Page 37 of The Wrong Brother

She slides her hand along my arm, stopping to ask when I got them or about the meaning behind my tattoos.

“This arm is all Hawai‘i,” I tell her. She smooths her hand down my forearm piece, all black and white triangles and shapes that are important to Hawaiian culture. “I was very cautious to get this one. It’s so important to me but I didn’t want to be some haole getting Polynesian art. I worked with a local artist to put together images that tell my story without appropriation. At least that’s what I hope we managed. The shapes show my family’s history, coming to the island on fishing vessels, gravitating toward the mountains, and finding a place they could always return to—home.”

“I love it.” She tips her head up, looking at my other arm, before sitting up and turning to face me. “It was too hard to see that way,” she admits. “So are all of these more personal?”

“Yeah, art representing surfing and painting and things that I love. Or, you know, things that I think are beautiful. Sometimes that’s enough.”

She sits close, inspecting the artwork. She’s working her way up to the inside of my left bicep when I think to get nervous. There are some things I don’t necessarily want to spell out. Sure enough, she stops there immediately.

“This one is so pretty! Does it mean something specific?”

“Oh, that’s a tarot illustration,” I reply. She nods and keeps looking, saving me from further explanation. That one is without a doubt ‘too much too soon’ territory at best or ‘creepy weirdo’ at worst. Tipping her chin up and stealing a kiss is a welcome distraction. Not that I was trying to distract her. It had simply been too long. We stay that way for a while, sitting and kissing. No plans, no pressure, just her lips on mine. I could stay this way forever—my hand resting lightly on her delicate neck, my thumb caressing her jaw, her breath becoming my breath, and an endless rhythm of tongues and lips.

I’m not even sure how long we’ve been stretched across her bed kissing when we’re interrupted by knocking at the door.

“Mmmm,” I hum into her, stealing one last kiss. “That’s dinner.”

We eat delivered sushi with our feet kicked up on the coffee table and watch an episode ofDirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency.For me, getting ready for the date is as easy as putting on a shirt. With that taken care of, I sit in the comfortable chair in Catherine’s room and read to her while she puts on makeup and fixes her hair. The dusty rose of her dress is like the hint of a blush that blooms before she gets truly embarrassed. I pause my reading occasionally, to watch her reflection in the mirror. She doesn’t need any improvement, but I find the enhancement of makeup application fascinating. It’s like art. A few expertly applied swipes of color and the slate blue of her eyes is enhanced. Dark mascara frames them so the color is even more striking. But I like that she doesn’t cover her freckles.

I’m not very subtle. She nudges me with her shoulder as we walk through the parking lot to my car. “Should I go get my keys? I don’t think we’re going to make it to our destination if you can’t stop staring at me long enough to drive.” Her smirk makes me laugh.

“I’ll try to control myself long enough to get us safely to our destination.”

It takes about 15 minutes to get over to the John F. Kennedy Theater on the University of Hawai‘i at Manoa’s campus. Catherine doesn’t ask any questions but she looks around with interest, taking it all in. It’s fun surprising her because she enjoys the anticipation as much as the event. That level of enthusiasm doesn’t dip the entire evening. The moment the lights dim and the curtain goes up, Catherine has scooted to the edge of her seat. Her hand squeezes mine as the music starts and I can feel her sharp intake of breath as the first dancer moves on stage.

For the next hour, the contemporary dancers have her rapt attention. The choreography is beautiful. I’m captivated by the way they use the lighting design, the costumes, and the music to enhance the story the dancer’s bodies are telling. The combination of those pieces is an all-encompassing piece of art. Even with all of that happening in front of us, I can’t help but watch Catherine. Everything she feels is so clear on her face. In the middle of one particularly emotional number, she pulls our clasped hands over her heart, holding them close to her chest while she breathes in time with the music. She smiles and gasps and sighs, never relaxing back into her seat. Tears track down her face at the last fading note from the piano and as the curtain drops she’s up on her feet, clapping exuberantly.

I can’t get enough of her smile and the pure joy she has from experiencing it. She beams up at me, pulling my face down to kiss me lightly.

“That was the most beautiful and incredible thing I’ve ever seen!” She sniffs and swipes at the tears on her cheeks. “Best date ever.” She wraps her arm around me, tucking herself against my side, and we walk back to the car that way. “Thank you for that, Rafferty. I loved every single second.”

“You’ve always liked dance. It surprises me you’ve never tried.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be any good.”

“There’s a place that has open classes on weekends—not a studio, just adults having fun trying something new. We could go sometime if you want.” She’s surprisingly quiet. I stop at the passenger door, turning to her before unlocking it. “You don’t think you’d like that?”

