“And I’m all out of goddamn rum!” Justin slammed the liquor cabinet door. “I don’t even like rum. Or this stupid, old, ugly liquor cabinet . . . bar . . . whatever the hell it is.” He beat his fist on the worn countertop. “With its stupid, stupid, hideous . . . stupid pink top!” He glared at the tiny light-pink and gray boomerangs. “I’m a man, for Christ’s sake. Why would I want a . . . whatever this is with a pink top?” He so badly wanted to kick the cabinet, but he had just taken off his shoes and didn’t want to add a throbbing big toe to his emotional pain. “Damn you, Tiffany,” he mumbled, then laid his forearm on top of the cabinet she’d given him as a birthday gift in September. He dropped his head, rolling it back and forth over his wrist. “Why did you dump me? You messed up a perfectly laid plan.”

***

“Hey, man.” Eric Waterman popped his head into Justin’s office. “Are you still throwing axes with us Saturday night?”

“No. I’m throwing a party instead.”

Eric laughed. “Oh . . . are you serious?”

“Yeah. You’re invited. I’m making up the email flyer right now. The party’s at my house.”

Eric carried his half-eaten sandwich and Diet Coke into Justin’s office and sat down across from him. “What house?”

As Justin picked up a notepad, his mouse slid off, bounced across the desk and over the edge, and crashed on the laminate floor. He sighed. “I bought a house the weekend before Thanksgiving.” He flipped back a page in the notepad because he was uncertain of the address. “5424 Astro Lane.”

“Jesus! That’s . . . huge! Like, totally adulting. Hardcore. That was almost three weeks ago—why didn’t you tell me, man? I thought I was your best friend.”

“There was a reason, but it’s irrelevant now.” Justin grabbed his Route 44 Sonic cup and gulped down watery Dr. Pepper he got at seven-thirty that morning. “Anyway, I’m having a party this Saturday.”

“It’s already Wednesday. That’s not a lot of time. I mean, I’m going to throw axes with the guys Saturday night, but I guess I can swing by your place at some point. Are you doing a goofy Christmas gift exchange?”

“It’s not a Christmas party. It’s—”

“Dude, Saturday will be December 9. It’s Christmas.”

Justin opened his bottom desk drawer and seized his soft-sided lunch cooler. “Christmas is the twenty-fifth. I’m hosting a tiki party.”

“What’s that?”

As Justin released the Ziplock bag containing his PB&J, it occurred to him he might get that question a lot. The problem was he honestly didn’t know. “It’s kind of a tropical theme.”

“Oh”—Eric crushed his Diet Coke can—“you mean like Hawaiian shirts?”

Justin swallowed hard on the dry peanut butter. “Yeah.”

Eric stood and repositioned the office chair back in place with his foot. “It’s pretty last minute, but I think I still have a Hawaiian shirt in the back of my closet.” He walked to the doorway. “A last-minute tiki party in December—I’m sure I’ve done crazier things. I’ll be there. Kinda excited to see your new house, bro.”

Justin reached down and snagged the mouse off the floor. “Wish it was a new house,” he grumbled. “Instead of a fixer-upper from the late fifties. I would have never bought . . .” He shook his head and took a deep breath. “Don’t go there, man,” he whispered to himself. “I’m going to straighten this all out.”

He studied the flyer he’d created in Publisher, then jerked the mouse back and forth on the desktop. It still worked. “Come to my tiki party!” he read out loud. “That’s boring as hell. I want to be a marketing genius, and that’s the best I came up with? Robertson would can my ass if I presented him with that, as he should. What exactly am I selling here?”

He dropped his face in his hands. Don’t sell your heartbreak, he told himself. Nobody wants to buy that. Nobody.

Justin placed his cursor in front of the word tiki. He typed and read out loud: “Come to my not-a-Christmas-party tiki party.” He nodded. “Not bad. Kind of humorous. Thought-provoking. Engaging. Leads you to read the copy below.”

He thought back to an advertising class at Mizzou about five years prior. What was he not considering? Justin shook his head. “Crap,” he muttered. The word Christmas in his heading would confuse readers and make them think it was a Christmas party. He deleted the phrase. Eric was right—this was all too last minute. Under normal circumstances, Justin would have never hastily tried to pull off a party like this. His original plan was months in the drafting, organizing, and scheduling, probably six months to be exact. I need to own this mess, he told himself. “Screw it.” He inserted last-minute into the heading. “Come to my last-minute tiki party!”

“I like it,” he muttered. “But I still need to sell it. It needs to be more epic. Like the first and last. Alpha and Omega shit.” He replaced the word my with the. “Come to the last-minute tiki party!” he read. “Done!”

