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  And all the while, I thought a lot about what “forced” me to be here. It was a combination of two mistakes I made: one personal and one professional.

  The personal one was how rashly I broke up with my boyfriend of almost two years. Bryce was an attorney at a different firm, ten years older than me, and had already established himself professionally. We met at a California Lawyers Association event. After flirting while waiting in the long bar line, later that night, we went to bed together. There was a degree of convenience I think we both subconsciously understood right from the start. We had the same type of demanding career that we’d made our sole priority. But we still had needs. It was easy, if not romantic, to be together. We saw each other sparingly as each other’s date for job-related functions or evenings when we allowed ourselves time away from work. Those dates usually consisted of Netflix and chill.

  Though our relationship seriously lacked romance, I still had feelings for him. He was entirely supportive of my work ambitions, for one. And … we both enjoyed fine wine. That counted as an area of commonality, I told myself, though it was a reach.

  At the same time, a part of me understood that I was settling. We weren’t really friends. We were work confidants rather than emotional confidants. At best, we were a support system for one another. A convenient pairing. What I was doing, whether I consciously understood it or not, was creating the illusion of a connection instead of truly investing in one. It was safer than … truly letting down my guard. Still, I’d convinced myself that this was enough, that surely, we’d eventually take our relationship to the next step and could have a solid, if not entirely enviable, marriage one day.

  But that all changed a few months ago when on Christmas Eve, I’d gone with him to his sister’s house. I’d only met his sister once before and we’d never spent the holidays together, especially not Christmas. It was a holiday I usually reserved for celebrating with my mom, but I knew I’d been especially unavailable in the weeks beforehand and thought it would be a good way to give a little.

  It was a casual family affair—something I realized too late when I showed up in a form-fitting emerald-green cocktail dress and black heels—focused on a big meal, eggnog, and watching the kids parade around in their Christmas pajamas. As dessert was being prepared, Bryce took my hand and led me out onto the balcony.

  His sister lived in a gorgeous modern house nestled into the hillside off of Mulholland Drive that offered stunning views of the city of Los Angeles spread out in glittering fashion. The temperature was in the sixties, so not too chilly, but I was glad for Bryce’s embrace as we stared at the lights of the houses, buildings, and traffic below us. I inhaled the comforting scent of fireplace smoke.

  “They say,” Bryce said, “that Christmas is the most popular holiday for proposing.”

  It felt like the temperature dropped twenty degrees because I was suddenly frozen in place. Was he really going to propose? Here at his sister’s house? I was still tucked under his arm, my body pressed against his side. This was an awkward way to pop the question.

  Before I could respond, he laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m under no illusion that marriage is something you want.”

  “Oh?” I managed to say, my heart sinking in disappointment. I pulled away from him and took a step closer to the railing, trying to sort out his lack of sensitivity.

  “It’s ridiculous, right?” he said, joining me. “I mean, I know you’re not the kind of woman who gets caught up in those kinds of societal expectations. And I’m actually happy that’s the way you are. You don’t feel the need to follow these silly cultural norms of scoring a big ring meant to symbolize the value a man has for a woman. Or having a flashy ceremony like so many women feel the need to have so they can show off like they’ve won some prize.”

  “Well, I don’t know that a flashy ceremony would be needed—”

  “See? I was right. We have it figured out. We don’t need to change a thing, do we? Especially, with us not even having time to get together more than once or twice a week. Can you imagine taking the time to plan a wedding? And then what? You’d sidetrack your career for kids? We both know that’s never going to happen.”

  He laughed again, shaking his head at the notion.

  It hurt to have him speak so dismissively of my ability to have both a career and a family. And yet, I couldn’t deny that I knew where he was coming from. I’d spent the last six years single-mindedly devoted to my work. I regularly spent twelve hours a day at the office, six days a week. What free time I had, I spent visiting with my mother. But that didn’t mean that I wasn’t capable of figuring out the right balance … one day. His disregard for this, on top of his surprising definition of marriage being all about the superficial—a big ring and a flashy ceremony—rather than a commitment made out of love, woke me to the realization that we were living in two different worlds.

  It also made me realize that there was no point in being with someone who felt that way.

  “You have no idea who I am,” I said, almost absentmindedly.

  “What?” he asked with a laugh. He clearly thought I was toying with him.

  “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I really want,” I said.

  The look of condescending amusement he gave me was a combination of the alcohol he’d already had and the arrogance I’d always generously excused as confidence.

  “Don’t I?” he asked with a suggestive grin, completely ignoring the gravity of what I had said as he pulled me to him, an arm around my waist. He always took an inordinate amount of pride whenever he satisfied me in bed. I mean, the sex was good, but it wasn’t spectacular. He got the job done and no more, really. And now he seemed to want to try to shift our talk into an area where he thought he had the ability to please me.

  Despite the hunger in his eyes, however, there was zero chance he’d be having sex tonight. At least not with me. My own eyes were wide open now to just how wrong he and I were together. And yes, I’ll admit that my ego was also bruised. What those things added up to was that I couldn’t let this relationship go on.

