The game ends in a disappointing loss, and the kids go home with Daniel. I wish, though, they were going home with me. I’ve a touch of the lonelies today, nothing super serious, just the feeling of too much time, and emotion, on one’s hands.

Traffic from the Washington Huskies game snarls the freeway traffic, and it’s nearly dark by the time I reach my house.

Inside I flick on the kitchen light, head to my room, turn off the TV in the corner, and am just about to strip and take a shower when the doorbell rings.

Running a hand through my hair, I head for the front door, feeling grumpy and vaguely blue. I turn on the front porch light, as it’s twilight and getting darker earlier every night, and open the front door.

We think we know life, can predict life, control life. We think we’re prepared for the worst, and expect to be disappointed. And then life happens, and life is handsome, tan, muscular, clothed.

Kai.

Kai’s here. Right here. Not in Hawaii, not at the surf desk, not on a surfboard, but here. In Seattle. On my doorstep.

I can hardly breathe. Definitely can’t speak. Instead I just look at him, drinking him in, thinking, This isn’t real, can’t be happening. Not after so many months.

It’s been a long, long time. Five months. Six?

He’s wearing baggy jeans and a gray sweatshirt-style sweater, and I don’t think he’s ever looked so good.

Or so young.

Or tan.

“Do you still have all your muscles under there?” I ask, my voice shaking.

His blue eyes hold mine, and he grasps his sweater by the hem and lifts it up, showing me the flattest, hardest tan abs in the world. The tight, cut, six-pack kind. But I see more than abs. The bulldog tattoo is still there, too, right where I last saw it, between his navel and crotch.

I’m breathing funny. “Are you real?”

“Security at the airport said so.”

I wish my heart would stop racing like this. “You got the special screening?”

“Pat-down and everything.”

“They’re just doing their job.”

“Thoughtful of them.”

I can’t look away. He is real. And he is here. And he can breathe on the mainland, not just his island. “I didn’t think you left Hawaii.”

“You didn’t come back.”

My eyes suddenly burn. My heart hurts worse. “I…” My voice fades. He’ll never know how much I missed him, and even if I tell him, what do I tell him about the baby? Should I even tell him I was pregnant? “I…” I shake my head, overwhelmed.

He jams his hands in his jeans pockets, dragging the jeans even lower on his lean hips. “How are you, girl?”

Girl.

Girl.

I’d so wanted to be his girl but couldn’t make it happen. “I’m good.”