Darkness. Deep, pillowy darkness. Like being underwater, so far down below the surface that no light reaches you. A steady beeping. Voices. Where am I? I try to move my arms, but I can’t—
“Tegan! Tegan, it’s all right.”
I open my eyes to find Kai gently shaking me awake, his features etched with concern. Sunlight is streaming cheerfully through his bedroom window. I’m wrapped up in the covers like a caterpillar in a cocoon. I am flooded with such joy to see him that, for a flicker of a moment, I forget everything that happened yesterday. Everything we learned. But then, of course, it all comes back. The heavy stone returns to my gut.
We both tried valiantly to stay up all night, not wanting to miss a second of our remaining time together. But at some point, we must have drifted off. And I actually think it’s good that we did. I’ve never done well on little sleep, and I don’t want to pass through my final days like a bleary-eyed robot on autopilot. I want to feel fresh and awake, able to soak in everything fully. Plus, there’s something necessary about the oblivion of sleep. Both of us need a break from the constant pressure of the ticking-down clock.
“You were shaking and making noises,” Kai says, wrapping his arms around the bedcovers and me. “Were you having a nightmare?”
“Yeah, I was. Thanks for waking me up.” I kiss his nose. “Sorry if I was a cover-hog last night.”
He touches my hair, my cheek. “I don’t mind.”
“So you’re saying I was a cover-hog?”
“Oh, most definitely. You have mastered the tuck-and-roll.”
“The what?”
“The tuck-and-roll. It’s your signature move. Here, let me demonstrate.” Kai tucks the covers around his body with his arms. Then, he rolls to the side away from me. The covers slide with him.
“See?” he asks, rolling back to face me. “Very effective.”
“I’m sorry!” I laugh, and he does too, and it feels so good to be like this. Normal. Us.
But then Kai breaks the mood. “So,” he says, “do you still want to go to Akaka Falls today?”
I frown. “Kai, I thought we agreed that we’re not going to waste the time we have left looking for clues that don’t exist. I thought—”
He holds up a hand. “You’re right, you’re right. I don’t want to look for clues. But do you still want to go to Akaka Falls, just to see it?”
“Oh.” I feel relieved. “Yes. In that case, I would love to go there.”
“Okay, we’ll do it.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
But neither of us moves. Lying here like this, the warm covers cocooned around us and the bright sunlight streaming in through the window, my face inches away from my favorite face in the universe … this feels like the closest thing to Heaven that I can imagine. I wonder, despite what Okalani and Keone said, if maybe this is it. This week, here in Hawaii with Kai—maybe this is all I get. Maybe this is Heaven. Maybe after the clock strikes midnight on Sunday, and the last grain of sand falls through the hourglass, everything will simply melt away to nothing, and it will all be over.
“Whatcha thinking?” Kai asks, brushing a strand of hair away from my forehead.
I shake my thoughts away and smile. “How happy I am to be here with you,” I say. If this is it—if this is all the Heaven I get—I’m going to soak up every last drop of it. I’ll make this week enough to last a lifetime.
On the nightstand, Kai’s cell phone buzzes, and he untangles his arm from the covers to reach for it. The framed photo of me is upright again, my laughter aimed directly at his pillow. I imagine this photo of me, living on for months and years after I’m gone, and suddenly that heavy rock is back in my gut. Actually it’s not a rock anymore—it’s molten lava, throbbing. I kick my way out of the covers and sit up.
“Slow down, slow down,” Kai says into the phone. He glances at me with a worried expression—Mom? Is that my mom on the phone? I force myself not to grab it out of his hand. I raise my eyebrows in a question.
“It’s Theo,” he says to me. My disappointment is sharp, even though I didn’t really think it was my mom. I’m in some other world, outside of regular time and space, and logically I understand that I’m never going to be able to talk to my mom or my dad or anyone back home again. I need to inwardly say my goodbyes and face reality. Still, there’s a stubborn little part of me, tucked away deep in my heart, that refuses to give up hope.
“Okay,” Kai says into the phone. “Okay, just sit tight.”
He hangs up, setting the phone down on his nightstand. He runs a hand over his face. When he looks at me again, he seems much older than he did five minutes ago. Weary, even though he just woke up.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, even though the answer is clearly no.
“Theo’s in trouble.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know much. He was making a delivery. Something went wrong.”
I pull my hair back into a ponytail and slip out of bed. “We need to go to him.”
“But this is your last week, T! Our remaining time is precious. Theo can figure it out on his own.”
“Kai, I know you. You would do anything for your brothers, and Theo needs you. If I weren’t here, you would already be out the door on your way to him.”
Kai sighs. “You’re right. But what about Akaka Falls? What about our plans for the day? I don’t want to let you down.”
“Of course you’re not letting me down! This isn’t your fault. Life happens. Besides, we wouldn’t enjoy doing anything else. We’d be too worried about Theo the entire time.”
Kai reaches over and gently pulls me down onto the bed beside him. He looks me right in the eyes. “Tegan, are you sure about this? This is supposed to be your Best Week. We only have four days left. I doubt you imagined rescuing my dumb brother as part of your week.”
“Don’t you get it, babe? It doesn’t matter what we’re doing,” I tell him. “It’s that we’re doing it together. My Best Week could be anything, as long as I’m with you.”
Ten minutes later, we’re driving away from the house into another beautiful summer morning.
“I’m gonna kill Theo,” Kai mutters, hands clenched on the wheel. “How many times have I warned him about those guys? But he never listens.”
“Maybe he’ll listen now,” I venture, reaching across the center console and resting my hand on Kai’s thigh. “You’re a good brother.”
Kai shakes his head. “I’m the oldest. I’m supposed to protect him.”
“You couldn’t protect him forever. Eventually, he needed to get out in the world and make his own mistakes. You can’t protect him from everything, Kai.”
He sighs. “I know. But right now—” His brow furrows as if he is in physical pain. He stares off at the road before us. “Right now, I feel like I can’t protect anyone from anything.”
We’re not only talking about Theo. I leave my hand on Kai’s leg, proof of my physicality. Of my okay-ness. My younger self might have crossed her arms and tilted her chin up. You don’t need to protect me! I don’t need protecting! But now, after all we’ve been through the past few days, I understand that what Kai is feeling has nothing to do with my ability to take care of myself and everything to do with his own grief.
“You can’t protect someone from bad luck,” I say softly. “It was nobody’s fault. Just terrible, terrible luck.”
He glances over and meets my eyes for a moment before turning his gaze back to the road. His right hand drops from the steering wheel and finds mine.
“I’m here now,” I say. “I’m here with you.”
I’m telling myself as much as Kai. He squeezes my hand. Out my window, the clouds are darkening quickly. We brace ourselves for an oncoming storm.
