A little over a year after Ana and Ricky bought their brownstone, (actually the bank had bought it, and they were just paying the bank back, something that Ricky never allowed himself to confuse) his mother, Lala, had been on a weeklong trip to Maui with her long-distance, still sort of married, oral surgeon boyfriend, Dr. Paul Walters. He wasn’t sort of married. He was fully married, and living through the very first steps of separation while still living with his family. 

“Emotionally separated,” was Lala’s tinted perspective of his situation. He didn’t even like his wife. They’d be divorced in no time. She was sure of it.

Ricky pictured Dr. Walters in his New England estate, hiding from his wife eight rooms away. He’d be sitting alone, drinking IPAs and sinking into his leather, stadium-style seating as he watched classic hockey games on a hundred-and-fifty-foot screen. Ricky couldn’t help but remember his parents living through a similar, strange separation limbo while he was in college, only without the mansion and private movie theater and trips to Hawaii with new lovers. 

Lala and Paul had met when she was interpreting for an American Association of Oral and Maxillofacial Surgeons conference in Tampa Bay. They were staying at the same resort and happened to be sitting next to each other at the hotel bar on the last day of the event. They ended up having a pleasant dinner together that night, which she saw as a clear sign from the universe that they were meant to be together.  

After that first unintentional date, she found ways to see him every month or so, mostly by bidding a lower fee to be contracted as the interpreter for other AAOMS conventions in different cities. A decade after her own divorce, things seemed to be working out and her prayers were finally being answered.

Ricky met Paul when they visited New York the previous Christmas. He seemed like a decent guy, amicable, good looking, successful, and intelligent enough to be a surgeon. At the very least, he was glad to know that she’d met him, in person, and that he wasn’t a Nigerian scammer preying on sad ladies on seekasoulmate.com. He didn’t know much more about him beyond Lala’s desperate angle, but on paper, and after meeting him that one time, he seemed like a good catch. If he ditched his family, of course.

Regardless of the official status of their relationship, Lala seemed to be fully enjoying her infatuated state, so Ricky, having experienced and enjoyed that state a handful of times himself, was happy for her. While on Maui, she sent Ricky pictures of waterfalls, a sunset from a catamaran, and her and Paul posing awkwardly during the middle of an expensive-looking meal. He hadn’t seen her smile like that outside of old photographs. He could feel her excitement that a new, meaningful chapter of her life was starting. 

On her second to last day on the island, Lala decided to get out of her comfort zone, and upon Paul’s confident coercion that he’d done it a dozen times, noting that the injury rate associated with paragliding was much lower than that of other extreme sports, while omitting the fact that the accidents that did occur were more often fatal, she strapped on to Kai, a professional glider and instructor, at the top of Polipoli Flight Park.

As was her bad habit, she’d gotten up a little too late and had taken a little too long getting ready, so much so that they had to move their flight back by two hours. 

It was unfortunate that the wind wasn’t visible, and as she settled into the beauty of the green, sloping pastures dotted with small puffs of clouds, leading down to Kahului and the bright blue waters of the northern shores, an unexpected, rogue, mid-day gust came swooping by, more powerful and violent than anything Kai had been expecting. It lifted the chute with a fierce jolt that swung them around in the air, a move that Lala, terrified, momentarily assumed was her guide doing an unnecessary trick maneuver. It wasn’t. In less time than it took her to finish her thought, they’d crashed into the grassy hill, Lala getting crushed beneath the weight of the muscled local man. 

She suffered a broken leg and forearm, three cracked ribs, a black eye, split lip, four broken fingers, a concussion, and a ruptured spleen. Dr. Wei, who’d woken Ricky up at two in the morning, didn’t get that specific, but did need the consent of Laura Gomez’s next of kin in order to perform a splenectomy. 

“Okay. Yes. I give my consent.” The call had also woken Ana up, who shared Ricky’s troubled expression. His hands were starting to tremble. Ana put her hand on his back. “I will. Yes. Thank you doctor.” He hung up and put his face in his hands.