  Just as I was ready to pull away and let him down gently, he tightened his grip around my waist and leaned his body against me.

  “It’s been too long,” he said, kissing my cheek and neck.

  “You don’t know what I want,” I told him again, wanting to return to what I’d said earlier, wanting him to acknowledge what I really meant.

  His hand fell to my ass. “I’ll give you anything you want, baby.”

  I pulled on his tie so that he leaned even closer to me. My breasts pressed against his chest and I could feel him starting to respond to our bodies being so close together.

  I bit my lip seductively and asked, “Anything?”

  That got a stupefied nod out of him.

  That’s when I released my hold on his tie and took a step backward. “What I want is what you can’t give me.”

  Now my entirely serious tone got his attention. But he was mostly just confused, apparently unable to fathom what I was really getting at.

  “What is it that you want, Ava?” he asked flatly.

  “I want it all,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I want my career and I want a fairy-tale love story. And I want someone who understands that.”

  That only further confused him. Once he realized I had no intention of either sleeping with him or staying in a relationship with him and he lashed out.

  “You are not the fairy-tale princess type,” he said with a scoff. “You actually have to give a little to be in a relationship, you know?”

  I’ve long known I’m not perfect. I clearly don’t know how to create a work—life balance. But I’ve never thought that made me incapable or unworthy of one day finding it.

  “You’re wrong,” I said. “I told you. You don’t know me.”

  He raised his hands in defeat. “How could I, Ava? How could I when you never let me into your life?”

  That might have been a valid point. Actu
ally, in hindsight, it was a valid point. I hadn’t given everything to him that I could have. But at that moment, I wasn’t ready to admit it. Instead, I just shook my head. Then, I went inside and gave my sincere regrets to his family, saying I was sorry to cut the evening short, but I’d promised to take my mother to mass.

  They didn’t know that my mother isn’t religious and that there was no mass planned, of course. How could they? They didn’t know her. In truth, I’d never even introduced Bryce to her.

  But I did go straight to her house in Boyle Heights, confess everything to her, and let her make it all better with her homemade pozole soup and Tajin popcorn.

  * * *

  My mother, Rafaela, is the one I always turn to. She’s the kind of mother and friend everyone should have. She’s that to our whole neighborhood. Though she works tirelessly to run her own house-cleaning business, she always has time to lend an ear or offer some comfort food to anyone in need.

  And she’s who I called on my third night in Maui when I couldn’t take the isolation and lack of work engagement anymore.

  “Mija?”

  She sounds groggy. Shit. I remember too late that I’m running three hours behind Los Angeles time.

  “I’m sorry, Mama. Go back to sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow,” I tell her.

  “No, it’s okay.”

  I can hear the rustle of bedding as she’s likely sitting up.

  “I forgot about the time difference. You need your rest. Go back to sleep.” I know she’ll be up at four thirty in the morning, just like she has for as long as I can remember. She doesn’t just run her business, she’s hands-on, and that means she’s scrubbing bathrooms and kitchens alongside her staff, as well as sorting out the accounting, HR, and marketing. Not that she would ever define her job duties in that way. Her company isn’t big. It’s a handful of women who each give their all to clean four to five homes a day.

  When I was growing up, my mother was a housewife but would do the odd job of cleaning houses for some side money. When my father passed away, the occasional job turned into a hustling full-time for as many houses to clean as possible. I was only a teenager at the time, but I understood, without her having to admit it, that we were in trouble financially. She also barely held on emotionally. She and my father were the perfect couple, so clearly in love, so clearly meant for each other. Her devastation was so great that it didn’t leave room for me to dwell in my own sadness. Not when I instinctively knew I was the only thing keeping her going. I grew up fast, knowing I had to step in and get us through the roughest time of our lives.

  When we decided to make a real business out of the housecleaning service, I suggested we target customers in San Marino, the wealthy enclave of Pasadena. With hard-working, reliable employees that provided impeccable services, she created a niche for herself in the area. She’s also earned intense loyalty from her staff by paying them well.

  That kind of selflessness is on display now as she says, “I’m awake, Ava. Tell me about your vacation.”

  There’s no use in arguing with her. I got my stubborn streak from her, after all.

  “What can I say? It’s beautiful.”

  “But?”

  Of course, she can hear the lack of enthusiasm in my voice.

  “But, I’m going stir-crazy. I think I have island fever.”

  Mama stifles a laugh. “You’ve been there for three days, mija. Enjoy your time off.”

  “But all I want to do is log on to my work email and check on a few things—”

  “You said Randall forbade you from doing that.”

  I sigh. “I know. But what if everything is falling apart? Shouldn’t I at least take a quick look?”

  “You mean you want to see how they’re resolving the issue that sent you away.”

  Opening my mouth to speak, I think better of it and let the silence spread out between us.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Mama says. “Everyone makes mistakes. From what you told me it wasn’t all that big of a deal.”

  “I don’t make mistakes, that’s the thing. You’re right, it is something that can be handled, but the fact that it ever even happened is what I can’t get over.”

  “No one is perfect, not even you.”