Justin hit print and tore into his sandwich.

***

His computer clock read that it was five-thirty, and Justin debated whether to stay an extra hour and wrap up the copy on the Honeyside account or go to the house to prepare for the party. He scheduled Merry Maids to clean Friday morning and rented folding chairs and a couple of long tables, but that was the extent of the prepping since he conceived this scheme less than twenty-four hours before. Was he wasting his time and money? Was anyone going to show up on such short notice?

A rap on his office door startled him.

“Hello,” Justin said, acknowledging the guy in the doorway.

“Hey, you may not remember me. I’m Dave from upstairs in accounting.”

“Sure,” Justin lied. “I’ve seen you around.”

“Sorry to bother you, especially around quitting time, but I saw your flyer in the breakroom about the party. Is that legit? I mean, is it completely true—the competition and prize?”

“Absolutely,” Justin replied, shutting down his computer. “It’s all on the level. Not a joke.”

“That’s very generous of you.”

Any philanthropic sentiment was purely out of desperation, and Justin would feel like a scumbag for pretending his charity game typically approached this high of a score. He nodded instead of accepting Dave’s praise. “Yeah, man, Saturday night. You’re welcome over. I also sent an email with the address and directions. I’ll have beer and maybe some chick drinks, but it’s unlikely I’ll round up a bartender in time. So I guess what I’m saying is”—he grabbed his lunch cooler from his bottom drawer—“the event is BYOB if there’s something special you want to drink. There should be plenty of hors d’oeuvres.”

“Okay,” Dave wrapped his hand around the doorknob and turned it back and forth. “Can I bring a guest?”

Justin couldn’t recall if he’d touched upon that in the email or on the flyer. “Of course, yeah, bring a date.”

“Great. See you then.”

Justin shuffled a few things on his desk and found the notepad with a party list he’d started that morning. He attempted to add hors d’oeuvres to the list but had no idea how to spell the rest after writing hor. So he crossed it out, wrote snacky foods, and headed out the door.

***

Pictures of Tiffany littered his phone, but Justin’s favorite was taken at a bed and breakfast in rural Nebraska. The memory was forever imprinted in his mind. Tiffany had just gotten out of the shower, her long, light-brown hair wet and stringy. No makeup, no clothes, just a goddess. He replayed that particular morning over and over in his head a hundred times in the last six months as that was the day he decided he wanted to spend his life with her. They showered together, then stayed in the steaming water for an extra twenty minutes, their first time together, and he couldn’t shake the image of her head tipped back and her neck extending several inches, all the way to her fabulous, wet breasts.

“Please, God,” he whispered, surprised to find himself praying for the first time in years. “Please let this work. I need her. I can’t live without her. I’ll be good to her—you know I will. Please help her find out about my party and show up. I know if I can see her face to face, in that house, I can win her back.”

He kissed his phone screen, said “I love you, Tiff,” and fell asleep.

His alarm went off at 6:00 a.m. on Saturday, something he couldn’t recall happening in his entire adult life to date. He hit snooze, then swore loudly and got up. “Please, God,” he echoed from the night before, “let this work.”

By six that evening, his house on Astro Lane looked pretty spiffy and up to the task. He’d miraculously found someone with a cancellation who was willing to paint the entryway walls and the two walls in the family room that didn’t host the fireplace or paneling. His realtor mentioned those particular walls would look great in a satin, medium-gray color, so that was exactly how Justin proceeded. Friday evening he’d found a few abstract, 1950s artworks at a thrift shop, and he hung one in the entry and one in the center of the paneled wall in the family room. The kitchen and bathroom were clean but dull from years of use. Thank God for the snow cover on the ground hiding the mess of weeds and dirt patches. As Justin stood there alone, in a house built in 1957 that he couldn’t decide if he even liked, he told himself things would be okay. There was simply a hiccup in his long-term plan. He was a good person. He worked hard, planned well, and everything was going to work out.

The grocery store caterers arrived at six forty-five, making short work of their set up, and the first guest showed up at six fifty-five. Her name was Julie.

“My apologies,” he said. “You look really familiar, but—”

“I’m in HR,” she explained. “I think I processed your paperwork—W-4, I-9, etc.—when you started, but it’s possible I haven’t seen you since.”

“Sure, sure . . . Well, you’re the first one to get here.” He handed her a lei off a small table in the entry he’d brought over from his apartment. He thought it too forward to place it around her neck, especially since she reminded him so much of his mother. “I have some lady-type drinks in a blue cooler on the kitchen counter—you know, wine spritzers, hard lemonades.”