“I wouldn’t be any good at it,” she repeats.

“Neither would I. You don’t have to be good to have fun.” Her expression says she doesn’t agree with me so I wait her out. Finally, she huffs, lifting her shoulders.

“I don’t like messing up in front of people. I hate it, in fact. So if I’m not good at something, I don’t do it.”

“But how do you get good at something if you don’t try, working through being bad, until you get better?” She shrugs one shoulder and keeps her face down. “No one expects you to be perfect, Cat. In fact, it’s the places where you’re imperfect that I like the best because they’re the most you.” At that, she looks up at me, hope and disbelief at war in her eyes. “Like that little snorting laugh when something catches you off guard, and the way ladylike Catherine likes to curse, and countless other things I don’t think you’re ready to hear yet.” She blushes and rests her head against my chest, wrapping her arms around me. “No pressure, but if you ever want to do anything, simply for fun, you don’t have to worry about being less-than-perfect in front of me. I like all of you, Catherine, the messy and the polished.”

She holds my hand all the way back to her condo and I’m almost happy when all the guest spots are occupied so we have to say goodbye in the parking lot. I don’t want to push her. I want her to have time to think about what I said. And I don’t want anything to take away from how happy watching the dancers made her. The goodnight kiss leaves me feeling warm and lightheaded, maybe even a little giddy. I expect anxiety to start bubbling up with waves of worry over where I’m going to be tonight but that doesn’t happen. As I watch her walk into her building, those good feelings stay with me, wiping away any impending panic. I may end up at the laundromat tonight, but I have thoughts of Catherine to keep me company.

22

catherine

I’m lonely today. That’s probably not shocking coming from an introvert with no friends, but normally I would say I’m quite content with my life. I get back from spin class, though, and am not looking forward to a quiet day by myself. I’m sure Mina will be with Griffin. Rafferty usually spends a lot of his Sundays working. I’m not even sure though because I didn’t ask him last night. It felt selfish to ask for more of his time after the last two days. I don’t have anything planned but I also don’t want to spend this gorgeous day sitting in my condo, wishing I was somewhere else. I live in paradise, for goodness sake! I have no excuse. I’m going to go completely against character and be spontaneous. I pull up my app to check surf conditions and select a location. Now that I have a plan I’m starting to feel excited about this solo venture.

I get my Beach Go Bag out of the closet. I have bags that I keep packed for several different activities. My beach bag has straps so it can act as a backpack. I always leave sunscreen, sunglasses, some hair ties, and my Turkish towel in there. I don’t like having to search and pack any time I want to do something. I pull on a bikini and cover-up and toss my zip-up rash guard in my bag along with my phone and a book. Down in my small locked storage unit, I dig out my surfboard and bike. My bike has this sweet board rack on the side that makes things like this so much easier. I don’t have to load things on top of my car and hunt for a parking spot. Bike-and-go is where it’s at.

I head down to Tonggs Beach. It’s not a secret spot, those don’t really exist on an island as populated and heavily visited as O‘ahu. It is, however, less likely to be crowded with tourists and it’s a fun spot for someone like me. I love surfing and I have a great time out on the water, but I barely qualify as a surfer. I’ve got a lot of enthusiasm and just enough skill to enjoy myself. The waves at Tonggs aren’t enough that I’ll have to compete for a spot with competitive surfers. It’s an easy 3-mile ride down past Diamond Head. Since it’s still fairly early in the morning, the city feels less bustling than usual. About a mile in I realize it wasn’t the brightest idea to take my bike to a beach 3 miles away, hauling a surfboard, after an early spin class. My legs are pretty shot already. I was excited about the sun and waves but a little more common sense could have served me well. I don’t push myself and the last two miles pass in flashes of palm trees, blue sky, and aching thighs.

Tonggs Beach is a misnomer because there isn’t a stretch of sand here. There’s also no parking lot or public restroom. It’s a narrow walkway behind the cutest little gingerbread houses. There are some steps going down into the water but that’s it. I lock my bike up and take my board down towards the steps. A quick change from my cover-up to my rash guard, a braid in my hair, and everything secured in my bag have me ready to go. I stash my bag but I’m not worried about it. I know better than to bring anything worth stealing to the beach. If someone snags my sunscreen or towel I guess they needed it more than I do. My phone case is waterproof and I have a pocket inside my rash guard for it. Every possibility accounted for, that’s my way. I carefully navigate entering the shallow water from the stairs, not wanting to twist my ankle in the rocks, until I’m out far enough to paddle away, towards the reef break.

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