Before I Ever Met You by Karina Halle
It’s not.
I’m not replaceable. And maybe one day, one day, she’ll recognize this.
But I’m not holding out hope.
I have Logan.
I have my hope already.
“Get out,” my mother says, her voice low, close to breaking. “Get out and never come back.”
Don’t cry, I tell myself.
And I don’t.
I look over her shoulder at my father and give him a nod.
“I love you, dad.” I look at my mother, who can’t even look me in the eye now. She’s staring at the ground, her jaw grinding. “I love you, mom. That will never change, even if we do.”
I swear my dad is shedding a tear. I can’t stare at him for too long either or I’ll break down. I turn around, Logan putting his arm around my waist and leading me down the stairs.
“If you ever need us, you’re always welcome in paradise,” Logan says over his shoulder.
The door slams behind us. I don’t look back.
We go through the gate and I feel like I’m in a daze. I’m not happy, I’m not smug or vindicated. I’m not destroyed either. I’m just…sad.
Sad that it had to be this way.
Sad that I couldn’t have the family I wanted.
But then I remember I have a family back at Moonwater.
And I have Logan.
And now we’re free.
I swallow the lump in my throat and just before we get in the cab, Logan pulls me to him, holding me tight.
“You always make me proud,” he murmurs. “And I know that was the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. But I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He pulls away, brushing my hair behind my ear. “Now, how about we go home?”
We get into the cab and it speeds away.
Kauai is waiting for me.
Epilogue
LOGAN — Four Months Later
I rise at dawn.
Grab my board.
Head out the door.
Cut through the bushes, quickest way to the beach.
It must have rained last night. The leaves are wet, brushing against me as I go. The roosters are crowing from all directions. The beach is damp and hazy, the light at the horizon muddled a navy and purple, slowly draining with the sun.
From this vantage point I can see down to Tunnels Beach and the beach in front of the hotel. The way the swells are coming in, it’s better to head toward Moonwater.
There’s no one out here. It’s just me, the ocean, the sand.
Some of the guests will be rising soon. With the time change from the mainland, everyone is up with the sun.
But I still have time.
A few waves to myself.
They wouldn’t dare head out into the water right now, and other surfers will be at Haena Beach, down the road. Here the breaks are more complicated as is the access to them. But I never back down from a challenge.
I get in the water, the reef cutting into the bottoms of my feet, but years of walking around barefoot will leave you pretty protected. It’s not just here in Hawaii, growing up in Australian surf culture you forget the need for shoes. Here, I do it for the guests. It’s amazing how appalled they get.
A system passed through here a few days ago, high surf warning signs litter the beach. Someone was swept out at Lumihai, just around the bend, but they survived somehow. Now the waves have calmed, from twenty-five feet, down to seven. Still big and bad.
I swim out past the break, getting a feel for the sets coming in, the wind, the air. I watch as the sun slowly turns the clouds over the Na Pali Coast candy colors before the orange glow comes from the east.
I’m not a religious man, but I believe in god. And on that same note, I believe in moments. Not just the things that happen to you but the things you make happen. You can make anything a moment. Anything at all. I’m sure this is the key to getting through life. If you make everything memorable, you hold onto each second. You live a thousand times.
Surfing makes you hold onto moments. It’s my church, the place to ground you into the present. It cements you in your place in the world and it makes you pay attention to that world.
You never feel so small as you do with mother nature. She is control and you do your best to control the ride. You pay attention to the moments because you are one with everything. Plugged into the spinning world.
When I first saw Veronica, she was inspecting a shitty appetizer at her mother’s party, glass of champagne in one hand, her face scrunched up. At that moment, I felt I knew her. That moment became ingrained before it was even a memory.
When you know, you know.
She was the only one who looked like she didn’t belong there. This wasn’t because of how she looked—she was as prim and polished as the rest of them, though maybe decades younger. In some ways, probably too young for me.
But it didn’t matter. It was her mannerisms, the way she looked like she was telling stories in her head, the way she made the rounds of all the food, sizing it up. She drank with relish, she had a gorgeous smile that lit up the room, and the one time someone made her laugh, it was like pure joy. Not fake, not forced, not like anyone there. She was her own thing.
I wanted to be part of it.
But I was also a fool. There were no times for distractions. I was there for a reason.
I had dreams. Big ones. Foolish ones. Ones that were over my head.
And my dreams were based on something very bloody silly.
Growing up, my favorite TV show was Fawlty Towers, the much-loved 70’s British sitcom starring John Cleese. My brother and I would watch that and a handful of other shows since we only had a few stations on our shitty little TV.
Unfortunately, we had to watch it with our mother but she loved the show too, the only time she wouldn’t call us little shits and berate us for just breathing.
And every time Basil Fawlty did something stupid and made me laugh, I felt happy. It made me think that despite Basil’s bat-shit crazy behavior (of which I can now relate), he surrounded himself with people who were like family.