“I prefer beer,” she said, following him toward the kitchen. “Something like Budweiser.”

“Then you want the red cooler.”

His doorbell rang. “There are chairs and food in the family room,” he told Julie. He pointed through a doorway. “Let me get the door.”

Five random people from his department Ubered over together and preemptively adorned themselves with leis.

“A house!” Caleb Welch gave Justin a fist bump. “That’s so cool. This is still a good neighborhood, too. Congrats!”

“Thanks.”

The three girls in the group hugged Justin, and Gwen Ramone, the last in line, handed him a gift bag.

“It’s a housewarming. Seemed appropriate.”

Justin looked inside the bag, then pulled out a wooden totem about eighteen inches tall. “Wow.”

“It’s hand carved and vintage.” She followed the other girls toward the kitchen. “Oh, and I think it’s from Hawaii. We found it in a thrift shop near here.”

Justin cringed, uncertain he could indulge in the whole midcentury vibe. “Yes, it’s perfect.” He placed it on the entry table as a centerpiece among the leis.

Bobby Jenkins held back from the group. “I’m winning this contest,” he said. “I practiced all last night. I’m going to nail it.” He saluted Justin, then made his way to the kitchen as another couple arrived at the door.

About thirty minutes into the party, the crowd swelled to over twenty people, mostly work associates and a handful of Tiffany’s friends. An unknown, pretty blonde worked the family room for about ten minutes before Justin noticed Dave from accounting put his arm around her. She appeared at least twenty years Dave’s junior, and Justin wondered if he’d grossly misjudged the age of one of the two. When Dave stepped away to talk to Julie, Justin took advantage of the open spot near the fireplace.

“I’m sorry,” he said to the unknown blonde. “Have we met?”

“No. I’m Kate.”

They shook hands, and, still convinced she was close to his age, Justin decided to linger. “Do you work at TCY?”

“I’m in grad school. Home for Christmas break. My last final was yesterday afternoon.”

“What are you studying?”

“Polynesian culture.”

Justin stepped backward, and the back sole of his shoe brushed against the side of the fireplace hearth. “Are you serious?”

Kate laughed. “No, I’m teasing. But I dig your midcentury rancher home and the whole idea of doing a tiki party in December. Most people wouldn’t have the guts.”

“It wasn’t so much a matter of guts. Pure necessity. But everyone seems to be enjoying themselves.”

“I agree,” Kate commented. “I brought something but left it in the car because I wasn’t sure, but . . . well . . . I’ll just go get it.”

“Oh, okay. I like your dress, by the way. The large pink flowers match your lipstick.”

She winked at him and headed toward the front door. “I’ll be back.”

Was that a stupid comment? he asked himself. He filtered back into the crowd, checking his cell phone for the time. The flyers and emails stated the contest started at nine o’clock, hopefully giving everyone enough time to get to his house, relax, and consume enough alcohol to have the nerve to compete.

A ruckus at the front door compelled Justin to investigate. The axe-throwing team arrived in their usual obnoxious style, most of them dressed inappropriately. Ranging in level of inebriation, the five guys and one girl garnished each other in colorful leis, did some ridiculously loud high fives, then meandered to the kitchen for unnecessary additional beverages.

“Did you tell them it was an ugly Christmas sweater contest?” Justin barked at Eric, the only one in a Hawaiian shirt.

“Sorry, man. I honestly don’t recall what I said. They’re more interested in booze and the possibility of hot chicks. Except Lisa—she just wants to be near me.”

Eric smiled, but Justin remained unamused.

“They don’t care if they’re not rockin’ your theme,” Eric added.

“Maybe I care!” Justin snapped. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay, that was out of line. I’m glad they’re here, regardless. And Lisa’s obviously hot for me, not you.” They both laughed, and Justin caught up with the group in the kitchen to inquire about the tournament he’d missed out on.

Luke Adams gave a rundown of every axe toss as he cracked open a beer for everyone on the team. He handed Lisa a wine spritzer, and her eyes and lips thanked him profusely. As the throwing team challenged each dig Luke threw out, Justin began to regret not being at the tournament. That sentiment faded fast, however, and his heart stopped beating when he heard Eric say, “Hi, Tiff.”

She stood there in his kitchen in a tight black dress. Unlike the other party guests, the flowers in Tiffany’s lei were so real Justin searched out their scent in the kitchen, which smelled of light beer, cheap wine, and axe-hurling sweat. Either she was there to take him back or force him to eat his heart out. While momentarily enduring the latter, he continued praying for the former.

“Hey,” Justin said after the room grew dead quiet.

“Hi. I heard you bought a house,” Tiffany responded.