I follow Kai down the paved path toward the lava tubes. When we reach the cave entrance, he continues striding forward down the gravel path, past the dark, yawning mouth of our hideout.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
Kai waves me forward. “Theo’s not at the lava tubes. He’s at the swimming hole. It’s down a little farther.”
The swimming hole? “How come you’ve never taken me there?” I ask.
Kai pauses for me to catch up. When I reach him, he slips his hand into mine. “It’s only a couple years old. A housing development sprung up nearby, and they built this man-made swimming hole. It’s tucked away like some big secret, but even the tourists know about it.” His tone is disdainful.
“Hey!” I elbow his ribs. “I’m a tourist!”
“Naw, you’re different. You’re a local by association.”
“Well, thanks.” I don’t really feel like a local. But I don’t quite feel like a tourist either. Not this visit. Not anymore.
“So I take it you’re not a fan of the swimming hole?” I ask him.
“The ocean is a million times better.”
We round a bend in the path, duck under a clutch of trees, and there is the swimming hole. It is smaller than I imagined, barely larger than a hot tub. It’s made out of granite that is obviously intended to look like “natural” rock, but you can tell that the slabs have been carefully fitted together, and the rough parts have been smoothed away, so as not to hurt swimmers’ feet. Bright blue water bubbles up from some hidden fountain source. Unkempt grass grows all around, but a few spots have been conquered by large, shiny slabs of rock—prime sunbathing locations, I assume. Other than us, the place is deserted.
“Theo!” Kai calls out. “Theo!”
“Where could he be?” There aren’t many places to hide in this open clearing. “Theo!”
“He told me this was where he was,” Kai says, scratching his neck. I glimpse that same half-wild look in his eyes from yesterday in the lava tubes, when he was so desperate to find a way to save me.
I’m worried about Theo too. I call out his name again. The wind picks up, whipping my hair into my face.
After another minute of shouting and pacing, the trees behind us rustle, and Theo emerges. I gasp at the sight of him. His nose is crusted with blood, and one eye is already purple with bruising. He’s holding his left arm strangely.
Kai rushes over to him. “Theo! What happened?”
Theo opens his mouth to answer, but then his stoic expression evaporates, and he turns away from us. His shoulders shake. Kai wraps his arms around his brother, and Theo lets him. When I glimpse Theo’s face again, it is like he has morphed into a little boy, tears running rivers down his cheeks.
“It’s okay,” Kai says. “It’s okay. Let’s get you home, buddy.”
Theo talks the entire drive back to the house, explaining how he slipped out early this morning to deliver some marijuana. “It was a normal drop,” he insists. “Really, not a big deal.” Kai raises his eyebrows but doesn’t interrupt. Theo goes on, explaining that when he got to the swimming hole, three guys jumped him and stole his stash. They left him shaken, but not too beaten up. That came later, after he called his boss and told him what had happened. “I assumed he’d be understanding,” Theo says, wiping his nose and wincing. “I mean, I thought he was my friend, you know?” But his boss made Theo pay for the money he’d lost out on. Left him in the overgrown grass by the swimming hole, curled up in the fetal position as if still trying to protect his head from the blows.
“I didn’t know what else to do but call you,” Theo says.
“I’m glad you did,” Kai replies. “It was the right thing to do.”
A few raindrops splatter against the windshield, and Kai turns the wipers on. We lapse into silence, gazing out at the ominous clouds. The wipers swish back and forth, like twin dancers. Soon, the raindrops become steady streams of water, and the wipers’ dance becomes more fast-paced, frantic.
“We have to tell Mom and Dad, you know,” Kai murmurs quietly.
At first I think that Theo didn’t hear him. But after a few moments, he bites his lip. Nods. “I know,” he says. His voice sounds almost relieved.
The rest of the day we spend quietly indoors, avoiding the storm. Kai’s parents are at work, and Paulo is at soccer camp all day, and Kai and I are reluctant to leave Theo by himself.
“Are you sure, T?” Kai asks. “I feel terrible. This is so not how I imagined us spending the day.”
“I’m sure. I don’t want to abandon Theo after what happened. Besides, it’s raining buckets out there. It wouldn’t have been a good day to hike Akaka Falls anyway.”
“But there are so many other things we could be doing … ”
I stop him with a kiss. “This is exactly where I want to be.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. I’m grateful that I get to be here and support you through this.”
We make elaborate grilled-cheese sandwiches for lunch and whittle away the hours playing board games, sprawled out on our stomachs on the living room carpet. Theo’s left wrist is swollen and bruised, and he holds a bag of frozen peas against it. He managed to clean himself up, but his black eye is still noticeable. When Mrs. Kapule arrives home from work with Paulo in tow, rain-drenched from soccer camp, there’s no hiding anything. She gasps, hugs Theo, and sends Paulo off to the shower and his room. “What happened?” she asks. “Actually, wait—don’t tell me. Don’t say anything yet. Your father will be home any minute. You can tell us both together.”
A few minutes later, while Kai and Theo talk to their parents in the kitchen, I slip out the sliding glass door to the backyard and tuck myself into the hammock. The rain has passed and the air is warm. Olina looks up from the yard, where she is chewing on her indestructible rubber bone. She gets up and trots over, then licks my hand. I pet her soft head and pull out the notepaper I folded into my pocket yesterday morning. I’ve been trying to write a goodbye letter to Kai, but no words will appear. Everything I come up with sounds corny or clichéd. How do you say goodbye to your best friend? How do you end a story that is only just beginning?
“He’s my person,” I whisper to Olina, who flops down beside the hammock. “He knows parts of me that I haven’t shared with anyone else. He should be able to mind-read everything I want to say.” But real life doesn’t work that way. Maybe that’s why I’ve always hated goodbyes. No words can ever live up to the emotion you feel in those moments. No matter what you say, your words will fall short.
But I need to try. I owe Kai at least that much. He deserves a really good goodbye.
Dear Kai,
I want to say
That’s all I have written so far.
I chew on my pen, staring off into the yard at the first tendrils of sunset streaming out across the sky. What sweeps into my mind isn’t a memory of Kai, exactly. It’s more a memory of my mom.
Three years ago …
When we returned from our second Hawaii trip—the one that failed to save my parents’ marriage—and Kai, remarkably, continued to text me rather than drop off the face of the planet, I kept him a secret from my mom. I kept him a secret from everyone, even from Andrea. He seemed more special that way. More real somehow. I didn’t think anyone else would understand the genuine closeness of our friendship. Even I didn’t fully understand it—how a seed we’d planted as kids and then neglected for years could suddenly spring up to life the minute we began giving it sunlight and water. Part of me worried that our relationship, whatever it was, would die just as abruptly. Even though our communication had already lasted longer than I’d expected, I felt sure that it would drop off eventually. And I worried that, if I told anyone about Kai, my feelings for him would bubble to the surface, embarrassingly apparent, and I wouldn’t be able to play nonchalant when he inevitably started dating some girl from his school and had no time for me anymore.
