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“Thanks Kelly. We’ll call you when we land.” Angela’s mother Lillian pushed the power button on her mobile phone and stashed it in her carry-on.
“Any news?” Angela asked as she settled into her seat.
“No, nothing new. Your cousin Kelly said they still can't find the source of the bleeding, and if they can't find the source, they can't stop the bleeding.” She ran her hands through her hair and shook her head forcefully. “Uh, it’s so frustrating.” Lillian’s tone was biting. Dark circles under her eyes and tightly-pulled lips underscored her worry.
Angela and her parents barely spoke for the entire 5-hour flight; none of them wanting to give voice to the possibility that this could be the last time they might see the beloved patriarch of their family. Angela’s grandparents on her dad’s side had passed away before she was born, so she only had the one set of grandparents and she was especially close to her grandfather.
He was a blue-collar bon vivant who gave back to his community and made time for things like learning a musical instrument and oil painting after his retirement from the naval shipyard. Universally loved, he was one of those people that brought nothing but joy and wisdom to others. Uncomplicated, friendly, and mischievous, he always had a kind word for others.
Angela attempted to work on Los Leones, her new children’s book, multiple times, but would just end up staring blankly at her notebook, adrift on memory lane. She thought about all of the fond memories she had of her grandfather: his love of collecting those stamped pennies that you get at museums and amusement parks, his unparalleled corn chowder, and how much he enjoyed hitting the casinos— blackjack especially.
But the memories brought tears, and she was tired of crying.
She packed her notebook away, and leaned her head against the wall of the airplane.
She was in her kitchen, back from her trip to Hawaiʻi; her grandfather fully recovered from his ailment. It was such a relief that he was okay. She was celebrating by cooking her favorite salmon with mango salsa, and throwing back shots of sake as k.d.lang crooned soulfully in the background.
There was a knock at her door.
She opened it and found Kieran standing there with a dozen red roses and a lusty look in his eyes.
“I’m so glad you’re back. I missed you.” His eyes flashed dangerously as he advanced into her apartment, closing the door behind him forcefully.
She could hear her heart beating in her ears. Her eyes fluttered. “I missed you too.” She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him close.
Their lips found each other with a desperation born out of separation. Tongues intertwined passionately as the bouquet fell out of Kieran’s hands and bounced on the plush ivory carpet; water droplets flying like sweat off a boxer hitting the mat.
They moaned their way to the bedroom, shedding clothes as they went. Kieran impatiently grabbed his t-shirt, only breaking from Angela’s lips for the split second needed to pull it over his head.
Angela rubbed her hands over his tight six-pack. Fingering the trail of hair that dipped below his jeans. He growled, eyes narrowed, and hooked his fingers over her jeans, yanking her close.
His hands and mouth were everywhere, biting her neck, tugging at her blouse and jeans, unclasping her bra with one hand while holding her tightly with the other. Angela’s nipples puckered tightly when the cold air hit them, but Kieran quickly pulled her close, cupping one breast with his hand, his feverish touch warming her. He rolled, and pinched a taut nipple between his fingers, sending a jolt of desire straight to her sex. She moaned.
“So beautiful,” he crooned softly into her ear.
His other hand undid the button of her jeans and pulled the zipper down slowly.
When the back of Angela’s legs hit her bed, Kieran tipped them both slowly so that they fell to the mattress together, bouncing lightly on impact...
Angela was jolted awake as the plane touched down at Honolulu International Airport. She groaned, a dull ache throbbing in her heart and between her legs, the remnants of desire that the dream had planted, remained. She could feel them like radioactive seeds drilling their way to her core. She scowled.
Traitorous dreams.
She ran her hands through her hair and shook her head as she gathered up her carry-on baggage.
Angela always loved stepping off the plane in Hawaiʻi. The open air terminals allowed travelers to experience the sensual beauty of the islands as soon as one disembarked. The perfume of tropical plants and fertile soil hung in the air like a dense fog.
Angela unwound the scarf and sweater that she had worn in the frigid airplane and stowed them in her carry-on. She wouldn't need them again until her return flight to Los Angeles—whenever that was going to be.
Her family opted to walk to the baggage claim, rather than ride the Wiki-Wiki shuttle, enjoying the visual wonders displayed in the densely planted airport garden. The sunken garden featured a myriad of structures, tropical plants, and trees representing the cultures of China, Japan, and Polynesia. Pathways, bridges, and water features connected the gardens, representing the comingling of the many cultures of modern Hawaiʻi.