“And now you’re standing in it, looking like a goddess.” She laughed, and Justin remembered he was surrounded by rowdy barbarians. “Let’s take a tour,” he offered.

“I’d love to.”

He saved what he knew would be her favorite room for last. Once there, Tiffany squealed. “A pink bathroom! All original! 1957!”

“It’s why I bought the house.”

“You hate pink,” she laughed.

“You love pink. And I love you.”

She closed the bathroom door, and her fingers danced upon his shoulders. “When I heard about your house yesterday, and your contest, nothing made sense,” she said, then kissed his cheek. “But I think I figured it out. You were going to take me to Hawaii for Christmas, weren’t you?”

The fire in her eyes tortured him.

“Yes.”

“And while we were there, you were going to tell me you bought my dream house.”

“Pretty much, yes.”

“Anything else you planned to do in Hawaii?” she asked and kissed his other cheek.

“Oh, I thought we’d roll around naked on the beach.”

She giggled. “Besides that?”

“What could be better than that?”

“I don’t know. I think you were going to pop something. Maybe on the beach, or maybe in a five-star restaurant.”

She’d recited his plan to a T. On the beach. Sunset. The solitaire engagement ring had been packed in his carry-on bag since early November, the same day he bought the plane tickets to Honolulu. “I guess you’ll just have to find out when we’re there.”

Tiffany shrieked, and her body oozed with excitement all over him. In the entire year they’d been dating, she’d never kissed him deeper or longer than in that moment. But this kiss tonight didn’t taste like Captain Morgan, her favorite craft beer at Axe & Ale, or even her cinnamon-flavored Crest toothpaste. This kiss died, completely tasteless.

She pulled away, and her fingertips brushed lightly over his dick. “I think this means I won your contest tonight ’cause you’re taking me to Hawaii.”

He stood stiff and speechless until someone knocked on the bathroom door.

“We really need to pee,” they begged from the other side of the door.

“Sorry,” Justin yelled. “We’re coming out.”

Tiffany whispered in his ear. “I need to take care of some business, but I’ll be back in less than thirty minutes.”

“Okay, baby.”

They slipped out of the bathroom and walked past Becky and Anna in the hall, both girls from TCY research and development.

“So, so sorry,” Justin said to the ladies while noting that Tiffany went straight to the front door and out of the house.

Justin stood in the entry for a moment, staring at the wooden tiki idol. Even though their aggressive encounter in the bathroom felt passionless, he told himself he and Tiff were reunited, and the romantic intensity would eventually return. At the moment he tried to figure out how he was going to tell his guests that the contest was canceled. No one needed to present their case for why they should win a free trip with Justin to Hawaii over Christmas because he was going with his dream girl, on her dream vacation, just as he had meticulously planned it a few months ago. So why was he momentarily all alone in a house that didn’t feel like home, praying to a wooden totem, begging it to help him stop feeling like a slime bag? He picked up the wooden idol. “Everything feels wrong,” he whispered. “Help me figure out how to fix it.”

Staring into the eyes of the tiki, Justin realized the seventies and eighties rock station he’d selected on Pandora was no longer playing in the background. A haunting and crackling sound came from the family room. Bongo drums, reed flutes, and maybe violins. “What the heck is that?” he asked the tiki.

He walked into the family room and discovered at least fifteen people gathered around a spot on the wall opposite the fireplace. Kate was in the center, but Justin couldn’t quite comprehend what he was seeing. “What is that?” he asked Kate.

“A record player.”

“Well, yes, I mean . . . how did it get there?”

“I imagine some nice gentleman built it into this wall when they were putting up the wood paneling in the late 1950s. It’s exquisite, Justin. You’re very fortunate it survived.”

“I thought it was just an old radio,” he confessed.

“It’s part radio, yes. But this turntable flips down out of the wall. Then it flips back up, keeping it safe and dust free when not in use. Hidden in plain sight, like a crouching tiger in the jungle.” She walked to the other side of the turntable and pulled down a handle on another sectional piece in the wall. “The front of this component is a speaker, but behind it is record storage.”

Justin noticed the stack of records on a folding chair next to the turntable. “Is that where you found the records?”

“No. I brought them from home but left them in the car when we got here. I think we inherited them from my grandfather.”

A handful of people dancing caught Justin’s attention over his shoulder, some of them wearing cheesy Hawaiian-print shirts, a few girls wearing flowery dresses, and all of them donning cheap, satin leis. He’d steered clear of last-minute activities since college. He was not a spontaneous guy. Yet, somehow, people were happy and having fun. “I can’t believe this is happening in my house,” he told Kate, then laughed. “Honestly, I can’t believe I even own a house.”