Keeping him a secret was easy. Mom was swept up in all of the divorce stuff and then the tasks of moving and decorating our new place. She went on a diet and exercise kick; she cut her hair and bought new clothes. It wasn’t that she didn’t have time for me—I always knew I could talk to her if I wanted to—but when she saw me, I think she saw me through the lens of her expectations. Initially, she had been concerned about how I was taking the divorce and the accompanying changes; we had a couple of heart-to-hearts in my new room after dinner, when she sat on the edge of my bed and peered into my face, asking how things were going. I told her that I was doing okay. Which wasn’t a lie. Yes, we’d moved out of our house, but only five minutes away; I was still going to the same school with my familiar friends and teachers and classes. And yes, I missed my dad, but I still saw him on the weekends. We did more activities together than we used to—before the divorce, he often worked or went biking on weekends. Plus, he and my mom had been arguing so much the past few years, both of them so clearly miserable, that it was a relief not to be surrounded by screaming matches and tense silences all the time.
Whenever I did feel sad about my parents’ split, I had a perfect distraction at my fingertips. I would text Kai some corny joke or “Would you rather?” scenario, and he would respond with a bizarre answer and equally outlandish question, or he’d tell me something funny that had happened at school that day. I knew so many details about his life that it was easy to forget we lived 4,880 miles apart. We began emailing when we wanted to talk, but the time zones made it difficult. Hawaii is six hours behind Pennsylvania, so when I woke up in the morning, Kai would still be asleep, and when I went to bed at night, he would be having an after-school snack. Sometimes I would actually smile as my alarm went off in the morning, reaching for my phone and anticipating an email from Kai. Occasionally, he’d call me as he skateboarded home from school, and I could hear the rush of wind in the background. On the phone, it was the same as when we texted or emailed: easy and natural. So different from any of the guys I tried talking to at school, where conversation would typically flare out after a minute or so. Either that or they’d ask if I’d done the homework or if I knew the answer to the bonus question on the test. At school, I was a two-dimensional stick-figure drawing, labeled and filed in one specific folder. But Kai saw me in 3-D. To Kai, I was interesting and nuanced, fun and serious, smart and silly. He saw and appreciated all of my components. He really knew me. At least, that was what it felt like.
Our first fight happened because of trigonometry. He was nervous about a big test coming up and asked if I could help him study. “A genius like you needs to help us mere mortals,” he said, a smile in his voice. But I did not smile. I was angry. My deep-seated insecurities came rushing back—all the times people had tried to copy off me, all the guys who only struck up conversations to ask about the homework, all the kids who were nice to me during group projects but then ignored me when we passed each other in the quad. Andrea had recently started dating this water polo player, and she only had time for me during study sessions at the library.
“I can’t,” I told Kai, my tone cold, even though I had plenty of time and could easily have tutored him. “I guess you’ll have to find someone else.”
Kai didn’t say anything. Disappointment squeezed my rib cage. After all we’d shared, he was turning out to be exactly like everyone else. “I’ve gotta go,” I said abruptly, and hung up without a goodbye—something I never did.
The rest of the day, I kept checking my phone, expecting to hear from him. He would text an apology, or maybe he’d joke about something completely random and pretend that our fight hadn’t happened, and we could go back to where we’d been before. I was already starting to feel a little embarrassed about my response. He’d unknowingly struck a nerve, and I’d overreacted.
But I didn’t hear from him. Nothing. There was no email waiting for me when I woke up the next morning. No text messages when I checked my phone between classes. No phone calls. Nothing.
That night, I picked at my dinner. Mom noticed.
“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” she asked.
I shrugged, opening my mouth to make some excuse, like, “I’m just tired,” or, “I’m not that hungry.” But I couldn’t even get the first syllable out before tears engulfed my voice.
I swallowed and wiped my eyes. I was not and never had been a crier. Crying was messy and ugly and needy, and I did not want to be any of those things. No. I was self-contained and self-reliant. Even as a baby, my parents said, I had cried so rarely that they would often check on me during the night. But I would be sleeping peacefully, or if I was awake, I’d be staring up at the crib mobile or chewing on my foot or something, and when they’d come into the room, I’d just blink up at them with a gummy smile. “The perfect baby,” Mom used to say. “If everyone had babies like you, we’d all have ten kids.” I often wondered why they didn’t. Have ten kids, I mean. Or at least one more. As a little girl, “brother or sister” was always at the top of my wish list, until I eventually became resigned to our family of three. I’d never asked if they tried having more kids—and it just wasn’t in the cards—or if it was a conscious choice.
“Oh, honey,” Mom said, getting up out of her chair and hurrying around the table. She put her arms around me, which made things worse. I was unable to clamp down on the tears—they were a fountain, overflowing. I ducked my head, hiding my face against her shirt like a child.
“It’s okay.” Mom stroked my hair. “Let it out. I know all this change has been tough on you.”
Part of me was tempted to let her think this was about the divorce. I wasn’t technically lying. She had jumped to her own conclusions. But I thought of Kai’s face, and my silent phone, and an unbearable ache flared inside of me. I wanted—needed—to talk to her about it. I needed my mom.
I straightened in the chair and looked up at her. She reached down and wiped my cheeks with her thumbs. She smiled at me with sad eyes. I was hit with a wave of love for her. My mom. Her hair was shorter, with new auburn highlights, and her face was a little thinner from her all-veggie-all-the-time diet, but her eyes were the same eyes I’d been looking into my entire life. They were full of understanding. I thought of how she’d held my hand on the plane ride home from Hawaii that first time, when my little-girl heart had never before felt such pain to leave a place—to leave a person. Kai and I were only kids, and some parents might have swept my sadness aside as “silly” or “cute.” But my mom had held me, and she had held my pain too. She had listened without condescension or judgment. She hadn’t tried to trivialize my feelings. It was the same way she always listened to me, for my entire life. Suddenly, I felt bad that I had kept my new friendship with Kai a secret from her.
“It’s actually—this isn’t about the divorce. It’s something else.”
Mom looked surprised, then immediately tried to hide her surprise. She pulled out the chair next to me and sat down, hands on her knees, leaning forward expectantly. “What is it, Teacup? I’m here.”
Where should I even start? “Well … remember when we went to Hawaii the first time, and I became friends with that boy Kai?”
She nodded.
“I bumped into him again, the last time we were there. On the beach.” I decided to skip the part about me sneaking out and meeting him in the lava tubes in the middle of the night. “We, um, exchanged numbers, and we’ve been texting and stuff. He’s actually become one of my best friends.”
Mom smiled, her brown eyes dancing. “That explains a lot. I’ve been wondering why you’ve been glued to your phone lately. I thought maybe you met a new boy at school.”
