Happy face. Must put on a happy face. I love to watch people break every pool rule listed on the huge sign, posted strategically right beside my chair, every single day. It’s fun, fun, fun. Yay.
I shake off my grumpy exhaustion and force a smile, just a little one though. “Okay, let’s get the crazy under control.”
After working at the Wailea Royal for the last four years, my facial expressions change on their own accord when I walk in through the lobby. From the beaming smile, with my shoulders thrown back to the chipper “hello” I offer all the staff members I’m passing, I sometimes wonder who I’ve become. An actress, I suppose.
Lea isn’t acting, and she makes that clear as she feels the need to greet everyone with double cheek kisses and hugs. She has quickly become the sweetheart of the Wailea Royal. It irritates me a little, but it’s not like I can expect to earn that imaginary title with a simple smile and “hello.”
I continue walking through the wide lobby, past the lounge, and out through the open lanai. The pool attendants are setting up the lounge chairs and drying off the morning dew, and the bartenders are making a ruckus with the glasses behind the bar. Despite my fear of being late for work, I’m normally the first lifeguard here, which is fine since by the time I get settled in my chair, I’m too far away from the other lifeguards to fall into any unnecessary small talk. I know I sound miserable, but I’m not. I just have these daily “woe is me” waves of misery when I feel reminded about missing out on my twenties, or when I see a bunch of vacationers my age enjoying their freedom, rather than being tied down with an inflexible work schedule. I allow myself to feel like crap for two minutes each morning before I force myself to move forward. Otherwise, my emotional state would eat me alive.
“I’ll see ya later, sis,” Lea says, walking by me and heading toward Cabana Hut—the pool restaurant.
“Have a good day,” I sing with a half-smile and a lazy wave.
“Cheer up, grumpy,” she sings back.
I slump down into my guard chair and peel my shirt off leaving my shorts in place. I typically prepare myself for a dive into the water once children start arriving.
“Hey grump,” Talon says, walking past my chair, repeating Lea as if it were planned.
“Really?” I reply. “Of all people, you’re going to jump on the grump bandwagon?”
Talon is another guard, a perfect specimen of another guard. He’s like a guy fromBaywatch. His pecs are bigger than my boobs, and they bounce like Pam Anderson’s. It’s cute, and a little fun to watch. He’s half Hawaiian, half Californian, and somehow looks that way, as stereotypical as it sounds. His lighter eyes and mocha-colored hair are stunning. He’s pretty, and he knows it. I don’t think he’s actually lifeguard certified. I think the hotel managers hired him to look the part here while the rest of us, who are certified, do the heavy lifting. All he appears to do is apply sunscreen to his biceps once an hour. Then he goes for a quick swim so he can do a quick dolphin pose before breaching the water with his eyes closed, his hair flying back into a wet mess, and then ... just because there are water droplets dripping down his forehead, he has to run his hands over his face and through his hair before climbing back out of the pool. I’m pretty sure he offers every woman watching a quick Zac Efron wink while he’s doing so. Living in the land of the beautiful has helped me learn to see through the outer layer of bronzed skin, seeking a soul that isn’t tainted with narcissistic thoughts. “Mahalo, beautiful. So, ah, a few of us are going out tonight. What do you say?” Talon asks me. “Your sister told me to convince you.”
“No, thank you,” I reply kindly, though I’d rather laugh and say, what I’m really thinking.
“Why don’t you ever go out? I feel like I ask you about once a week … you know … because of your sister and all, and you still turn us down. We’re all very friendly people, and it seems to me you could use a night to relax.”
I don’t think Talon is trying his flirting methods on me. I think he genuinely finds interest in my lack of enthusiasm to hang out with King Triton—the man he thinks he is. “I’m just not a party-goer. I prefer a comfortable couch and TV at night.”
“That’s hella boring, Kia. Let me show you that you’re wrong. You don’t have to be a ‘party-goer’ to have a fun time.”
“Lea is going?” I confirm.
“Obvi. These are her plans.”
“Mmm, yeah. I still don’t think so.”
“You’re coming,” Talon replies.
“No, I’m not,” I argue.
“Yes, you are,” he says, walking away, leaving me without the option to respond. I roll my eyes, for my sake only, and slouch back into my chair.
Chapter Three
Denver
“Wake up sleepyhead,” I whisper to Aya. “We’re here.” I run my fingertips through her hair and kiss her forehead. She wakes up slowly, looking confused for a minute.
“I slept through the whole flight?” she asks.
“The whole thirty minutes. Yes.” As we’re pulling up to the gate, I pull my phone on and click the Airplane Mode off.
“How come there’s Internet on the plane, but you can’t keep your phone on the Internet?” Aya asks, looking up at me with glossy, tired eyes. What seven-year-old cares this much about Internet? This generation can’t even fathom life without technology. It’s ridiculous.
“It’s all just a big silly plan to make sure people aren’t talking on their phones and annoying each other throughout the duration of the flight. People wouldn’t fly anymore if that were the case, you know?”
“Well, they do have phones though,” she points out.
