2019

The thought of Nikau coming over to Hale Kahananui to read my Duke Kahanamoku paper and getting roped into dinner with the family made my skin itch, so I suggested I bring it over to his apartment instead and he accepted the offer.

In hindsight, I probably should have thought it over a bit more but by the time I realized it, it was too late. I shouldn't have been that bothered by inviting myself over to his damn apartment considering we already went to dinner together—not a date but who was I kidding—and he didn't make a big deal about it. It wasn't a big deal. I was just overthinking every action I made around him for no other reason except to internally sabotage myself.

Truthfully, I had no concept of the full scope of Nikau's success and what kind of money he had, so I didn't have any sort of reaction when he sent me an address for a condo building near the Longs on Beretania Street. Finding street parking was a bitch since he only had one parking stall in the building. After circling twice, I snagged a spot not far from the building and before I knew it, he was buzzing me upstairs.

He was wearing a white long-sleeve shirt and black sweatpants. And I was—

"Twins," he laughed when he saw me.

"You cut your hair," I noted.

Nikau grabbed at his now short hair and dragged his fingers through like he was searching for phantom strands. "Got a little tired of the bun. I kept losing all of my hair ties."

"I thought the bun was nice."

"Most people hate man buns," he laughed.

"Polynesian men will always get a pass in my book."

I handed him the binder and followed him inside down the short hallway that opened up into a small living room with an adjoining kitchen. The door to a glorified den that was likely (generously) called a second bedroom was on the opposite side of the room while the master bedroom and bathroom were directly off to the left. From what little I could see as we walked past it, there wasn't much in the way of decor. Even his curtains were a standard navy blue that looked straight out of an apartment stager's handbook. (Either white to make the room appear bigger or blue because it calmed apartment hunter's during a stressful time.)

The rest of his apartment matched the bareness of his bedroom. It made sense considering he just moved in here only a couple of months ago, but it was also a reminder of his temporary presence. By this time next year, he would likely be gone, having finished his album or possibly even having released it.

I would be stuck here, tethered to a place I wasn't sure I ever wanted to leave but desperate to discover myself beyond who I was tied to it.

"I like what you've done with the place."

Nikau laughed and scratched the back of his neck. "It's a bit of a dump."

"It's not." Most people I knew wouldn't even be able to afford living out here, even though it wasn't an extravagant building by any means. "I just think it could use a fresh coat of paint."

"I actually did try to ask about that but the landlord went off on some tangent and all I heard was security deposit so I thought it best not to give that a nudge anymore."

I pointed at the binder in his hand before pulling the curtain aside to glance outside the window. As far as views went, at least he wasn't staring at a brick wall. Even though I gave my side of the island a hard time for being overtly simple—things rarely changed and if they did, it took forever to happen—I wouldn't trade the proximity to a busier lifestyle for my view. I couldn't imagine not being able to wake up to the sound of crashing waves every single morning. It was sometimes the only reason I even got out of bed, even if just to sit on my windowsill and stare out at the ocean.

"At your request."

He glanced down at it. One moment of my childhood captured between two covers. If he was clever, Nikau could figure me out just by reading those bloated pages. "Do you need it back today?"

It hadn't crossed my mind that he would save it for another day. "No, I guess not."

"Okay then." Nikau placed it on his kitchen counter. "I'll let you know when I'm done."

With that out of the way, it seemed only fitting that we simultaneously looked over at the second bedroom that, even through the small crack in the door, was the room that had been converted into his makeshift studio.

While I didn't have quite as much of a grasp on contemporary music as I did classical, I walked inside and stared at everything in awe, wondering how his music sounded as a finished product and not just a spontaneous performance in someone's backyard. Most of the equipment looked unfamiliar to me, save for the obvious things like the keyboard and microphone. The speakers placed around the room flashed with blue lights peeking out from underneath them. Everything was a sleek matte black color that created a black hole in that small room.

I dragged my finger across the edge of his keyboard. "Impressive."

"Thanks." Nikau looked appreciatively at his space. Even when he was thousands of miles away from home, he still managed to build himself something this magnificent. He didn't need me to spell out to him how impressive it was. "When I tell you I've never been more nervous for my shipping to arrive."

"You brought all of this over from Auckland?'

He nodded. "Yeah, had someone ship it over for me."

"Damn." Now, I was even more impressed. I assumed he picked up some things while he was here. "That's what we call commitment."

Nikau nudged me with his shoulder. "But you know all about that, yeah?"

"Absolutely not. I'm not committed to anything except being mediocre at what I do." I tried to laugh it off—I did mean it as a joke—but Nikau pursed his lips. "Kidding. Promise."