“Mom! No. It’s not like that, with Kai.” I could feel myself blushing. “We’re friends.”
“Okay, okay,” Mom said, holding up her hands, but I could tell she didn’t fully believe me. “I’m glad you’ve reconnected with Kai. He was such a nice kid. I always wondered what happened to him.”
“He’s great.” That lump was back in my throat. “Really great.”
“Then what’s the problem? Why the tears, hon?”
“We had a fight. I ruined everything.” I told her about the stupid trigonometry fiasco and why I’d gotten so upset. How everyone at school labeled me. How I thought Kai saw me differently—more fully—than that.
“I think you’re right,” Mom said. “I think Kai does see the real you—all of you. Just like Andrea does, and just like your father and I do. Don’t let the kids at school make you feel boxed in, Tegan. And don’t box yourself in either.”
I nodded, playing with the strings on my hoodie. We’d had this conversation before. I wasn’t boxing myself in. Even though the kids at school annoyed me sometimes, overall I felt comfortable with who I was. Now was not the time to veer off-topic.
“But what about Kai?” I asked. “What should I do?” There was a whiny pleading in my voice. Ugh. When had I started caring this much? Get it together, I told myself.
“You should call him and apologize,” Mom said gently, standing up from the table.
I gathered the dirty dishes to bring to the sink. “But what do I say?”
“Tell him what you just told me.”
So, after I helped her wash the dishes, I climbed the stairs to my room, flopped backward onto my bed, and pressed the green phone icon next to his name. My heart was pounding. He answered on the second ring.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted out. “I miss you.”
“I’m sorry too,” he said. “It’s been so weird not talking to you. I thought I should give you some space. I didn’t mean to impose or anything.”
“No, no—you never impose.” But I didn’t want to explain to Kai what it was like at my school. How the other kids saw me. What if their impression of me tainted his impression of me? Sometimes it seemed he was the only person in the world who truly understood me. I couldn’t risk changing that. “I was in a weird mood yesterday,” I said. “I’m sorry I snapped. I’m happy to help. So, what questions do you have about trig?”
“Oh, it’s fine. No big deal. This girl in class is going to tutor me.”
“Oh.” This girl in class. “Okay.”
The conversation meandered on, and after that things pretty much went back to normal. But something shifted inside me. I realized how fragile our foundation was. How Kai could disappear from my life if he wanted, and there would be nothing I could do. And that scared me. I realized I had let him in too far. I had been vulnerable and surrendered control. No more. From then on, I vowed not to be dependent on him. Not to need him too much. There was no way I would ever let myself feel more than friendship. I needed to play it safe. Keeping him at arm’s length would mean that I could keep him in my life. No messiness and no complications.
In the months and years that followed, Mom asked about Kai occasionally. A few times she waved hello when we were FaceTiming. Mostly, she let me bring him up when I wanted, and she didn’t push for more. I couldn’t tell if she was happy about my friendship with him or if she was indifferent. All I knew was that she didn’t want him to distract me from my studies—from my future. College had always been her dream for me too.
So I thought Mom would be happy with my decision not to visit Kai over the summer. I expected her to applaud my resolve to get ahead on my college courses. But when I told her the news, she looked … sad. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” she asked. “You’ve worked so hard, Teacup. You deserve a little vacation.”
“I’m sure. This is what I want.”
She nodded and said, “I bet Kai is disappointed.”
Was that blame in her voice? I bristled.
“I haven’t told him yet,” I admitted. “I’m going to call him tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll understand. He’ll want what’s best for me.”
The next day, when I did call him, and when it caused the biggest argument of our entire friendship, I didn’t tell my mom. I had a feeling she wouldn’t be surprised, and I couldn’t bear to see that on her face. I didn’t want her to try to change my mind or attempt to “fix” things. I told myself that I had made my decision and that it was the best decision for me, for my future. Kai would come around eventually. I could always visit him next summer.
“Hey,” Kai says. I hear him step out onto the patio and close the sliding glass door. “Whatcha doing out here?”
Olina lifts her head. Quickly, I fold up the notepaper and stuff it into my pocket.
“Resting,” I say. “I wanted to give you guys some privacy.”
Kai steps in front of the hammock. At the sight of him, a goofy grin spreads across my face. Yes, I held him at arm’s length for the past three years—and I almost lost him because of it—but I didn’t lose him, and now he loves me, and I love him. I reach up and grab his shirt, pull him down toward me, and kiss him like it’s our first kiss all over again.
When we pull away, his eyes are hazy. “Whoa,” he says.
“Whoa,” I say.
“Can I join you in there?”
“Of course!” I scoot over as best I can, and Kai folds himself in beside me. The hammock presses our bodies together like we are two caterpillars sharing a single cocoon. He wraps his arm around me, and I rest my cheek against his chest.
“How did things go with your parents?” I ask softly.
“It was a hard conversation, but good. Dad is taking Theo to the doctor right now to get checked out. His wrist is still hurting, and it’s pretty swollen. Dad thinks it might be broken.”
“Poor Theo.” I shift in the hammock, running my hand down Kai’s arm until it finds his hand. Our fingers weave together. “Are they going to file a police report?”
“I don’t know. Theo doesn’t want to. It’s complicated because he was wrapped up in the drug stuff, you know? So he could get in trouble himself.”
“Yeah. At least your parents are involved now. They’ll know what’s best.”
Kai sighs, but it’s a different sigh than earlier. Not a sigh of frustration but a sigh of relief. “It feels so good to have told them. To have this whole thing off my chest. No more secrets.” He kisses my forehead. “Sort of like when I confessed my feelings for you, this last time.”
I tilt my chin and look up at him. “What do you mean, ‘this last time’?”
“Well, the first two times I tried didn’t work out so well.”
“Two times? What else besides that phone conversation? Which wasn’t your fault, by the way. I wasn’t ready to hear it. I was too scared.”
He grins. “Tegan Rossi, I thought you weren’t scared of anything.”
“Falling in love with you. That was the only thing that scared me.”
Olina grunts and gets up, as if our sappiness is too much for her. She trots over to the grass a few yards away and settles down beneath a mango tree.
“What was the other time?” I prompt Kai. “That you confessed your feelings? I don’t remember any other time.”
“The first night we reconnected, when you met me in the lava tubes. I was totally trying to put the moves on you.”
I laugh. “That was different! You barely knew me! I was some random girl you were hoping to make out with!”
“It wasn’t like that, Tegan,” Kai says, his voice serious. “You were never some random girl. I hadn’t stopped thinking about you since you left.”
“Really?”
“Really. I loved you when we were kids. I loved you when we met again three years ago. I love you now.” His arm tightens around me. “I’ll always love you.”