“I can believe you’re a good person and deserve a cool home. My dad says you’re the hardest working person at TCY. And maybe the smartest.”

“I don’t know about that. Who’s your—?”

“Would you like to dance?” Kate asked him.

It would be rude to say no, but, more importantly, he wanted to say yes. “Sure.”

As they swayed slowly together on the scuffed-up hardwood floor, she laid her head against his cheek. Her hair didn’t smell like cheap rum or beer or cinnamon toothpaste. Its scent brought to mind mangos and fresh plumeria and pineapple. He imagined wide-open, moon-lit skies, crashing waves, and salty mist. He felt peace and like he never wanted to waste another moment of his life meticulously planning. He turned his face to kiss her forehead, then snapped out of the fantasy as the record went silent.

“That was nice,” she said, stepping back from him. “Thank you.”

“The pleasure was all mine. Will you excuse me?”

“Of course.”

Justin rushed to the kitchen, where he found most of the axe-throwing team describing their technique to Becky and Anna. He reached into the red cooler, grabbed the first beer he found, and popped it open. While he chugged, the heavy, flirtatious vibe in the room struck him. The throwing team always exuded a ton of testosterone, but it had never been as obvious as it was right then in his kitchen. That may have been because the kitchen lacked a feminine touch, as he had yet brought over and placed a single dish in the cabinets. He was going to let Tiffany have complete say in the organization and décor of the kitchen, even though she rarely cooked. He tried to imagine her bopping around barefoot in an apron, wearing an oven mitt, but the scene wouldn’t stick in his mind.

“What happened to Luke?” Justin asked Eric after consuming half the beer.

“He rushed out of here quickly,” Eric replied. “Said he had to take care of something urgent.”

“Booty call?” Justin asked, then regretted his comment. Why did he act like a teenager around these guys? Except for Eric and Luke, they were all pretty classless. Masculine? Yes. Gentlemen? No. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay. It’s either a chick screaming for attention or a kitchen screaming to be remodeled. I’d guess the latter. The renovation pics on his website are mind-blowing.” Eric reached inside the cooler and grabbed another beer. “So . . . I’m a bit confused. I got the vibe—actually the word—that Tiff broke up with you, but she seemed all into you tonight.”

“Yeah, she dumped me Monday.”

“When on Monday?”

“She called me Monday late—around ten. It was her girls’ night. Said something was missing. It was her not me. Typical BS, but by the end of the conversation, it was clear we were over.”

“Did you know some of us were at Axe & Ale Monday night?”

Justin racked his brain for a moment. “Yes, you mentioned it Monday afternoon, but I stayed late at the office—until eight thirty or so, then went home.”

“That’s how I remember it, yes. Did Tiffany know that was your plan?”

“Uhhh . . . yeah, she texted around five, and I think I told her that.”

Eric nodded. “She and a few girlfriends were at Axe & Ale that night. Luke gave her a private throwing lesson in an open lane.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before now?”

“Because she hinted to me that night that you two broke up over the weekend, and I didn’t want to rub salt in your wounds.”

“I see.”

“But you two patched things up? Since Monday?”

“During our breakup exchange, she had no idea that I’d already bought her dream house and dream vacation. And hopefully her dream engagement ring. Don’t you see? She picked her dream over Luke Adams, and he’s the most alpha, best-looking dude we both know.”

Eric nodded but didn’t say a word.

Justin finished the beer and spied into the family room. Kate put on another record and even more people got into the mood on the dance floor. He noticed Dave from accounting dancing with Julie from HR. Lisa and Pete from the axe team showed off some unique moves. It was all good and kind of cool until he spotted Kate and Luke in the corner, talking. Luke took her hand, and they walked out to the crowd and started to dance. Justin slapped his hand over his chest. He lost two girls in one week to Luke Adams, a.k.a. Mr. Alpha.

He pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket and sent a text to Tiffany. Where are you?

I’m sitting on the edge of the mint-green tub in my new master bathroom, admiring the view. It’s perfect! You’re the best!

She didn’t think he was the best Monday night. Mr. Alpha was the best. Justin considered texting that comparison to her but held back. Why muddy the waters? She was his again, right?

He walked back to the entryway. Only one lei lingered on the table, and Justin put it around his own neck. He picked up the tiki idol again. “I read a little about tiki culture on Wikipedia before this party,” he told the tiki. “But, honestly, there just wasn’t enough time. I assume you were worshiped at some point in history and mocked at another. Now you’re mostly used to sell overpriced rum cocktails. But that slap in the face doesn’t negate your wisdom. You’ve been able to see into my kitchen and family room—you know what’s been going on here tonight. You’re as old as my house and well suited to reign here. Just help me out, man, because I think I’m about to make the biggest decision of my life.”

