After a year and a half of trying to move on from the what-ifs, the tides have pulled Alexandra Rivera and Zachariah Kim back together again.
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In the h...
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The majority of tourists can be sorted into two main groups: those who wear tacky "Hawaiian" print shirts—usually bought from a mainland brand that has nothing to do with Hawai'i or our culture—and those that don't.
Waikiki has no shortage of either, which makes spending any extended amount of time here challenging. Every time I walk into the beachy, waterfront hotel I bartend at, I'm accosted with an overwhelming stench of sunscreen, aloe vera (for those who didn't wear sunscreen), and too many people ordering fruity drinks with little umbrellas.
"Alex! You're late again!" Ricky growls, walking past me into the kitchen.
I stick my tongue out even though the doors are already swinging behind him.
It's not that I'm late. He just believes being fifteen minutes early should be the norm. I told him he better pay me for those extra fifteen minutes if he wants me in early. He doesn't threaten to cut my hours anymore but he still likes to yell to make himself feel important.
"Back again, ladies?" I slip my apron around my waist and toss a black towel over my shoulder. My hands move on autopilot to set up my area for the night.
The bride-to-be—properly decked out in all white and a sparkling smile—beams at me like I've been sent down from heaven just for her.
"Hey! It's the pretty girl from last night!"
She's already drunk and I don't mind her or her crew. They're generous tippers.
"Another Mai Tai?"
They all scream in unison and if I wasn't already used to the loud atmosphere of the bar, I might have flinched. When I make their drinks, I use the best rum we have. Not that they'll be able to tell the difference at this point; I could replace it with water and they wouldn't notice.
"Let me know when you need another round, okay?"
Once their crew bounces off to another section of the bar, my attention flocks to anyone else in need of my services. Most are tourists, a few servicemen, and a handful of locals. One of them sticks out to me since we're familiar.
Landon is a regular customer who likes to spend his time here a few times a week. He's slightly older and can look out of place at times, but I think he likes observing the chaos instead of partaking in it. He seemed kind of odd at first but once we started talking, he became one of those people who made long nights go by a little more quickly.
"How was work today?" I ask while I prepare his old-fashioned.
He scratches the scruff along his jaw. The bags underneath his eyes are dark.
"The usual," he replies. "I'm gonna need an extra drink tonight."
I place the glass on a napkin and slide it in front of him. "It's on the house."