I nestle against him, my bare feet tucked against his calves. We lie there in silence for a while, the hammock swaying gently in the breeze. Birds flutter in the trees and call out to each other. My ear is pressed against Kai’s chest, and I can hear the steady beating of his heart.
When the sun sinks fully beyond the horizon, the breeze turns cooler, and goose bumps spring up on my skin. It’s time to go inside, but I burrow closer to Kai, trying to hold on to this moment a little longer. How is another day over already? A pit yawns open in my stomach, so wide it could swallow me whole.
“We better head in,” Kai murmurs. His lips brush my forehead. His breath is warm. “Get ready to go.”
“Go? Go where?”
“To the art gallery. I mean, um, if you still want to … ”
I sit up. “Oh my god—yes! Of course I want to! With everything that’s happened today, I forgot what day it is.” Carefully, I roll sideways and swing my legs down out of the hammock. “What time is it? Are we late?”
Kai checks his watch. “It’s a little after seven. Let’s eat dinner here and then head over. The gallery opens at eight, but we don’t need to get there right on time.”
“Sounds perfect.” I reach down and help him up. “I’m so glad you’re taking me to your show, Kai. I know it’s a complicated situation, but it’s important to me. Thank you.”
“No, thank you, T.” His hair is adorably rumpled, and one cheek is creased with lines from the hammock. “I wanted to go. Of course I did. This is a big deal—my first piece in a real art gallery! I’ve been dreaming about this forever. I was just—nervous about it, I guess—and I let myself make excuses. Thanks for calling me on it.”
I don’t tell Kai, but I’m nervous too. I’m nervous to meet his friends. Will they all be like that guy R.J. was at the restaurant? Looking me up and down, judging me, deeming me not worthy? What if another fight breaks out? What if R.J. tries to punch Kai again?
What if this night is a total disaster, and it’s all my fault for forcing Kai to go?
But we need to go. Not only do I want to experience the thrill of seeing Kai’s artwork in a gallery for the first time, I also need Kai to make things right with his friends. That’s the only way I’ll ever be able to let go of him at the end of the week. I need to know he’s going to be okay without me.
We head inside, and I duck into Kai’s room to change, while he scrounges around for leftovers in the kitchen. In the mirror, I check my hourglass tattoo. I have to force myself not to look at it a thousand times throughout the day, monitoring the infinitesimal trickle of sand. Now, there is definitely more sand in the bottom half than in the top. I run my fingers over the black lines, wishing so desperately I could flip the hourglass back over somehow. Give myself more time.
I take a deep breath, smoothing my hands over a flowing yellow skirt I found in my suitcase. It is also new, and I wonder if in some other life—some alternate past that leads to a future that doesn’t end after this week—I bought this skirt thinking of Kai. I always associate him with the color yellow: cheerful, confident, easygoing. Maybe that’s why it is so strange to think of him as anything but happy. I remember what his mom said: He’s been having a hard time lately. It means a lot that you traveled all the way here to cheer him up.
Why was he having a hard time? Was it because of our fight and his falling-out with his friends? Or something else, something more? I need to ask him about it. Tomorrow, I’ll ask him.
I pair the skirt with a simple white T-shirt, my yellow sandals, and Mom’s gray sweater that still smells like her. Thinking about my mom for too long makes this lion of grief roar up inside of me, and I don’t have time for grief. After tonight, I only have three more days here. I need to be present. I need to make the most of the time I have left.
“I’ll grieve when I’m dead,” I announce to the mirror, mimicking the way Andrea would always say, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead” as rationale for her late-night Netflix-bingeing. I almost laugh. Does this mean I’m gradually accepting the fact that I’m going to die at the end of this week—that, in the real world, I am already dead? Or is this funny because it’s still so absurd to think of actually dying? Am I still in denial about the truth?
I put on my puka shell necklace and leave my hair loose around my shoulders. Then I leave the bedroom and head into the kitchen, where Kai is heating up some dinner leftovers from last night, pineapple pork and lots of veggies.
“Hey,” I say. “Anything I can do to help?”
He looks up, and I wish I could freeze this moment—the expression in his eyes when he sees me. Like he’s drinking in every inch of me, and it lights him up inside.
That slow smile spreads across his face, making me blush.
He turns off the burner and sets down his spatula. Then he closes the gap between us and wraps his arms around me. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs in my ear. “I can hardly take it.”
Now I’m lit up inside. When Kai calls me beautiful, I know he’s talking about more than my appearance. Because he doesn’t just see my outside layer, the way the rest of the world does. He peels back all my layers. He knows me, truly and deeply. He loved the little girl I was, who still lives on inside me, at my core. He knows all of me—all my flaws and insecurities and vulnerabilities—and he thinks I am beautiful.
He kisses my earlobe, my forehead, my nose, my lips.
I break away. “Where’s your mom?” I would be embarrassed if she came in and saw us like this. Does she even know that we’re, like, a couple now? I love spending time with Kai’s family and don’t want to make anything awkward.
“She’s putting Paulo to bed,” Kai says. “Little guy’s exhausted. Soccer camp always takes it out of him.”
He grabs two plates and dishes out dinner. “You ready for this?” he asks.
I’m not sure if he’s asking about the meal or the art gallery. Thinking about the latter makes butterflies gather in my stomach. Kai’s little-boy voice pops into my head, from our countless games of hide-and-seek as kids. Ready or not, here I come!
“Yep,” I tell him. “Born ready.”
Come and get me, R.J. and Nadia and the rest. I’m not scared of you. I’ll be scared when I’m dead. I bite my lip, smiling to myself. I think I’ve found my new mantra.
The art gallery is wedged into a busy street in downtown Kona, surrounded by shops and restaurants. Kai turns onto a side street to find a parking space. Then we walk together, hand in hand, down the street. Kai’s wearing the same button-down shirt from our first date, at The Blue Oasis. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the only collared shirt he owns.
“What?” he asks, and I realize I’ve been staring. “Do I have something on my shirt?” He looks down.
“No, you look great. I love that shirt. Is that the one you wore the other night?”
“Yeah.” He smiles sheepishly. “Don’t get me wrong, I have other nice shirts—I’m not that much of a beach bum. But this one’s my lucky shirt.”
“It is? I mean, was it always?”
“Not before that night. But now it’s the luckiest shirt ever. It made you finally see me as more than a friend.” He smiles, draws in a big breath, releases it. “And I could use a bit of extra luck tonight.”
We reach the entrance to the art gallery. The door is propped open with a giant geode; light spills out onto the sidewalk, along with the murmur of voices and laughter. Kai looks at me and raises his eyebrows. Ready?
I smile confidently. Fearlessly.
“I can’t wait to see your piece,” I tell him.
It’s the right thing to say, because Kai seems to get a jolt of energy—a reminder of why we’re here. This is a celebration! His work is hanging in an art gallery! He leads me across the threshold, into the noise and light.