He took a moment to absorb the music streaming from the family room. Those same songs were possibly played in that room sixty years ago. There’d probably been many parties in this house—it was designed well for hosting social gatherings. And it hadn’t occurred to him until that moment, but the contents of this house had been cleared out only a few days before he found the real estate listing. The realtor said most of the junk was taken to a local thrift shop. “Was this your house?” he asked the idol. “Well, now it’s our house. Yours and mine. We just need the right woman to share it with. Please, man, don’t let me screw that up.” He set the idol back on the table. “Hold tight, my friend.”

Justin pulled out his cell phone and texted Tiffany. The contest for the free trip to Hawaii starts at nine, in about fifteen minutes. If you want to go with me, the signup sheet is in the kitchen. Each contestant has one minute to sell me on why they are the perfect travel companion. He started to type Good luck, but then deleted it. He hit send, then promptly turned off the phone and smiled. “This should be entertaining,” he mumbled to himself.

He rushed to the kitchen before Tiffany got there. There were eleven names on the contest list, including Julie’s, Eric’s, Pete’s, Luke’s, Gwen’s, Bobby’s, Becky’s, and Anna’s. Oddly, Dave’s name appeared near the top but had been scratched off. Also, was Luke serious? Mr. Alpha definitely had balls.

Justin glanced into the family room, making sure to avoid Tiffany. Kate sat in the corner alone, near the record player. He made a dash toward her, scooping up a folding chair along the way. He sat the chair next to hers. “Is this seat taken?” he asked.

She burst out laughing. “I believe it’s available.”

He sat down. “You never told me what you’re studying in grad school,” he said.

“That’s correct. I didn’t tell you.”

“Is it highly classified—like a matter of national security?”

She looked up to the ceiling. “That light fixture—it’s not original to the house.”

“What do you mean? The realtor told me pretty much everything was original except the refrigerator and the wallpaper in the third bedroom. And I think the kitchen vinyl.”

“She was wrong. The house is late 1950s. That fixture is about 1965. At first I thought maybe the original fixture was broken—you know . . . random football toss or champagne cork. But I bet there was no fixture. It was the style at the time to have a main light switch turn on all the lamps in a room, but an overhead light in a general living area was thought to clutter the clean-lined aesthetic. Unnecessary and distracting.”

“Did you just use Google or Wikipedia to figure that all out?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“If it were your house, would you replace that fixture with something from 1957?”

“Nope. I’m fascinated with growth and evolution and how things merge over time to create something new. And sometimes—if you’re lucky—something beautiful.”

“That’s a nice image, two things coming together to make something beautiful.” He checked his cell phone for the time. “I’ve got to run a crazy contest in a minute. And judge. I’m guessing it will take me thirty minutes. Will you be here when I’m done?”

“Will you be looking for me when you’re done?”

He didn’t know and decided he should stop leading her on. “Thanks for being here tonight. I’ve enjoyed spending time with you.”

She nodded and smiled.

Justin had two chairs and a card table set up in the third bedroom at the end of the hall. He left Kate and started down the long hall at the back end of the house, then decided he needed a co-judge. He turned around, cut through the empty living room, and snagged the tiki off the entry table. “I have a job for you,” he said. Justin briefly looked through the slender window along the side of the front door. It was maybe twenty-five degrees outside with about four inches of snow on the ground. He liked winter more than most people, but Hawaii temps would be an awesome break. He’d be there in two weeks with some lucky individual, and, however the vacation debacle resolved itself, the situation was going to be okay.

He was halfway back through the living room when he realized he needed the signup sheet. He returned to the kitchen and found it still on the counter by the stove. Tiffany’s name was at the very bottom. He was surprised to see Kate’s name above Tiffany’s. “A beach vacation with either Tiff or Kate. This looks like a win-win situation.”

He snuck back through the living room, avoiding the family room. After taking a picture of the signup sheet with his phone, he taped the original to the outside of the door and set up shop in the back bedroom, attempting to clear his head, until Julie knocked on the door at exactly nine o’clock.

“Are you ready for me?” she asked when he opened the door.

“Come in.”

They sat across the table from each other.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said. “Tell me, in less than a minute, why you want to travel to Hawaii with me.” He hit the timer on his phone.