“What happened?”

“My mom was in an accident.”

“In Hawaii?”

“Yeah. I guess she was parasailing, or parachuting. I didn’t really understand, but she’s all fucked up and I guess they have to remove her spleen.”

“Oh my God.”

In shock, Ricky did what he always did when he was lost. He called his dad and tried to relay most of what Dr. Wei had told him.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Well there’s not a lot you can do. Can you go to Hawaii?” Ed Morales asked his son.

“I guess.” He had the next day off, and could probably get a few more covered. 

“I think that would be a smart idea. It will be good for her to have someone there when she wakes up.” 

“Okay.” Ricky’s voice quivered as he unsuccessfully tried not to cry.

“Ricky. Rick. Calm down. Freaking out isn’t going to help anything. Just take a few deep breaths.”

He had his head between his knees, tears starting to run down the tip of his nose, dripping into a tiny puddle on the floor. He tried to breathe slowly.

“Okay. You’re right. I’ll book a flight and let you know when I’m at the airport.”

“Alright. I love you.”

“Love you too. Thanks, Dad.”

Ana was also in shock. All she could do was inch closer and hold the balled-up lump sitting next to her. 

“Do you want some tea?” That seemed to be her solution for everything.

“I need a smoke.” She didn’t like that at all, but kept herself from complaining at him this one time.

“Okay, well, I’m going to make you some tea.”

He took his bong out of the closet, packed a bowl, and took a long, deep hit that he didn’t bother blowing out the window, like Ana always insisted. He coughed it out for a few seconds, then took a series of deep, mindful breaths, just like he’d learned in the meditations his dad had sent him months earlier, after a series of brutal shifts at the restaurant had left him questioning his existence. 

Snap out of it. Like Dad said, freaking out isn’t going to help anything, he told himself as those first few calming waves of intoxication flowed through him. He opened up his laptop and booked the first early-morning flight to Maui from JFK. One-way. Even though it was the middle of the night, he texted his boss and told him the situation. 

He was in a daze as he stuffed clothes into his backpack, the intensifying weed buzz allowing him to scoff at the absurdity that this is how he was packing for his first trip to Hawaii, after more than a year of fantasizing about its crystal clear surf. He threw in some board shorts just in case.

He sat on their swanky red corduroy couch in the living room, waiting for his cab to arrive, and silently staring at his 7’3” S7 Superfish that sat in the corner of the room. In front of the bright orange walls, it looked like a sliver of a nineteen-seventies California beach house. The board was still immaculate white and dingless, with a meticulous, barely-used wax job. He’d only really caught one wave on it that whole first season in the water. That had been a good day. He hadn’t even landed on my back knee on the popup, and instead was amazed when he got straight onto his feet for the blur of a three-second backside ride, the well deserved payoff from months and hours of kooking it up in the chilly waters of Far Rockaway. That had been a really good day. 

He hadn’t been in the ocean in weeks, and his stoney thoughts again had him wondering what the water in paradise was like and if there’d be any swell in the next couple of days. Right, like you’re gonna go fuckin’ surfing while Mom is dying in a hospital bed. Get your head out of your ass. Ana gently snapped him out of it.

“Here’s some tea, my love.”

“Thank you.” It was still way too hot, and attempting to take even the smallest sip singed his tongue and lips. He hated drinks that were piping hot. Why does the water need to be at a rolling boil, anyways? So you can sit there and wait twenty minutes before being able to drink any of it? He put the tea down on the coffee table, making sure to use a coaster so he wouldn’t again be reminded by Ana about how delicate the wood was and how long she’d already spent refinishing it. She noticed, and was glad that he was learning. 

“Are you hungry? I can heat up that eggplant pasta I made the other night.” He hated eggplant, and was amazed that after seven years she still hadn’t understood that. In her defense, he never really made his stance on the purple vegetable exceedingly clear, especially since she seemed to love cooking with it.  

“No. Thanks, love. I’m okay right now.”

