ll go in,” Laurie said. “I’ll buy the tanner for you. Before you go home, your skin will be a gorgeous shade of happy cocoa beans. Everyone who comes into the Ladybug Tea and Cakes next week will say, ‘My, my, don’t you look tan! Where have you been?’ And you can brag your little heart out and say—”
“Yeah, I’ll say I went to Hawai’i, and my friend bought me a can of brown spray paint.”
“It’s not brown spray paint, Hope. It’s foam. Or gel. Or lotion, or something.”
“See? You don’t even know because you’ve never used it.”
“So? There’s nothing wrong with a little enhancement of our natural beauty. It’s mandatory if we’re going to experience contentment in this next season of life.”
“First you promise me a pedicure for my uncultured feet and now cocoa-bean legs. How could I possibly turn down such an offer?”
“You can’t. So don’t fight it.”
I wasn’t going to fight it. If Laurie left to go to the gift shop, I could grab the roll of film. But she didn’t go right then. Instead, she ordered more tropical beverages, and we started a little collection of paper umbrellas beside our lounge chairs at the pool.
Laurie’s theory about the forty-to-sixty season seemed to be working. We were both quite content.