"You're telling me you wouldn't do the same thing?"

It was cute but laughable that he thought I would be able to relocate to another country for a year just because the need to make music didn't allow me to do anything else. While music had been my life, playing music was a hobby at this point, if even that. But to Nikau? It was everything. He didn't allow himself to exist as anything except a vessel for his music.

I could admit I was slightly jealous.

"I dropped out of band in high school after one semester."

He stared at me as if I was a completely different person than the one standing before him twenty seconds ago. "Really?"

"Really."

"Well, you still play, right?"

I shook my head. "Sometimes. I don't own my own oboe so I have to borrow one from UH."

"You went to UH?"

"No, I just got tutored by someone who used to go there. I made friends with the staff and now they let me borrow their extra instruments every once in a while."

Once again, it looked like I had shattered the image of me inside his head, the one where I was as impressive as he was with my music instead of just the girl who brings over old essays from when she was in high school.

Instead of responding, Nikau reached down beside me to pull out an extra chair, which I took from him. He lowered himself onto his—much bigger, looked far comfier since he sat in that while he recorded—and started fidgeting with the keyboard. I had once wanted to learn how to play the piano but it never quite fit with me. Now I just sat in the background, watching everyone else play it so fluidly their fingers tapped like rain droplets on the piano keys.

"Be honest—how long do you spend in here?" I asked.

Nikau laughed, absentmindedly picking out an unfamiliar melody. His fingertips skipped along the keys as if they had a mind of their own. "I pretty much only leave for work and to hang out with Anthony so... a lot. But still not as much as I probably should if I want to finish this thing and be happy about it."

After the short sneak peek into his musical talents the night of Zach's party, I found it difficult to believe he could produce anything short of perfection.

"Can I hear something?"

"Anything in particular?" Nikau was already pulling his laptop closer so he could open his files. From where I sat, I had a clear view of how many songs he had already worked on. It was wild he didn't think he was happy with his pre-existing catalog of songs. I could already assume the treasure trove of magic that existed on that thing.

I thought about it for a second. "Whatever feels the most... you."

It probably seemed like a silly proposition since, as creatives, everything we did should have been wholly us. It did in my mind, at least. But I also wasn't signed to some record label either, which meant I didn't have any executives to impress. A lot of artists said something like a one for them, one for me sort of deal. Maybe those were all songs he wrote because he knew it was what someone else wanted.

While the song he played at the party was slow and sweet, his choice for today was more upbeat. Because we were in such a small room, I felt the bass deep within my chest as if it had become one with my heart. It was only recorded up to the second verse, but he sang of finding love in a hopeless place and all the uncertainty that came with that.

"Not that you need me to tell you, but that's beautiful," I said after he ended the playback.

"Thanks." He clicked back to whatever screen he was on before. "I'm kind of... stuck in this place. Like I have so many ideas that I start but then I hit this wall and feel like something is... missing. It's a work-in-progress."

I crossed my legs and pulled back from where I had leaned forward to get a better listen. "I think you'll be fine. Everyone gets stuck creatively and needs that inspiration to push them forward, but you have a lot of raw talent that many others don't, so you're already way further ahead than you probably think you are."

"Do you think that might be your problem?"

I paused at his question. "What do you mean?'

"You know." Rolling his chair back, he gave himself room to lean forward and rest his elbows on his knees, putting the two of us at eye level. "Maybe you don't play music as much as you want to because you're just in a creative rut. Not because you're not as good as you think you are."

Having the tables turned on me wasn't fun, and I shied away under the weight of his perception of me. "Except I've been like this for years."

"Creative ruts can last years. Decades, even."

I scoffed. "Maybe if you're already a great musician. Then you actually have a good excuse for it."

Shaking his head, he leaned back upright. "Who says you're not great?"

"Me."

"I don't think you're a reliable judge of your own abilities."

I refrained from rolling my eyes. I was the one who had to live with myself every second of every day for the rest of my life. There were some pretty strong qualifications there for knowing myself. (Right?) "As I said, it's been years. If it was just a rut, I would have dug myself out of it already."

It wasn't like I didn't play music at all. I just didn't play it nearly as much as I used to. Even if I went months without picking up an instrument, I desperately clung to that minimal amount if it meant not having someone dissect my actions and the feelings that urged them.

"When did it stop?" he asked.

I knew the answer before I gave it because I spent so long trying to avoid it. I wasn't sure why he was the one I admitted it to after all these years. Maybe because I knew deep down that everyone else in my life already knew without me having to admit it to them.