As they approached the sliding glass doors that marked the entrance to baggage claim, a trash can labeled “AMNESTY BIN” caught Angela’s attention. She rifled through her carry-on and threw out the half-eaten apple she hadn't finished. Mainland produce was contraband in the islands and Angela was always diligent about not bringing any potential contamination to this place she loved so much.
As soon as the glass doors closed behind them, their extended family descended like a happy swarm of insects.
“Angie, how are you honey?” Her snowy-haired Aunt Phyllis—her mother’s older sister—gave Angela her toothiest smile as well as the biggest hug her petite, delicate body could manage.
“Hi Auntie. How you?” Angela answered, already starting to revert into the local pidgin dialect. She had such a love/hate relationship with the local way of speaking. In some ways, it was pleasant, reminding her of family and the islands, but the lack of correct grammar also grated on her ears. It struck her as funny that she could love and dislike something at the same time. Only humans could make something so complicated.
“Hey babe,” said her rough around the edges, former pro surfer, and thrice-divorced Uncle Johnny, her mother’s younger brother and the baby of the family.
Johnny’s children from his second marriage, Angela’s younger cousins, and fraternal twins, Patrick and Erin, welcomed her in their uniform of worn t-shirts, cut-off shorts, and rubber slippers, or “slippahs” as they said. Although Patrick took after his mother with blonde hair and European features, his sister Erin had black hair and looked completely Chinese. However, when it came to their skin color, they were a matched set. The twins’ skin was the color of a copper penny and they smelled of coconut oil and seawater, the perfume of the beach.
Angela whispered into Erin's ear as they hugged, “How's he doing?”
Erin looked around furtively. “They still can’t stop the bleeding. But he’s awake. Grandma hasn't left his side. She looks exhausted. Kelly is with her.” Erin was referring to her older half-sister. Given Kelly’s own personal experience with a brain aneurysm a few years back, she was an excellent patient advocate, knowing the local hospitals like the back of her hand. “They’ll be so glad you are all here. I'm so glad you are here.”
Erin gave Angela a second, longer hug. Her cousins were the closest thing Angela had to siblings and she was especially close to Erin, who was like a younger sister to her.
I’ve been away too long.
Angela's mom approached. “Hello Erin dear, so good to see you honey.” She embraced her niece and continued, “Angela, I think we should go straight to the hospital. We can get settled at your grandparents once we hear what the doctor has to say.”
“Okay mom, that sounds like a good idea.”
A half-hour later, they walked into her grandfather’s cold, sterile hospital room. Her cousins, and their parents, stayed in the waiting room so they wouldn’t overcrowd the small, shared space. The lights were off, and the white interior glowed a buttery yellow with the Hawaiʻian sunlight shining in through the window.
Angela took out her travel sweater and put it back on. Maybe she was wrong, maybe she would be wearing this sweater a lot on this trip. She might even have to go buy some pants. If she was going to spend a lot of time in this frigid hospital, she would need them.
“Angela,” her grandfather rasped as she approached his bed. He struggled to reach out an arm, but then put it down; breathing heavily with the exertion. His big, round eyes looked red and watery, his coppery skin, ashen, and his black hair—that grew in the pattern of a Franciscan tonsure—seemed wispy and wild.
“Hey Gung Gung,” she said, using the Cantonese word for grandfather. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, I've been better.” As if to drive the point home, he raised his arms indicating the new plastic appendages that gave him the appearance of a marionette.
Angela nodded and smiled optimistically. “So when is some knucklehead going to figure out what's going on?”
His eyelids closed heavily. “I don't know. They keep running test after test. Hopefully we'll know something soon because I’m tired of lying here. I have lots of things to do.”
“Well grandpa, you might just have to take it easy for a little while,” she chided softly. Tears pricked up in her eyes as she stared at this man who had been like a father to her. What would I do without him? She turned her head to the side and surreptitiously wiped away the tears.
Just then, a doctor entered the room. His jacket was embroidered with “Rob Fujimoto, MD.” There was a small red flower next to his name.
“Good afternoon Doctor Fujimoto,” her grandmother said in the politely upbeat voice she reserved for authority figures. “This is our other daughter and her family. They flew in from the mainland this afternoon.”
Angela shook the doctor's hand. Rob Fujimoto looked to be about mid-forties with trim jet-black hair and kind eyes behind round wire-rim glasses. He was petite but athletic and a bit of a blue aloha shirt pattern was just visible under his white doctor's coat.
“I have good news everyone. I believe we have pinpointed the issue.” He turned to Angela’s grandmother and said, “Why don’t we get the rest of the family in here so everyone can hear this. I know your granddaughter Kelly has been especially vocal,” Dr. Fujimoto said with an amused face.