Julie cleared her throat. “When I was first married, my husband told me we’d go to Hawaii for our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. We put aside money every month in a special fund. We had enough saved and almost went on our twentieth anniversary, but our son was starting college, so we decided to wait until he graduated, which, at the time, seemed like perfect timing. However, my husband was diagnosed with cancer the next year and passed about eighteen months later. I want a travel companion because air travel and airports give me anxiety. Also, I’d be uncomfortable being alone that long, but I would certainly reimburse you for my share of the expenses. I just don’t want to go alone.” She wiped her eyes. “Oh . . . I want to spread some of his ashes on the beach. That way he can be there briefly with me.”

Justin paused the timer with ten seconds remaining. He didn’t say anything for fear that he would start to cry, but he nodded, and she quietly exited the room. He took a few deep breaths, then opened the door. Eric was next, and he entered and sat down.

Justin wiped his eyes. “You can say whatever you want in the next minute, but I’m telling you, you’re not going to beat Julie’s story.”

“Dead husband?” Eric asked.

“Yeah.”

“It’s all true,” Eric confirmed. “I’ve heard she’s had a small poster of Waikiki on her office wall for fifteen years.” He leaned closer to Justin. “Did you make up with Tiff?”

“It’s still up in the air.”

“Luke asked me because I think he’s all kinds of confused. Man, I know he can be a player, but I think he’s somewhat innocent in this. He thought you and Tiff had been split up for a few weeks.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when he comes in.”

“He had the balls to sign up for this contest?”

Justin nodded. “Yeah. Your minute is up. I’ll talk to you later.”

After Eric closed the door, Justin realized he was feeling sick to his stomach. Adrenaline had been pushing him all night, but he was hitting the wall due to swallowed emotions.

Pete was next and explained how he was a history buff and would make an excellent tour guide. Also, Pete planned to pick up the bill for all the meals and beverages for both of them. It was a compelling yet emotionless argument. Justin didn’t rule him out.

Luke strutted into the room with a half-cocked smile. For his first thirty seconds, he focused on apologizing for any inappropriateness due to his misunderstanding about Tiffany. Justin was impressed by his maturity and wanted to punch him a lot less than he did when Luke first entered the room. Luke used the last thirty seconds to paint a picture of him and Justin surfing, drinking mai tais, and checking out babes. It sounded fun. Luke’s chick-magnet talents, coupled with Justin’s potential single relationship status, guaranteed an exhilarating vacay.

Justin graded the next seven contestants with a B-plus for effort, but their proposals lacked either emotional strength or a high level of excitement. Kate was next on the list, and Justin started to shake as he opened the door.

After she sat down but before he hit the timer, he asked the running question: “Why do you want to travel with me to Hawaii?”

“I don’t. I want you to take my dad.”

“Who’s your dad?”

“I thought my minute was uninterrupted?”

Justin slapped his fingertips over his lips. “Continue.”

“Three years ago, at my dad’s father’s funeral, we learned that his father—my dad’s grandfather—was a pilot in World War II. What we never could have fathomed was that he was Japanese and took part in the bombing of Pearl Harbor. My dad’s father was a proud Vietnam vet and raised my dad to be patriotic, so you can imagine how my father was horrified to learn this about his grandfather, a man he’d never met. My father told me after the funeral that he believed his grandfather was only following orders, but my dad still wanted to rectify the situation. This knowledge has given him overwhelming stress and sadness. Since I’m in college and he’s alone, he has too much time to think about it. I believe it would change his life if he could go to the Arizona Memorial, apologize for the deeds of his grandfather, and cry for several hours.”

Justin paused the timer with one second left. He had so many questions and wanted to take Kate’s hand, but that would be unfair to everyone else. Instead, he quietly said “Thank you,” and watched her leave the room.

“Jesus,” he whispered after the door closed. He grabbed the tiki, which was at the end of the table. “I’m in over my head. I’m just a marketing guy, not a therapist. And now”—he rubbed his eyes—“I have to listen to Tiffany for a minute. She’s the one person in this world I most want to vacation with, but I’m so confused because of what she did. My head’s spinning, and I honestly want to puke.”

He opened the door and found Tiffany standing alone in the hall. She walked into the bedroom without a word, sat down, and crossed her legs. His heart raced as fast as a freight train. Part of the confusion in his body was linked to the fact that she was so damn hot.

“Why do you want to go to Hawaii with me?”

“Because you’ve told me many times that you’ve never had as much fun with another person. Because we both love red meat and avoid seafood like the plague. Our favorite beer is Budweiser, but we pretend to enjoy the craft beers to be cool with our friends. Our favorite band of all time is The Moody Blues, and our first slow dance in your apartment was to ‘Nights in White Satin.’ Then we made love on the sofa, on the floor, and in your bed. You told me on three different occasions that my sexual appetite matched yours and I was the last woman you ever wanted to sleep with.