"After my dad died," I admitted quietly. In an instant, my voice swallowed up the entire room. "Maybe even a bit before that. I stopped doing a lot of things after he died. And then just never came around to fixing it. I mean, he's the reason I fell in love with it in the first place."

Nikau remained quiet for a second. "I don't think he'd want you to stop playing, though."

"I don't think what he wants really matters anymore since he's not around for it."

As soon as I said those words, I instantly regretted them and wanted to take them back.

I understood where he was coming from, what he meant and why he said it, but I had stopped myself from falling into that idea a long time ago because it never made me feel good. It just reminded me that he still wasn't there, never would be again, and made me feel like all I was doing was trying to appease someone's ghost.

"Sorry," Nikau said. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"It's not you." And it wasn't. Whatever reason I would eventually spin in my head about why there would be nothing between us, nothing more than that mysterious possibility, had nothing to do with him. It was me. It would always be me and my inability to grasp what it meant to be human and not let it destroy me. "I'm just... not really in the headspace to analyze my grief and how it's affected me."

"Is anyone ever ready for that?" He laughed.

I smiled. "I guess not."

Instead of pushing me to talk, Nikau surprised me by spinning back around and turning the keyboard on again. "Want to learn a little something?"

I liked the ease with which he posed his question, even while knowing what his underlying intentions were. As I scooted my chair closer to his, nodding in agreement, I decided to not care about them and just live in the moment.

...

"Anthony?"

At the sound of my voice, he turned to search for the source, eyes squinted as he held his hand up to shield them from the glaring sun. Once he figured out it was me calling him from a spot further back in the line, he waved me up to him.

If there was any place I would run into Anthony Rivera, it was in a line outside Chun Wah Kam.

I wasn't surprised to see how long the line was since it took ages to find parking and it was during peak hours. Finding Anthony there was a blessing I had only noticed because his mop of disheveled curls stuck out just a tiny bit above the rest of the line.

"What are you doing here?"

I stared at him. "Why else would I be here?"

Anthony rolled his eyes. "I meant what are you doing all the way in town?"

"Maybe I just really wanted their manapua."

"You don't love their manapua that much."

It was true; I didn't. They were good, though, hence why I took a detour on my way home from Nikau's apartment. Instead of hiding something that would likely make its way back to him, as all things seemed to on an island, I told Anthony the truth.

He did a terrible job of attempting to hide his smile. He clearly wasn't surprised.

"This is why Alex never talked to you about her love life."

"Alex never had a love life before Zach." He had me there.

We stepped forward a few feet with the line. "Does Nikau really not hang out with anyone?"

"Not really." Anthony shrugged. "Not outside of work, at least. Or not that I know of." He glanced at me. "But I think it's more just 'cause he's so busy working on his album."

"I don't think it's helping him just being holed up in there by himself," I replied. "I think he needs to get out more. See something other than those four walls. Get a little inspired so he can feel better about his work."

It wasn't like I knew the guy enough to judge it myself. Anthony knew him far better and could tell me whether this was something he needed to do. Maybe this was part of his process and it would all work out in the end. Or maybe I just needed to mind my own business.

"How nice of you to care about him."

I glared in silence.

Shaking off my look, he laughed again. "I agree, though. He could spend a little more time outside."

"It just seems like such a shame to come all the way out here and not take advantage of all Hawai'i has to offer. Right?"

"Sure."

I thought about it some more as we waited in that line. The sun beat down on us hard enough that sweat beaded up on my forehead, which made it difficult to think. But then, after a few minutes, I brought up another suggestion. "Maybe he can play a gig here."

He looked back at me, brows furrowed. "A gig?"

"Yeah. That thing musicians do when they play their music in front of a live audience—"

"Love him to pieces but I don't know if he can do a whole show here."

"I'm not saying he's going to fill up the Blaisdell," I told him. "But, I don't know, a bar or something. Get his name out there with the locals. Let him see how much other people will love him."

While I had never had the opportunity to command a stage myself, apart from being one small part of a larger orchestra that played a handful of recitals and mall performances, I knew I would suffer from stage fright. Just the thought of performing a song in front of other people terrified me. (Or made me want to throw up.) (Probably both.) But Nikau wasn't like me as we all saw at the party. Everything about him was built for the stage, and I did not doubt that getting an audience's reaction would go a long way in getting him in that right headspace to work on his music.

"Maybe. Sure," Anthony conceded. "But you'd have to help me make it happen."

My head turned. "What? Why me?"

"It was literally your idea."

"Semantics."