same time, it’s also static.
Art can’t actually fix your life.
The man I’ve drawn looks like Billy Wong, I think then.
My heart starts to beat fast. I put my sketchbook down and scroll through my phone like there could be some kind of proof there, past a hundred different images: Abby in the hammock, the tight rings of her drying curls against her head. Her smile is for Poppy. For Pop.
Afton feeding a bunch of little birds at our outdoor breakfast table the first morning. Before the hula class.
The Grand Staircase, that first night.
Mom and Billy sitting at a table, leaning toward each other.
Mom smiling with her eyes.
The realization that it’s Billy doesn’t even really surprise me. I didn’t want to consider that it could be Billy before. But suddenly it seems so obvious. He’s the only man on this island who’s feasible. Mom doesn’t have time to mess around with someone new. But she and Billy have known each other for years. Decades, even. She’s comfortable with him. They spend all their time together.
It has to be Billy.
Poor Pop, I think then, the reality of the situation crashing over me, not just Mom and some guy in Hawaii but Mom and Billy, all this time, both here and back home. All the nights she was “working late.” All the excuses. Poor, poor Pop. I pick up my phone again and read the texts between Pop and me.
I miss you a million.
I wish I were there.
You should be here, I text now. It’s not okay, you not being here.
I’m startled when the phone buzzes in my hand. Pop calling.
I know I shouldn’t, but I click accept and lift the phone to my ear. I want to hear his voice.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi. Do you have a minute? I wanted to talk to you some more.”
“Okay.”
“Is Abby with you?”
“No, she’s with Afton today.”
Pop makes a surprised noise. “All right,” he says. “Good. So you seemed a little off yesterday, and I just wanted to check up on you. Is everything okay?”
I consider his question.
“No. No, it’s not okay.”
“Why not?”
I bite my lip, and then the words start to tumble out. “Pop, come on. We’re not okay. None of us are. You should be here. This is a family vacation, and you’re part of our family, and you don’t get to decide that you’re not.”
“I told you,” he says. “I have to work.”
“That’s not going to cut it, Pop. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You’re making a choice. And this time you made the wrong choice.”
“All right,” he says after a minute. “I can see why you feel that way. And I’m sorry.”
“I don’t care,” I say.
“What?”
“I don’t care if you’re sorry. I care if you’re here. And you’re not here.”
“Ada . . .” He sounds tired. I don’t even know what time it is for him right now. He also sounds like he’s about to tell me that I don’t understand, that I can’t understand, but I won’t listen.
So I blabber on. “I know you and Mom are going through a rough patch, or whatever,” I say quickly. “You think we don’t notice these things, but we do. I don’t know much about love, but I have been there when people stopped loving each other; Afton and I both, we’ve had front row seats to that. And I just think . . .” I swallow as tears burn my eyes. “I just think that can’t happen with us this time, Pop. Not with you and Mom. It’s not fair. It’s not right. It can’t happen.”
“Ada, Ada, whoa,” he says. “Why do you think that—Your mom and me—It’s not—”
I push on. “Mom isn’t perfect. She works too much, and she . . . isn’t the amazing person everyone says she is, and I know that, but I also know that Mom isn’t the only member of this family, and you loved each other once, and you both made promises, and that means you have to fight for her. Are you doing that, Pop? Are you really fighting for her? And fighting for us? Can you do that? Can you fight?”
Then I’m out of breath. It should be Mom I’m giving this speech to, Mom I’m confronting, but this is the only way I can think of to keep them together: for Pop to try harder. For him to fix it.
Pop doesn’t say anything for a long, long time, which is okay, because now I’m sniffling.
“Yes,” he says finally. “Yes,