“I don't understand.” Re frowned.
“It wasn't about my cousin,” I explained. “The party was a chance for my Aunt to show off to her hoity-toity friends. She paid for a local celebrity to emcee and an opera singer friend of hers came to perform.”
“You're getting too far ahead,” Tristan warned me.
“Right, back to setting up,” I said. “So, there I was, setting up the tables, and I see a guy I went to high school with. He was the brother of my Aunt's husband; the same Aunt who was putting on the party. Not so surprising that he'd be there to help since she was enlisting everyone she could. What was surprising was that he hadn't aged a day. He looked just as gorgeous as he had in high school.”
“I'm sure you did too,” Re said with a shrug. “So what?”
“Thank you, but it was surprising because his older brother, the one married to my aunt, had once been just as handsome as Caleb; that was the guy I went to school with. But a lot of Hawaiians have an issue with their weight once they get to a certain age; it has something to do with their genes and the way they react to our modern diet. Anyway, Uncle Stan had gotten really large—as in morbidly obese, large—and I'd expected Caleb to go the same route.”
“Okay, so you were shocked to see that he was still handsome.” Trevor rolled his eyes. “We get it.”
“Just listen,” Tristan urged him.
“So, I go up to my grandmother and I say, 'Wow, Caleb looks good,'” I went on. “And I pointed over at him. Grandma makes a comment about recalling that we went to school together but then frowns and says, 'That's not Caleb;that'sCaleb,' and she points to this horrifyingly ugly man, large enough to be a sumo wrestler, standing a few feet away. Well, I'm flabbergasted. I argue with her until she calls out, 'Caleb, come over here please' and here comes the big guy. Now, I'm the last person who would normally make comments about people gaining weight. I come from a family of happily heavy people, and I'm no supermodel myself. The struggle is real. I get it. I especially get it with Hawaiians; they're fighting an uphill battle. I'm in no way trying to make fun of this man. But it was such a massive difference in his appearance—in both facial features and body—that I simply couldn't conceive of it. He had gone from hot jock to Jabba the Hutt.”
“Who was the other man?” Re asked. “The one you thought was him.”
“Caleb's son,” I said with a grimace. “I was horrified. In high school, all the girls drooled over Caleb. I'd never actually spoken to him, being the weirdo, witchy girl so I was even more shocked when he started talking to me in this thick, local accent and ended up being terribly dumb and boring to boot. It was all I could do to not run away screaming.”
“Still not funny,” Re said. “It's a little depressing actually.”
“You're telling me,” I muttered.
“Just listen!” Tristan smacked Re and then took a gulp of wine as he refocused on me.
Re lifted a brow at Tryst and then shrugged and looked back at me.
“My brother T.J. was there with his wife,” I went on. “He was pissed off when he found out that we didn't get one of the prime tables after we'd helped Aunt Aggie set up. In fact, as soon as we'd finished getting everything to her specifications, she'd ignored us. On top of that, T.J. shares my dislike of Hawaiian food so there wasn't anything for us to eat besides cupcakes.”
“What is so horrendous about Hawaiian food?” Trevor asked.
“Some of it is okay,” I amended. “I don't mind lau lau or haupia, but a lot of the old school Hawaiians like stuff that I won't go near; like squid luau which is a black, soupy stew with tentacles.”
Re made a disgusted face while Tristan giggled.
“They also like raw crabs,” Tristan added, “raw fish, raw opihi—those are tiny mollusks that cling to rocks—raw oysters—”
“We get it; they don't like to cook their food,” Re cut him off. “Go on, Lala.”
“Anyway”—I laughed—“T.J. was pissed and muttering like a serial killer—a hungry serial killer—so I grabbed his wife Renee and my Aunt Ray and headed for the bar to let him calm down and grumble into his cupcakes while we got some real sustenance. I figured that we might as well get drunk since the highlight of the party was the open bar. But we got to the bar and guess who the bartender was.”
“Caleb,” Trevor said.
I tapped my nose and nodded. “Yep. I ask him what he's got and he points out the drink dispensers—those big plastic sorts—and tells me they have water and beer in them and I can help myself. I want neither of those things. I ask him if he has any hard liquor. Nope, none of that.”
“What kind of bar is that?” Trevor asked.
“Exactly.” I grimaced. “And it was like pulling teeth; trying to get a drink from this damn bartender. I finally tell him, 'Okay, I know you have wine back there; I saw the bottles being carried in.' Caleb says, 'Yeah; I got red, I got white.' I grimace at him and say, 'Thanks so much for the description; you should be a sommelier.'”
“I take it this Caleb didn't know what a sommelier is,” Re said dryly.
“He thought she'd insulted him!” Tristan chortled.
“Which I did with my sarcasm. He got the tone if not the word.” I shrugged. “Before he could squash me with his big, meaty fist—”
“Or sit on you and smother you to death,” Tristan added.