The gallery has smooth, well-worn hardwood floors and bright-white walls. People mingle around the airy rooms, nibbling on crackers and sipping on wine. I don’t see any of Kai’s friends. But I’m sure they’re here somewhere.
“Look up,” Kai tells me, so I tilt my head back. The ceiling is a giant mosaic of seashells and stones, arranged in an undulating wavelike pattern.
“Wow,” I breathe. “That’s amazing.”
“The gallery owner’s wife was a mosaic artist,” Kai says.
Was. The word niggles at me. Was a mosaic artist. Not is.
“What happened to her?” I ask.
“She died a few years ago. Cancer. He did the ceiling as a tribute to her. It took him three years to finish.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say. I wonder how her Best Week unfolded, after she died of cancer. Did she spend the week on vacation with her husband? Maybe she went back and got to experience her honeymoon all over again. Or did she relive a week from her childhood? Or perhaps her Best Week was an ordinary week from her life. Making art. Making dinner. Making love.
I wish I could channel this mosaic artist who died. I have so many questions I yearn to ask her. Does it hurt to cross over? Will I ever stop missing this life, this humanness? Will I ever stop aching for Kai and my parents and my friends—all the people I’ve left behind?
Will my life always feel unfinished?
“You okay?” Kai asks. His eyes look pained. I can tell he regrets telling me about the gallery owner’s wife. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m fine. Better than fine—I’m excited. Take me to your piece!”
“This way.” He grins and leads me through the front room, down a little hallway, and into another room. It’s emptier and quieter back here. Then we veer left and head for the far back corner. All I know about Kai’s piece is what he told me after shave ice the other day: it’s a wood carving. But I have no idea what the subject matter is.
That part is a surprise, Kai had said, winking. You’ll just have to wait and see.
The first thing I notice about Kai’s piece is how large it is—the opposite of his delicate, dainty snowflake ornaments on display at the Tiki Room. It stretches across the wall, the size of a giant flat-screen TV. From across the room, it simply looks like a big, flat piece of wood. I can’t tell what the image is.
But as we get closer, shapes begin to emerge. Slowly, I realize what Kai has created. What his hands have brought to life in the grains of this wood. We step up to his piece, close enough to reach out and touch the grooves if we wanted.
“Wow.” I let out a long breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. “Kai, this is … magnificent.”
I look over at him. Instead of studying his artwork, he is studying me. Wanting to see my reaction. He flashes a smile, partly nervous and partly proud.
“Truly,” I say. “This is … I have no words to even describe it. I’m speechless.”
His wood carving is of manta rays. The giant, magical creatures of the deep, soaring through the water with their graceful fins spread wide. He has captured them so perfectly—it looks as if they are moving. Dancing, twirling, flying. Kelp wavers around the edge, forming a frame around the scene. Tiny fish circle the manta rays like halos around angels. I peer closer, studying the details. It must have taken Kai hours upon hours to meticulously carve these figures into this wood. I am amazed by his talent, his dedication. His vision. That he can look at an ordinary slab of wood and see … this. It’s remarkable.
And then, I notice her. On the right side, floating up close to the surface of the water. A girl with wavy hair, wearing snorkel goggles and swim fins.
I glance at Kai. Point to her. “Is that … ?”
“Yep. It’s you.”
“Oh my gosh.” I can’t believe it.
“I didn’t consciously plan it,” Kai says. “It just sort of happened. To be honest, I was angry with you when I made this piece. It was during that period when we weren’t talking. But you’re always there, in the back of my mind.” He grins. “Or the front of my mind. You’re in all the art I create, T.”
I point at the snorkeling girl. “Not like this. I mean, you’ve sent me photos of your other art pieces, and I saw your snowflake carvings at the shop. You’ve never put me into your wood carvings like this before, have you?”
“Not literally,” Kai admits. “But the way I feel about you—that love comes through in all of my art.”
I squeeze his hand. “I’d say that you’re in all the math problems I solve, but it doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.”
He laughs. I step back, wanting more room to take in the whole breadth of the piece. It really is stunning. I am swept away with this yearning to be there, underwater, with the manta rays and the fish and the swaying kelp.
And suddenly, I know what I want to do on Sunday. On my Last Day. Right before the sand in my hourglass tattoo runs out.
I want Kai to take me on a manta ray snorkel, just like the first time we met, on his parents’ boat when I was a little girl. I always wished that we’d gone on a manta snorkel again, when I was here with my parents three years ago. I remember how peaceful and beautiful it was, slipping into the water as day quickened into evening, watching the manta rays glide and dip and twirl. I want to see them again, one more time. One last time.
Acceptance settles within me. I feel truly calm and resolute for the first time since I woke up here in Hawaii. It will be a perfect final memory of this week. Of this life. My time with Kai will come full circle. The mantas brought us together, and they will help us say goodbye.
Before Kai and I wander through the rest of the gallery, I remember that art galleries usually have placards hanging next to the pieces, listing the artists’ names. I want to see Kai’s name in official gallery lettering. I spot it—a small white card hanging a few feet to the left of his wood carving. I step closer and lean in.
Kai Kapule.
“Homecoming.”
Lime wood. Hand-carved original.
I take a photo of the placard, then another photo of him smiling in front of his piece, and one last photo of the piece by itself. Then we walk through the rest of the gallery, taking in the eclectic mishmash of paintings and photographs and sculptures of all different styles, from traditional to abstract. Other than Kai’s wood carving, my favorite piece is a detailed, vibrantly colored painting of a starfish sunning itself on a rock, about to be hit by a wave.
“That’s Nadia’s piece,” Kai says.
Of course it is. “Wow. It’s wonderful.” A surge of jealousy hits me, but I push it away. Kai needs to reconnect with his friends. Nadia is the keystone. Plus, I’m curious to meet these people I’ve only seen in photographs, who have been such a big part of Kai’s life. In the framed picture on Kai’s bookshelf, they all look so happy together. There must still be fondness there, if only Kai could get past his stubborn pride and reach out to them.
I glance around the room. We haven’t bumped into his friends yet; so far, we’ve mostly encountered older people. A lot of the gallery browsers seem to be tourists, judging from their new-looking Hawaiian shirts and sunburns.
A shadow darkens Kai’s face. “They’re here,” he mutters, nodding across the room. “Over by the snack table. Just like them to take advantage of free food.”
I grab his hand. “I’m feeling a bit hungry myself.”
“We already had dinner!” Kai says. “We don’t need to go over there.”
I’m surprised by the genuine alarm in his voice. He really doesn’t want to talk to them, I realize. They hurt him. He’s scared.
I take Kai’s other hand in mine and gaze up into his brown eyes. Love for him squeezes my insides and wrings me out. I need to know that he’s going to be okay without me. And to be okay, he needs his friends back in his life.
