Someone ahead of me on the bus lets out a very sincere “Wow,” and honestly, fair enough.
I’ve claimed the back corner of the open, top deck like a lizard. My legs are stretched across two seats, my face tipped toward the sun, and the wind keeps lifting my hair off my shoulders with warm little fingers. Below us, Kalakaua Avenue is showing off with its beautiful beach, palm trees, and sidewalks.
Waikiki is stunning.
The water is that ridiculous blue that never looks real in photos, as if the ocean has been edited, while the dormant volcano, Diamond Head, rises at the far end of the strip all dark and dramatic.
I’m in paradise, and it’s currently snowing in Whispering Grove. I know this because Chris sent me a photo this morning of the front steps covered in snow. Sucks to be him.
I’ve been in Hawaii for four days now, and somewhere between Clio force-feeding me salmon and tuna poke, ordering me to stop checking my phone, and dragging me onto this stupidly charming open-top bus so I can learn the route for when she insists I work as a tour guide in her business, whatever’s been cinched tight inside my chest since LA has loosened a little.
Not loads because I’m not fixed. I don’t want to get carried away, but it’s enough that I can breathe without feeling as if I’m borrowing somebody else’s lungs.
I glance over at Clio as she launches into her final spiel to the attendees on the tour bus. She’s wearing a sundress the color of a traffic cone, and it somehow looks incredible on her. Her blonde bob is blowing all over the place.
“Last stop, everyone,” she says brightly. “Watch your step on the stairs, and mahalo for joining us today.”
Everyone starts gathering bags and sunglasses and sunburnt children, and Clio breezes down the stairs with that same impossible energy she’s had all afternoon, ready to smile, answer questions, pose for photos, and probably solve a minor diplomatic issue if one comes up.
Meanwhile, I stay exactly where I am.
The bus slowly empties around me, just the low rumble of the engine beneath me and the noise of Waikiki carrying on around us in that golden, late-afternoon glow. The whole place is beautiful in an almost aggressive way.
I lean further in my seat, letting the sun soak into my skin. For the first time in ages, I don’t feel as if I’m bracing for something, which probably means I should.
Clio reappears minutes later and drops into the seat beside me. I push my feet down just as the bus starts pulling into the traffic and heading down the road.
She immediately steals the water bottle next to me. “Were you even listening?” she asks, then drinks half of it.
“Duke Kahanamoku, Olympic swimmer, sheriff, father of modern surfing. I got it.”
“I mean the whole tour?”
“I got all the important parts.”
She narrows her eyes at me, then the sun hits her adorable face, and she closes her eyes. For a second, we just sit in it, the warm evening air and the pink starting to bleed into the sky at the edges. This is what people mean when they talk about Hawaii. Not just the pretty parts but this specific feeling of the whole place exhaling.
I bump my shoulder against Clio’s and wait until she opens her soft blue eyes. “So, I think I found a van,” I tell her.
“Oh, still going with the van idea, then?”
I nod. “A good one, actually. Not creepy or murder-y. Roof rack, little kitchenette, bed in the back. I’m very committed to the aesthetic.”
Clio studies me for a second. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
I glance out at the blur of palm trees, traffic, and tourists everywhere, the warm breeze blowing through our hair.
“Yeah,” I say after a second. “It’s just…” I tuck my hair behind my ear, then shrug. “I think I need it right now. A little space and something that feels like mine. Not permanent, just mine.”
Her expression shifts then, the teasing gone from it. “Okay,” she says gently. “I get that.”
“My back, for the record, does not get your couch.”
That gets a laugh out of her. “Rude. My couch is lovely.”
“She’s beautiful to look at and deeply committed to spinal misalignment.”
She laughs again, leaning her head briefly against mine. “I did miss having you around.”