“Your parents like me. Your grandmother loves me. Her cat hates me, but you hate her cat, so it’s all grand. I sleep through your snoring and tolerate your dirty underwear on the floor. We were made for each other. You’ve said it, I’ve said, and when one of us says it, the other person always agrees.”

His phone screen was black—she probably went over. She started to stand, but he grabbed her wrist. “Sit down.”

“You’re only allowed the opening question,” she said.

“Sit. Down.”

She did.

“Everything you said is true. That’s why I was going to propose to you on the beach on Christmas Eve, right after I told you I’d bought our house. It was a seamlessly arranged plan. And it would have been flawlessly executed.” She nodded, and he was sure he was going to cry. “You broke my heart Monday night, and I didn’t see that coming.”

“I—”

He put his fingers over her lips. “I was ready to forgive you. Luke is a stud. I understand that you may have had a few too many drinks and made a bad decision, especially taking into account peer pressure from your girlfriends. But, I realized about five minutes ago it’s not about any of that. When you showed up here tonight and got all orgasmic about this house, you never apologized. I don’t think you showed remorse in any way. Even when we were alone in the bathroom, away from my friends, you never said you were sorry. And, what may be worse, you never said thank you. I bought you your dream house, according to what you’d always described, with an authentic pink bathroom. In the moment when you were confident that you were going to get to spend the rest of your life here, you didn’t say thank you; you just ran your fingers over my dick.”

“That was saying thank you,” she grunted. “I thought I was speaking your language.”

“Maybe a week ago,” he considered out loud, “but not now. I think I deserve more from the woman I love. The woman I buy dream houses for. And dream vacations.”

“Are you done?” she muttered.

He nodded and watched her walk through the doorway. She left the door open. It was a subtle move, and he loved it. She knew exactly how his mind worked. She knew his love of metaphors, and, despite his sense of sudden relief, he still believed they were made for each other. But the agony associated with winning her back wasn’t his problem anymore.

He grabbed the tiki and closed the door on the hideous 1990s wallpaper, then strode down the hall. Several people remained in the family room and kitchen. Why not? The night was young and plenty of beer remained. He watched Kate finish up a dance with Pete, then met her near the record player.

“Is Dave your father?” he asked. “Dave from accounting?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Is he going to Hawaii with you?”

“No, he’s not going to Hawaii with me.”

“Oh.”

“He’s going with you. I want you to go with him because you obviously love him. He needs incredible emotion support. And to heal.”

“Yes, I agree.” She wrapped her hands around Justin’s arm. “I’m so . . . I guess your graciousness has overwhelmed me. But I want to respectfully decline your offer.”

“What?” Justin stepped back. “You can’t be serious!”

“Listen. I checked out the signup sheet after we talked about the light fixture and noticed Dad scratched his name off. I put mine down to hold his spot, then tracked him down. He and Julie shared stories earlier in the evening, and Dad felt she was more deserving. He worries more about other people than himself. He wanted her to win.” Kate let go of Justin’s arm. “So I want to give my ticket to Julie. I want her and Dad to go together. Maybe they can heal and, perhaps, grow together.”

Justin nodded. “Perfect.”

“Besides,” Kate added, “I’d rather go to Hawaii with a boyfriend or husband or lover.”

“Do you currently have any of those three?”

“Nope. Not today. What about you? I’m a little confused—”

“I was too,” Justin clarified. “But no more. I’m free as a jaybird.”

She laughed. “I think the expressions are free as a bird and naked as a jaybird.”

“I think you’re wrong,” he said, taking her arm and pulling her toward the kitchen and the beer. “Just as you’re wrong about the light fixture in the family room. It was definitely a random football throw that broke the original shade sometime in 1964.”

Justin sat the tiki idol on the counter where the signup sheet had been. “I know because this tiki told me. He was here in 1964, watching a growing family live life. The original owners of the house bought him in Hawaii in 1955 on their honeymoon. Talk about going to Hawaii with your lover . . . that’s the way to do it.”

She took his hand. Justin was certain the warmth and excitement between him and Kate steamed from their charitable and selfless decision to send Dave and Julie to Hawaii. And, although his heart still ached for Tiffany, the glow from Kate’s face gave him hope he could contentedly grow through life with someone new. Vacation with someone new. Enjoy a dream house with someone new.

“You know”—he pulled Kate toward the family room but smiled at the tiki idol—“before the party is over, I’m going to figure out what you’re studying in college. And if it actually does have anything to do with Polynesian customs or midcentury architecture, I’m going to insist you have dinner with me next week.” He laughed. “Someone needs to enlighten this culturally inept tiki party host.”

THE END