“Do you remember our very first argument?” I ask.
“You mean when we were kids? Like, about where to build a sandcastle?”
“No—our first real argument, after we reconnected. The trigonometry one.”
Kai nods. Looks down at his sandals. “I still don’t know what I did to make you upset.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. It was my own baggage. I thought—I thought you only wanted to be my friend so you could get help on your homework.”
Kai’s eyebrows shoot up. “What? That’s ridiculous!”
I hold up my hand. “I know it is. That’s why I’m so glad I apologized, so we could move past it.”
Kai looks wary. “I have an inkling where you’re going here, T, and believe me, this situation is completely different. My friendship with them was never like what you and I had. You never would have abandoned me like they did. Even when you and I fought, I knew we’d eventually get past it. And besides, I did absolutely nothing wrong—”
“Please, Kai.” I stare into his face, catching his gaze and holding it. “You don’t have to agree with me. Just hear me out. I remember that first argument, when we didn’t talk for a day or so, and I felt like the rug was pulled out from under my feet. I realized that you could leave at any time—disappear, whenever you wanted, and there would be nothing I could do about it. I didn’t like the feeling, so I vowed to distance myself. I would never be dependent on you, which I thought meant that I would never get hurt.”
Kai nods. He looks down at our intertwined hands. I can tell he’s listening.
“But I was wrong, of course. So wrong! Distancing myself from you was hurt that I inflicted on myself. I was too scared of the waves, so I played in the shallow waters, which meant that I never got to feel the exhilaration of letting myself fall. Of honoring my true feelings. Of loving you in this deep and beautiful and terrifying way.”
“But you did.” Kai rubs his thumbs against mine. “This week, you did.”
“Yes. Thank god for this week. But I’ll always regret not choosing this sooner. When I think of all the time I wasted being scared and proud and hiding behind my excuses … ” I shake my head, blinking away tears of frustration. “What I’m trying to say, Kai, is that it doesn’t matter who’s right. Sometimes you need to apologize even if you think you’ve done nothing wrong. Your friends are hurting. They miss you. And I can tell you miss them too.” I lean over and kiss his cheek, scratchy with stubble. “Now I’m going to head over there, make myself a plate of cheese and crackers, and say hello. You get to decide if you want to come or not. You get to decide what you want to say to them, if anything.”
I let go of his hands, square my shoulders, and begin the long walk across the room. Chin up, head held high. I can’t tell if Kai’s friends notice me or not. Instead of looking toward them, I look around at the artwork on the walls.
Eons pass. I’m halfway across the wide wooden floor. I am the Titanic gliding through the lonely ocean. No, that’s not a good metaphor—I am not going to sink. Chin up, squared shoulders, head held high. Finally, when I’ve almost given up hope, I feel Kai’s hand slip into mine. Sweet relief courses through my veins. I glance up at him and smile. He smiles back, but I can still see a tightness there, around the edges.
When we reach the table, I grab a plate and hand it to Kai, who immediately lasers all of his attention onto the cheese display. Nadia is standing right there, on the other side of the table. Arms crossed over her chest, as if to shield herself.
“Hi,” I say to her. “Nadia, right?”
She nods.
“I thought it was you, when I bumped into you the other day. I’ve seen so many photos of you over the years.” I reach out my hand. “I’m Tegan. It’s nice to finally meet you!”
Nadia accepts my handshake. She seems taken aback by my friendliness. Good. I’ve decided the best way to handle things is to channel my dad and pretend like I have no idea there is any sort of tension happening here. It’s how Dad always handles interactions between my mom and his series of girlfriends, and while it used to annoy me, I’m beginning to think he might be onto something. My feigned obliviousness just might be the bridge that enables them to talk to each other with their pride intact. No one has to make the first move, because I’ve already bumbled my way into it.
“I loved your piece,” I tell Nadia. “The painting of the starfish? Kai told me it was yours. The colors are gorgeous. How long did it take you to paint it?”
“About four months, overall,” Nadia says. Her arms drop down to her sides. “You know, working on it here and there, after school and on weekends.”
“You’re super talented. It’s one of my favorite pieces in the show. I was drawn to it from across the room.”
She waves off my words, but her face opens up a little. Maybe she can tell I’m being sincere with my praise.
“This is a neat gallery. So you work here?” I ask.
“Yeah, I interned here last summer and stayed on through the year. Last season, I helped curate a show consisting purely of ephemera. It got a lot of interest.”
Ephemera? I have no clue what that means, but no way am I asking. Is she purposely using art lingo to make me feel out of my element?
“Kai was a huge help with that show,” she continues. “I never would have been able to pull it off without him.” She glances at Kai, but he doesn’t look up. He’s standing a few feet away from us, chomping on cubes of cheese like it’s his job.
Even though I want Kai to reconnect with his friends, I bristle at the warmth in her voice. I imagine the two of them here in the gallery, spending hour after hour together, immersed in their shared world of art. I want to bare my teeth and snap at her to stay away from my boyfriend.
But he won’t be mine for much longer. I need to prepare to let him go.
“So what’s coming up in the fall?” I ask, attempting to shift the conversation back to neutral ground. “What show is up next?”
“The next big show opens in September and features local printmakers. Chine collé, drypoint, and all that. I won’t be here in the fall, though. I’m going to California College of the Arts to study painting.” I can tell she is trying to act nonchalant, but she can’t fully hide the pride in her voice. “What about you?” she says. “Are you going to college?”
“Yep. Georgetown.”
“Wow. Where is that, again? The East Coast?” The words she’s not saying echo in my ears: Somewhere far, far away from here?
“It’s in Washington, DC.”
For the first time in our conversation, she smiles fully. “Awesome. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” My gut sinks in despair. You have no idea how far away I’ll be.
Like I suspected, Nadia is the gateway to the rest of Kai’s friends, and before long I’ve introduced myself to the whole gang: Skeeter and Kaylee and Noah. Even R.J. shakes my hand, pretending like we didn’t already meet the other night at The Blue Oasis. I guess if his sister seems cool with me, then he is too. I don’t think R.J. hates Kai either. Kai just happened to be the guy Nadia fell for, and no brother wants to see his sister get hurt.
Eventually, Kai abandons his cheese plate and wanders over to our little group. He wraps his arm around my waist, and I lean into him slightly, trying to say with my body, It’s okay. They won’t bite. I watch his friends registering this new information. Nadia chews her lip and looks down at her feet.
What was it Kai had said, that day we got shave ice? My friends liked to give me crap for being in love with this mainland girl who barely even knew I existed. I wonder if us being a couple changes their minds about anything.
“Hey, Nadia?” Kai asks. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. They walk over together to the corner of the gallery, next to a watercolor painting of a volcano spewing lava.