Since then, the idea of running a hotel was always in the back of my mind, until I decided to take the plunge and make it my reality.
Reality was a bitch. It wouldn’t bend with ease. I had to work hard for it, saving with everything I had. My ambitions were through the roof, I had too much to lose.
I thought I knew what I needed.
I was wrong.
Veronica struck a chord in me but Juliet was the one who promised a brighter future.
Veronica was young, on the brink of her career and life, the type to buck the trends and go against the status quo.
Juliet was the status quo.
Stable.
Safe.
Promising.
Everyone always said how easy it was to be dazzled by her, that I was so lucky to have her. She was stunning, there was no denying that. But I didn’t fall for Juliet because of her looks. I fell for the life she hinted at, the promises she never had to make.
I thought Juliet would make me a better man.
She only made me worse.
I made the wrong decision that day, and later, as our marriage began to fall apart, I would look back on that moment and wonder what the hell was wrong with me. Why did I pick what was safe when I should have chosen what was real?
It was something I lived with and was prepared to live with. I viewed Veronica through a distorted lens as her brother-in-law, keeping my distance and any thoughts at bay. I admired her from afar and did my best to never think of her in any way but innocent.
And it worked for the most part. I didn’t want to live out my marriage being attracted to someone else, let alone be in love with them. I didn’t want to give up on Juliet.
She gave up on me.
And then she died.
And I was broken. Yes, there was grief. Pure grief and loss. And there was regret, that things went this way, that she died with our marriage upside down, that we never addr
But more than any of that, I was drowning in hatred in the years after. Because of guilt. Because of thoughts of being free, thoughts that shamed me. I hated myself for it and I became a bitter, bitter man.
Then Veronica showed up at my door, at the place Juliet and I created, and I knew that everything was going to change. I can’t say I wanted it to—I was comfortable in my rage and bitterness. It fit me like a worn glove. I thought I was going to die with a thorn in my side.
But Veronica removed that thorn. Slowly at first. She jabbed me with the bloody thing a few times, kept me on my toes. She still does. But it was only through her that the light got in. She became more than I ever thought she would.
Today, I’m going to marry her.
With that thought in mind, I get up on the wave. I surf it into shore, feeling unstoppable. The sun rises above the palms, the rays hitting me on the back, and this is the start of the rest of my life.
I spend the next hour catching a few more waves, then it’s time to head back in. I’ve got a lot to do and I still haven’t prepared my speech. I’m going to wing it, which is probably a terrible idea, but I feel like I don’t have to worry about what I’ll say. Staring at Veronica will make the words flow straight from the heart.
She stayed the night at the St. Regis hotel in Princeville with her maid-of-honor Claire, as well as Kate and Nikki, her bridesmaids. I have no idea what they got up to, though Ron texted me late last night telling me she loved me and hated tequila and that we should get a chicken called HeiHei and let it be the ringbearer.
My best man is my brother Kit, who I flew out here from Darwin for the ceremony. I hadn’t seen him in seven years, so it was long overdue. My groomsmen are Warren, who was one of the hotel’s original investors, Johnny, Daniel, Jin, and yes, Charlie. It took a long time to come to terms with Charlie being a snitch of sorts, but in the end it was clear that he really didn’t know what he was doing.
It doesn’t matter now. What’s past is past and Veronica did get to punch him in the face anyway, saving me from obliterating him. We’re all a united front with the hotel, and the Lockes are no longer in the picture.
Which I know bothers Ron. She’s got a soft heart even when she tries to hide it. The moment we told them that we were getting married and that there was nothing they could say or do, was the moment they cut us out of their lives. I said that life is made of moments, and that was one in which Ron knew who her family was. It was me. It was everyone at Moonwater. Her real ohana.
Her father does reach out to her every now and then, trying to keep the peace. He’s not a bad man, he’s just a weak man, and as long as his wife has complete control, he’ll never be fully on Veronica’s side. But at least he tries.
Naturally, he’s not here. None of her family came. Not uncles or aunts or cousins. No one approves. The fact that I’m marrying Juliet’s sister is too much for them to take. Some families are built on appearances and politics, and we’re better off without that in our lives.
It sounds tired and cliché to say but honestly all we need is each other.
The wedding is held at Moonwater, in the same spot where we have the luau, so when I get out of the surf and cut through the hotel grounds, it’s already alive with people bustling about and getting things ready.
“Shephard,” Johnny says, stepping out of his room. “You went surfing? You’re getting married soon, you know.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice. How are you feeling?”
While the girls were at their fancy hotel, we just drank at the bar. I managed to keep myself in line but Kit, Johnny, and Charlie got blitzed. I don’t give a damn, so as long as they show up and don’t get sick anywhere, we’re golden.
Johnny grins at me. “Happy as a clam, bro.”
I spend the rest of the day moving from moment to moment.
