Free Sisterchicks Do the Hula by Robin Jones Gunn Page A

couldn’t manage to come back and offer assistance in my time of need, but she was right on the spot when it came to a photo op.
    Lowering the camera, she grinned at me. “Swims with dolphins, huh?”

A fter the invigorating voyage and a good laugh strolling through the sand, Laurie and I decided to plant our still-loopy selves into a couple of anchored lounge chairs. A poolside waitress wearing itty-bitty shorts and a tank top came over. I asked what kind of tropical drinks they had without alcohol.
    “But with an umbrella,” Laurie added.
    “Right, with an umbrella. That’s the most important ingredient.”
    The waitress pulled a small laminated menu from the back pocket of her shorts and handed it to me.
    “This first one with the coconut and pineapple juice sounds good,” I said. “I’ll have one of those.”
    “Make it two,” Laurie said.
    As the young woman strolled off, Laurie leaned over. “Did you see how she made that menu appear out of thin air? Howdid she do that? She didn’t have enough room in her tiny back pocket to hold that card.”
    “No kidding.”
    “What do you think? Sleight of hand? Smoke and mirrors?”
    “I don’t know,” I said. “But I don’t think I ever managed to fit into a pair of shorts that small. Not even in second grade.”
    “Oh, I beg to differ. What about those fluorescent green ones you used to wear to go jogging? Remember? The nylon ones with the matching terry cloth headband?”
    “Oh, yeah. I forgot about those.”
    “How could you forget?”
    “Be kind, Laurie. It was the eighties.”
    “Hey, I know. I was there, too, remember?”
    “What I remember is the time we sat up all night trying to braid those beads into your hair. The next day in chemistry one of the rows came undone, and you dropped beads every time you moved your head.”
    Laurie’s laugh switched to a groan. “Oh, that was such a mess. I couldn’t figure out which string had come undone, and when I tried to take all of them out, I lost so much hair. Remember how all those little strands were twisted around the beads? I can’t believe I did that. What was I thinking?”
    “You were thinking you were cool because you were.”
    “We were both cool.” Laurie looked at me over the top rim of her glasses. “We were both cool then, and we are both very cool now.”
    “The coolest,” I agreed.
    “Except for when we wore those spandex leggings with the big hot-pink T-shirts.” Laurie made a face. “There
is
no excuse for that.”
    With ideal timing, the waitress returned carrying our tropical drinks, just when we needed to toast something important.
    “To friendship that spans the decades.” Laurie raised her umbrella-accented tropical drink.
    “And to friendship that spans further than our current hip measurements.”
    We merrily tapped the rims of our plastic cups and took our first sip. The beverage tasted like a thick, sweet smoothie with bits of pineapple pulp that clogged the straw. I liked it.
    Laurie plucked her paper umbrella from her cup and tucked it behind her right ear. “So, where are you supposed to wear these to show that you’re taken?”
    I held my tiny umbrella on the pinnacle of my blue, mountain belly. “Right here should work pretty good for me.”
    “Oh yes, like it worked so swimmingly for you back there on the sailboat.”
    “Catamaran,” I corrected her with an edge in my voice like the activities director who checked us in for the sail had used. “There
is
a difference.”
    We laughed, and I felt a familiar sensation returning.
    “I’ll be right back.” It was easy to roll out of the lounge chair and slip my feet into my wide sandals.
    “I admire what you’re doing, Hope.”
    “What, going to the bathroom every twenty minutes?”
    “No. I think you’re amazing for being pregnant and still doing all this. Coming to Hawai’i, I mean. I thought you might change your mind about the trip. I would have understood if you had, but you didn’t back out,