  “I should have been perfect at that deposition, though. I could have been.”

  “Don’t you think this is more to do with Bryce than some silly mistake?”

  “Mama, no.” I shake my head in frustration.

  The fact is, I hadn’t seen Bryce since I left his sister’s house on Christmas Eve. I’d wanted to call him to try to smooth over the way I ended things, but the fact that he never reached out to me made me hold back. It proved our relationship amounted to nothing more than wasted time.

  But then I came face-to-face with him at a client deposition. He hadn’t been the attorney on record but was filling in for an ill colleague. That threw me, but worse still was the way he acted as if we didn’t know each other. We’d always been professional whenever we crossed paths for work, but that didn’t keep us from being friendly or even slipping each other a knowing wink or a whispered flirt. At that deposition, though, he was ice cold. It disturbed me enough that I fumbled during the testimony. I put our side at a disadvantage because my head was elsewhere. The worst part was I only realized my mistake when I saw the condescending smirk on his face.

  Even though I’ve never admitted the effect he had on me that day, both my mother and my boss sensed the truth. Randall, kindly suggested I was overworked and sent me here to Maui, insisting that a change of scenery and the chance to decompress would work wonders.

  “Okay, my girl,” Mama says. “But maybe really give this time a chance to help you … re-set?”

  Though she can’t see me, I nod. “I’ll try.”

  “Call me again later?”

  “Yes, of course. Get some sleep, Mama.”

  We say our goodbyes, and I stare at the walls of my hotel room. I’m staying at the Ritz-Carlton. It’s a lovely place with stunning ocean views, luxurious appointments, and a sense that it’s a haven away from the world.

  I should love it.

  Instead, I’m counting the hours until I can leave.

  3

  Ford

  My phone’s alarm goes off and I groan.

  Yes, I’m the one who set the alarm. Yes, I actually do want to get up, so I can catch some waves. But, it’s early. Like, still-dark early.

  And my head is pounding. I might have had one too many shots of tequila last night. It felt good at the time, though. That fuzzy, happy oblivion of drunkenness—it was exactly what I needed to forget that my time’s running out and I have to face the thing I’ve been avoiding for almost a year.

  The second alarm I had set to make sure I didn’t sleep after turning off the first alarm goes off.

  Silencing it, I force myself to sit up. The shades in my tiny beach hut are closed and the space is darkened, but I can hear the waves. Those aren’t the waves I set my alarm for, though. They’re too small, too tame. No, I need to get my ass up, down some coconut water (the hangover cure I swear by), get in my truck and head over to Honolua Bay. That’s where the waves are, the ones that can get up to twenty feet in the winter months. Though it’s late March and I’m probably being overly optimistic that those kinds of big swells will still come through.

  Maybe I can afford five more minutes before going I rationalize as I lie back down and close my eyes.

  But the sleep I’d hoped to catch doesn’t come. Instead, my thoughts are occupied by the trip to Los Angeles I’m going to have to make in a week. I haven’t been to the mainland in a long while. No reason to go over there, not when I’ve got such a sweet setup here. I live in the most beautiful place in the world, I surf every day, and I have a low-pressure job I love. The only reason to go to LA is because I have to.

  I don’t mind being in the city itself, though the traffic is a waste of precious time. What I do mind is being under my father’s control whil
e I’m there.

  My father, Ford McAvoy—Senior, thank you very much—is the most arrogant, controlling prick I’ve ever known. I still shake my head anytime I try to envision him and my mom together. She’s his opposite in every way: sweet, thoughtful, and generous with her time.

  They were only supposed to be a quick vacation romance. She was working in one of the resorts on Oahu the summer before her junior year at UC Berkeley. He was celebrating passing the bar with a dozen of his fellow law school buddies. They had a fling and, oops, I was the fruit of their indiscretion. When she tracked him down to tell him she was pregnant, he offered financial responsibility but straight out told her he had no interest in taking on parental responsibilities, not when he was about to get his career started. She opted to stay in Hawai‘i, eventually moving to Maui where she set up a music school and taught local kids.

  She raised me on her own, though her parents visited us often. The two of us loved the island life, even though our status as haoles, or non-natives, presented challenges now and again. I was one of those kids who ran around barefoot everywhere, was dirty more often than not, and learned to swim before I could walk. Learning to surf came only a few years later. I loved the freedom of it all.

  But when I was twelve, my father had a change of heart and insisted that I be sent over to meet him. He wanted to get to know me after all these years. My mother would only agree to have me visit for two weeks in the summer and I went kicking and screaming. After all, this was a stranger I was being forced to meet. That’s not to say I wasn’t curious about the man whose good looks I was beginning to favor. It was a confusing mix of emotions, combined with the surging hormones of my age, and I couldn’t help but be a brat to him the whole time. There was part of me that wanted him to abandon me all over again, just so I wouldn’t have to deal with figuring out what he meant to me. His absence had never really bothered me. I didn’t know anything else. And I always had my mom, and then later, her long-time boyfriend, too. They were the only steady, supportive presence I had while growing up, and I’d convinced myself that they were all I needed.