* * *
- Getting dressed (black pants, white shirt, no tie)
- Checking on the guys
- Coordinating with the DJ and caterers
- Hiding from Veronica (she believes in the whole “don’t you dare fucking see the bride in her dress” nonsense)
- Pacing my living room
- Greeting the guests
- Nearly shitting myself
* * *
I’m not nervous, per se. I think it’s more excitement, a restlessness. It’s not my first wedding, I know what to expect and I just want it over with. I want to get started on our marriage right now, sweep her off her feet far away (although our honeymoon is just to Oahu for some fun and games in Waikiki) and be the husband I can’t wait to be.
“How are we feeling?” the minister asks me as I take my place up at the front, grinning nervously at the guests. Her name is Betty, Hawaiian to the core, and also a talented musician who plays guitar and sings at Trees Lounge in Kapa’a.
“Great,” I tell her.
She nods with a gentle smile. She has such a joyous, calm way about her that when I proposed to Ron, I already knew Betty was going to be the one presiding over the wedding. “Good. Hang on to each moment today, so they will live on and they will last.”
It’s like she can read my bloody mind.
So I commit myself to more moments. Kit by my side, in a Hawaiian shirt and knee-length shorts, just like the rest of the groomsman. He’s the spitting image of me, if you take away half my beard, all my greys, and maybe a few wrinkles. Okay, a lot of them.
I look at Johnny who is laughing at something that Charlie has said, the two of them nearly busting over, their faces growing red. I have no doubt in my mind that whatever they’re saying is taking a shot at me. But that’s to be expected.
Daniel is looking more nervous than anyone. I think it’s because he’s proposing to Nikki tonight. He asked me a few days ago if it would take away from the event, and I said go for it. He’s worried about stealing my thunder, so he said he’s going to do it late and outside of the reception, but he’s doing it all the same. Seems Moonwater is making more than a few love matches.
Even for Jin. He’s looking proud, standing with his hands behind his back, looking over the crowd and nodding at everyone he knows. Which is, pretty much everyone. He looks like a bobble-head figure.
But the apple of his eye is Carla, an elderly lady who lives in Hanalei. Ever since New Year’s Eve, they’ve been an item, and what I hear from Johnny, Ron, and Charlie, he won’t shut up about her. They’ve started bringing earplugs to their shifts.
When I brought Ron back to Kauai, I wasn’t sure how she was going to adapt. Being with me, a part of this, would she want to keep her role in the Ohana Lounge? Would she want to concentrate on hotel management, was she burned out?
But she loves it more than ever. She’s head cook alongside Johnny, a title they share, and while she’s helping out with Moonwater as a whole—after all, this is her hotel now—I don’t think her passion for cooking will ever change. When I brought up the idea of her taking the position of chef and running the restaurant and having Johnny and Charlie officially under her, she balked at it. I think once upon a time she just wanted to have the title and respect. Now she has the respect and doesn’t need the title.
But we’ll see. The woman is ambitious. If she runs with it one day, I wouldn’t be surprised if a few Ohana Lounges open up across the islands.
Speaking of, where the bloody hell is she?
“Now you must be nervous,” Kit says, nudging me in the side.
“Nah, mate,” I tell him. “Just want to get this over with. You know I don’t like being the center of attention.”
“Never too late to run for the hills.”
I cock my brow at him. “One day, Kit. One day you’ll know.”
“You knew it twice,” he says with a smirk. “I think I balance you out.”
I ignore that. When I told Veronica once that Kit was a bit of a Croc Dundee character, I wasn’t stretching the truth. He does have this overt machoi
“Here they are,” Johnny says, the bridesmaids turn the corner and head toward us, flowers in their hands. Because we had an uneven number of girls and guys, and no parents on either side, we decided that the girls should just all arrive together, like a “squad,” as Kate described it.
Kate and Nikki, dressed in strapless Hawaiian dresses that match the guy’s shirts, take their place on the other side of me. I give them a wink.
And then a hush comes over the crowd, a nervous tittering.
The ukuleles and guitars from the band start to play, strumming the Hawaiian version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”
I can’t bloody believe it. What a funny, lovely, bitch life can be, that this is happening at all.
And then Veronica appears, rounding the corner of the restaurant, coming across the grass with her friend Claire on her arm.
She’s beyond beautiful.
She’s the sunrise, the moonrise, all four points of my compass.
She’s every gorgeous moment in my life all rolled into one.
And she’s mine.
“Hi Freckles,” I say to her softly, trying to keep my emotions in check. The tears keep wanting to creep up there but I’ll be damned if I cry in front of my brother.
“Hi old man,” she teases. She grins, her cheeks glowing with the sun and blush, her actual freckles making her look fresh as a morning wave. Her caramel-colored hair is pinned back with plumeria, her white dress long and gauzy, like she’s a Grecian goddess, on earth for just one day.
But I know she’s here for more than that.
She’s here for now and forever.
Betty clears her throat and starts the ceremony as I grab onto Veronica’s hands, holding her tight.