Angela moved next to her grandfather and held his hand as the rest of the family entered. The room grew hushed with anticipation.
Dr. Fujimoto continued, “As you know,” he addressed Angela’s grandparents, although his gaze swept around the room. “We were focused on your stomach as the likely source of the internal bleeding given your previous surgeries in that area. That’s why it’s taken us so long to pinpoint the real issue. It turns out the bleeding isn’t coming from your stomach, it's coming from your intestines.” He turned his attention to Angela’s grandfather as he said, “Mr. Wong, you have something called diverticulitis.”
“What's that?” Angela's grandmother asked with a furrowed brow.
“The quick explanation is that your husband has pockets in his intestines. The pockets developed over his lifetime and might not be a problem by themselves, but his pockets have developed tears and the tears are what are causing the bleeding.” He turned to Angela’s grandfather. “Do you eat a lot of nuts or seeds?”
Angela's grandfather got a sheepish look on his face. “All the time. I love chewing on boiled peanuts, dried watermelon seeds, and roasted sunflower seeds in their shells.”
Dr. Fujimoto slapped his clipboard against his thigh. “That's it. You see the sharp, pointy ends of nuts, seeds, and their shells can create holes in the intestines over decades. When the holes get big enough, they bleed.”
“So what's your recommendation doctor?” Angela’s mom asked.
“We need to get your father into surgery as soon as possible. We will remove the portion of his intestines that are torn and bleeding, and that should take care of the issue. Of course, it's a major surgery so he'll need time to recover, but once he does, it should be business as usual.”
Angela could see tears welling up in her grandfather's eyes that matched her own. She squeezed his hand tight.
Thank God.
Surgery was scheduled for the next morning. That night the entire family, minus Angela’s Gung Gung, sat around the expansive, enclosed lanai of her grandparents’ house, enjoying the happy fullness of a celebratory Chinese takeout meal.
Angela and Erin excused themselves from the group and retreated to the front porch.
“So tell me what you've been doing. It seems like forevah since you been out here,” Erin said with a touch of the local Pidgin accent.
Angela chided herself for not staying in better touch with her cousin and for the next hour told her all about Soren and her new business.
“So let me get this straight. Soren is from Denmark, lives in Spain, and is moving to London this summer where he’s asked you to join him?” Erin asked with breathy disbelief.
Angela laughed at her cousin’s wide-eyed expression. She could see that Erin was having difficulty imagining that a unicorn like Soren actually existed. Erin was a born and bred local girl. At 25-years-old, she had never left the islands except for a few trips to California to visit Angela’s family and go to Disneyland.
Europe was a mythical place that she had no personal knowledge about.
In many ways, Honolulu was a small town. “The Rock” as her cousins who wanted to leave the island called it; as in, “I can’t wait to get off The Rock.” Hawaiʻi was the ultimate gilded cage. It was gorgeous and hard to leave, but there wasn’t a lot of opportunity or diversity. Her and Soren’s story must sound ridiculously romantic and jet setting to her cousin.
“So you’re going, right?” Erin looked at Angela expectantly.
Angela shrugged as she looked out at the view of downtown Waikiki and stretched her legs. Being back in Hawaiʻi made Angela realize that if she moved to London she wouldn’t just be giving up Los Angeles, and her friends and family there, but also Hawaiʻi and her family here.
Her heart felt heavy.
“Do you love him?” Erin asked as she twisted her long, lustrous black hair up into a bun.
Angela sighed. “I do, but it's not that simple. Here and in L.A. it’s nice, I fit in. I won't exactly fit in in London, there aren't a lot of Asian or Hispanic people there, and the weather...”
“Sucks?” her cousin offered with a mischievous look in her eyes.
The two women dissolved into uncontrollable laughter. It felt so good to laugh about something so unimportant. The weight of her decision felt heavy on Angela's shoulders, and it felt good to be able to talk about her fears with someone who didn’t have an opinion about what she should do.
“Do me a favor Erin. Don’t mention this to anyone. I don’t want to make our grandparents or my parents upset for no reason.”
Erin nodded solemnly.
They stood in companionable silence as they gazed at the incredible view from their grandparents’ deck. The city of Honolulu spread below them with the gorgeously craggy profile of Le’ahi to their left. The dormant volcano was verdant from the spring rains, and from this distance, the ocean always looked glassy. Angela could just make out the wide, green expanse of the old polo fields and the concrete dome of the music venue known as The Shell.
Erin put her arms around Angela’s shoulders and pulled her tight. “Maybe you and Soren can figure out a compromise. There’s gotta be a middle ground that will make you both happy.”
Angela patted her cousin’s arm. “I hope you are right Cuz.”