“Are you sure? I can put it in a tupperware for you. I’m sure it’s gonna be a long flight.”

“Actually two long flights, but I’m pretty sure they’ll feed me.”

“Eew, airplane food.” She smiled and tried to lighten the mood. It didn’t really work, but he smiled back and put his head on her shoulder. She ran her fingers gently through his knotted curls as he sank deeper into her, still breathing deeply and holding back tears as steam continued to rise from his cup of tea.  

He moved through JFK like a mannequin on a conveyor belt, in a sad state of suspended animation, barely responding to TSA or flight crew with anything more than a weak smile and a quietly sighed thank you. He had a short layover in Los Angeles where he stopped into a small Welcome to LA store as he wandered around the terminal. He picked up a Dodgers hat from the rack. It was forty bucks. He didn’t think twice and bought it. 

The retail therapy made him feel a little better, if only to distract him from reality for a few moments. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, wearing his new purchase and admiring how clean and perfectly blue it was. It also did a good job at hiding the red-eyed, unsmiling, disheveled look on his face.

The only other ball cap that he owned was a green, low profile snapback with an old-timey football stitched into the front and the number 99 randomly in the center. Sweat stains streaked the sides, and small, frayed strings hung off the end of the brim. He’d had it since he was in high school. Ana liked to make fun of him whenever he wore it. 

“You don’t even like football, and it makes you look like you’re seventeen.”

“Maybe I wanna look like I’m seventeen,” he replied, checking himself out in the mirror and admiring the frizzy curls of hair popping out the sides of the hat. He grinned at her. “Can’t you see my patchy beard coming in?” He lifted his chin slightly and rubbed his sporadic black and brown fuzz. “I think maybe my body’s trying to tell me something.”

“Is it telling you how your patchy hat kind of matches your patchy beard?”

“No.” 

He usually didn’t wear that green hat.

By the time he reached Maui Memorial, jet-lagged and covered in a sad, salty traveler’s grime, Lala was out of surgery, casts had been applied to her right leg and arm, and her lip had been stitched up. She was asleep when he arrived, and her breathing was rough and labored behind the rhythmic beeping of vital signs monitors and electrocardiograms. 

A cute young nurse stood next to the bed, alternating between looking at the machines and writing on a clipboard. Ricky couldn’t help but admire her pixie green eyes and the splatter of freckles across her nose and cheeks. He quickly reprimanded himself silently for checking her out at such an inappropriate time. 

“Hi.”

“Oh, hello.” She finished writing and flipped through a couple of pages. “You must be Ricardo.”

“Yes. Ricky. Hi.”

“You got here fast.” She placed the clipboard in the patient record holder at the foot of the bed. 

“I tried. Is,” he paused and did his best not to start crying in front of this cute girl. “Is she okay? I mean, is she gonna be okay?”

“Well, surgery went well, and Dr. Wei said she was lucky that they were able to stitch up the rupture without having to remove her spleen. That is really good news.” Ricky had spent part of his travels researching what the organ does, and was relieved that she was able to keep hers, having pictured a life filled with fear of infections and chronic illnesses. “There also doesn’t seem to be any other internal bleeding,” she continued. “The other good news is that she was conscious after the surgery, so that’s a really positive sign. Still, she had a pretty bad crash, as you can tell.” Lala had her mouth open and a little spittle was dripping from the side of her lip. “She was obviously in a lot of pain. So we gave her some morphine about half an hour ago. She’ll likely be asleep for a while, but you’re welcome to stay here until she wakes up. There’s a pillow and a blanket in that closet if you want to take a nap. Dr. Wei should be back within a couple of hours and he can answer any other questions you may have.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“No problem,” she gave him a hospitality smile that had Ricky flipping through a book of lewd fantasies.

“Do you know,” he stopped her before she could escape his subtle leering, “if her boyfriend is here?” 

“I’m not sure. I believe there was a gentleman who was trying to get in to see her, but they only really allow immediate family into the ICU here.”