I half-listen to Skeeter and Noah debate the merits of the food table’s bread selection, crispy cracker versus baguette-style. I sense they are only talking to fill the space. All of us are watching Kai and Nadia, while trying to seem like we’re not actually paying them any mind. I force myself to laugh along with the others as Noah bites off a chunk of Skeeter’s baguette, spewing crumbs all over his black shirt. In the distance, Kai leans in and gives Nadia a hug. She wraps her arms around him, and my throat tightens.
Yep, it’s still there—that spark of jealousy, even though this is what I wanted to happen. Now my jealousy of Nadia stretches so much deeper. I’m jealous she gets to keep living beyond this week. I’m jealous of all the time she has left—time to make mistakes and learn from them, to take wrong turns and right them. I’m jealous of all the Sunday afternoons and silly adventures and monotonous Wednesdays she has in store, time to be bored and lazy, time to daydream and argue, time to fritter away without counting every grain of sand slipping through the hourglass. I’m jealous of Nadia, but really I’m jealous of my past self. I wish I still had that arrogant innocence—assuming that my life would keep going and going and going.
My Best Week is almost over. How long will it take for Kai to move on? How long before his memories with me begin to blur around the edges? How long before he forgets me?
Nadia will be here, waiting in the wings. She’ll be eager to help him forget.
Watching her and Kai amble back toward us—the tension is gone from his shoulders, and his manner is easy, relaxed—I wonder if his feelings for her will change into something more. When I’m no longer here, will there be anything to stop him from falling in love with her? I mean, really, how could he not? She is beautiful, and creative, and she loves him. Yes, she still does—it is obvious from the way she is looking up at him, right now, her smile wide and hopeful. If his feelings for her changed, hers would leap up to match his in a heartbeat.
What will Kai’s Best Week be? One day, hopefully a very long time into the future, will I get to relive this week again, with him? Is my Best Week his Best Week too?
Selfishly, there is a part of me that wants it to be so. But the bigger, more generous part of me—the part of me that loves him more than I love myself—hopes that the Best Week of Kai’s Life is far into the future. I don’t want his life to peak at eighteen. He has so much more living to do. So many more magnificent adventures and fantastic surprises in store. I pray his Best Week is yet to come. Which means I am praying for it to be wholly apart from me.
Maybe it will be the week of his wedding and honeymoon. Or maybe he’ll spend the week playing with his kids. Or grandkids. Or even great-grandkids.
As I watch Kai and Nadia walk toward us, I have the sense that I am watching Kai’s future. And I want this future for him. I want him to remember me, but I don’t want him to pine for me forever. I want him to fall in love again—to have a rich, full, passionate life. Yes. I want him to end up with someone like Nadia, after I’m gone.
A bittersweet feeling wells up inside me, happy-sad tears filling my eyes. I try to blink them away, but Kai notices as he comes up and slips his arm around me again. “You okay?” he asks softly.
He is a steady anchor. I belong here, in this space between his chest and his arm. I fit here so perfectly. A Tegan-shaped space.
I nod, smile a watery smile. “I’m going to miss you, is all.”
His eyes darken with sadness—with realizing, with remembering—and I wish I hadn’t said anything. He tightens his arm around me, leans down and kisses my hair.
“You guys are cute,” Nadia says. With her words of approval, it’s like the entire group exhales and relaxes.
Skeeter leans closer to me. “We all thought you were way out of his league,” he stage-whispers, and everyone laughs.
“Yeah, Kai,” R.J. says. “How did you finally convince her to go out with you?”
Kai glances down at me. I wonder what he is going to say.
“I got her to come visit me,” he says. “I knew if Tegan came back to Hawaii, there was a good chance she would fall in love with the island. Then I just tried to be in the background of the picture so she would fall for me too. By default.”
Everyone laughs again. Their eyes shine with happiness to have Kai back within their fold. They ask where he’s taken me around the island and offer suggestions of places we should go, their voices rising with excitement.
“How long are you here?” Noah asks me.
“Just till Sunday, unfortunately.”
I focus on the solidity of the floor beneath my feet, the warmth of Kai’s skin brushing mine. Here. Now.
“A bunch of us are going on a picnic tomorrow, if you guys want to join,” Nadia says.
Kai wraps both arms around me in a bear hug. “Thanks for the invite, but I’m going to decline before Tegan can answer. I want to hog her all to myself these last few days of her trip.”
I squeeze his arm gratefully. I am greedy to soak up every last precious minute with him. Just the two of us.
“Well, next time, then,” Nadia says. She smiles at me, a real smile. If we weren’t both in love with the same guy, she seems like someone I could actually be friends with. “Maybe you and I can grab coffee, Tegan. I’d like to get to know you better.”
“I’d like that too,” I tell her. “Let’s definitely do that, next time.”
When she hugs me goodbye, I send her a silent wish: Please, be good to him. Take care of him for me.
dear t,
you were in my dream again last night. i was really glad you were there. the dream was mostly about theo—he was in trouble, and we went to rescue him. he was all beaten up by those guys he hangs with, the high school dropouts who deal drugs and think they’re tough shit. i’ve been warning theo about them for ages, but he never listens. in the dream, he was shattered. i felt so helpless. he’s my little brother, and i didn’t protect him. i didn’t keep him safe.
maybe it’s a subconscious message about you, about how i’ve been feeling so helpless just sitting here refreshing social media, waiting for a new update from your mom about how you’re doing. maybe theo in the dream was a symbol for you. i should be there with you. i feel sick that i’m not there. but what would i do? saunter into your hospital room and hold your hand? your mom barely even knows me. they’d probably kick me out.
i wish you weren’t so far away. i wish you’d just come to hawaii like we’d planned. the truth is that i’m angry, t. i’m angry at you for getting into this accident. i’m angry that you might die. i’m angry at myself for loving you all this time and not doing enough about it. i’m angry at you and me and trains and airplanes and cell phones and the whole world. i guess being angry feels better than being constantly terrified.
you can’t leave me, t. please, don’t leave me. please, keep fighting.
in the dream i made up with my friends too. because of you. even though in real life, you don’t even know about all the drama that went down with me and my friends. anyway, nadia called me today. which is a big deal—i haven’t talked to her for months. she heard about your accident and asked how i was doing. at first i was going to give some gruff, terse response and hang up, but i couldn’t keep the tears out of my voice. so we ended up talking for a while, and it was actually pretty nice. normal. like the old days. she invited me to this picnic with a bunch of my old friends tomorrow, and i think i’m gonna go.
i told my parents about theo today. about the guys he’s involved with and how he’s started selling weed. they’re grounding him for, like, ever. he’s gonna be so pissed at me. but it was the right thing to do. you were the one, in the dream, who convinced me to do it. so, thanks.
have i said this already? i love you.
—kai