“I see. Okay. Thanks for all your help.”

“But if either you or your mom approve of it, he can come in to see her during visiting hours. I just don’t think she was awake when they first got here.”

“Okay. Thanks again.”

“No problem.”

He stopped himself from checking her out as she left the room and called himself a fuckin’ animal as he sat down on the couch. 

Exhausted, he stared blankly at the mess on the bed in front of him, her casted leg strapped into a sling that hung above her, cables coming out of her gown hooked up to machines behind her, a tube hooked around her ears and across her upper lip, sending oxygen into her nose, and a neck brace holding her head in place. He was just glad that she was breathing. He lowered the brim of his hat as a new flow of tears escaped him. 

He hadn’t gotten any rest on his flights, so a nap wasn’t a terrible idea. He opened the closet to grab a pillow and saw her oversized purse. He considered looking through it to get her phone out. Maybe he could get in touch with Paul. That sounded like a lot of work, and he couldn’t help but blame this man for bringing her out here and getting her into this whole situation.

He was too tired to make any intelligent decisions, so he took the thin pillow, left her purse alone, and texted his dad, his sister, and Ana a quick update before passing out on the couch. He had a tumultuous half-rest, unsure if he was dreaming or awake. He kept seeing Paul come into the room and talking to his mom, then he’d wake up to the continuous beeping that was being seared into his head and the view of the palm trees outside his window dancing in the wind. He woke up for real when Dr. Wei came in and said hi to Lala. 

“How are we feeling?”

“Like shit.”

“Did you see your visitor?”

“Who is it?” She grumbled and tried to turn her head, but instantly whimpered and winced in pain.

“Yeah, you should probably not move around too much for a while.”

Ricky stood up. “Hi, Ma.”

“Is that my son?” Her voice was strained and grainy. Ricky moved in front of her so she could see him without moving her head. He was hesitant to touch her, but she reached her left hand out for him. He took it and she squeezed with what little force she had. “You came all the way out here for me?”

“I just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

“Oh.” She grimaced again as pain radiated through her head and broken bones. “It hurts to breathe.”

“Yeah,” Dr. Wei answered as he looked over her chart, “that’s because you broke three ribs.”

“I did?”

“Yes. Do you remember what happened?”

“No. I think we went parasailing.”

“You were actually paragliding, and had a pretty nasty crash. Honestly, you’re lucky to be alive.”

“Is Paul okay?”

“Oh, yes. Um,” he looked through a few more pages of notes. “Paul Walters got here right after you arrived, but we couldn’t let him in.”

“Oh.”

“Would you like us to authorize him to come visit you?”

“Yes, please,” Lala replied.

“Okay. We’ll have a nurse call him and let him know.”

“Thank you.”

“How long is she gonna be here?” Ricky spoke up.

“Well, surgery went well, and congratulations,” the doctor smiled at her proudly, “you were able to keep your spleen.” He then turned to Ricky, “but she has a lot of healing to do. Usually after an open surgery a patient stays with us for a few days so we can monitor them, but with all of these other injuries, getting on a flight home might be a challenge, so we’ll have to take it day by day and see.”

“Okay.”

“But I have to get to work,” Lala said, clearly still high from the opioids in her blood.

“Well, that’s going to have to wait, Ms. Gomez.”

“Can I see my phone? I need to call the courts and tell them what happened.”

“I’ll call them for you, Ma. Don’t worry about that right now.”

“That’s right. You need to focus on resting and healing. The courts can wait. What kind of courts are they? Basketball courts?”

“No. I’m an interpreter for the LA court system.”

“Oh, okay. I was going to say, you probably aren’t going to be shooting hoops any time soon.” Dr. Wei was the only one to laugh at his own humor. “Well, I’ll be back tomorrow to check on you.” He turned to Ricky. “It’s good you’re here. She is a lucky lady to be in the shape she is. Do you have any other questions?”

“I don’t. Thanks doctor.”

“Okay, you two take it easy. Rest is what she needs the most right now.”