“Sheesh. You think I’m that bad that you have to call?”

“Yes.”

Fine, she was right. “Is Papa okay?”

“Yes.”

Guilt riddled my bones. “I shouldn’t be here when he’s sick.”

“You should. He’s okay right now and we’re here taking care of him.”

“When that’s my responsibility.”

“Eh, spare me your gender norms.”

“As the eldest.”

“And your traditionalist norms. Besides, you’re not really vacationing. It’s your best friend’s wedding, that you committed to nearly a year ago.”

“Doesn’t alleviate my guilt.”

“Stop that.”

But it wasn’t easy to lessen the burden of shame. Traditionally, as the son and the eldest child, I was supposed to take care of my parents. My sisters lived closer and insisted on staying with our parents to help out. While they were counting out Papa’s meds and making dinners so Ma wouldn’t have to, I was in freaking Hawaii.

“When I return, I’ll stay with them until he’s better,” I announced.

“No need. He’s doing fine now.”

“I work remotely. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t. Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve stayed over.”

“Sure, but don’t think it’s been too long a time since you’ve seen them. You were just here two weeks ago. Seattle isn’t that far from Olympia. Stop being melodramatic as if you’ve abandoned your parents.”

I nodded, squinting in the sunlight whenever it pierced the canopy.

“Have fun for once!”

I groaned.

“Wait, is that ex of yours there?” Sheila asked, her voice dropping to annoyed.

“Yes.”

“She had the nerve, huh?”

“Let’s not gang up on her.”

“We were never friends, and you know I was always wary of her since that time she dated Yash. I dunno. Something about a person talking about their relationship issues to others is disturbing. Especially outside of their immediate circle. Anyway, she left you and had you believing you weren’t capable of love. How am I supposed to react? You may keep your composure, but I say what’s on my mind. She’s lucky I’m not there.”

“You know how I feel about holding on to resentment. There’s too many other, more important, stresses to worry about. Resentment poisons the heart. Also, what if we got back together? Then what?”

“Then she’d better have changed her tune, first and foremost. And if you’re happy and healthy, then I’m happy for you. But you can do better.”

Could I, though?

We chatted for a few more minutes before hanging up. Knowing that my dad was doing better was a relief, and that my sisters were nearby to help. I should really take over once I returned. Staying with my parents would drive Papa up the wall. He’d insist that he was fine, that we were all overreacting.

But when he’d had to stay for several days in the hospital because of kidney stones or surgery or whatever the case, he was never alone. Someone would stay at his side all day and sleep over every night. We’d take turns. Even if he was coherent and moved around on his own. It didn’t matter. For a few years there, we’d grown accustomed to hospital cafeteria food. We even had “picnics” in the dining area.

Sweat ran down my temples as I wiped the back of my neck. Ahead, the lobby was large with folding doors on either side, fully opened. There was no AC pumping through the open-air corridors here. Just the ocean breeze. And shit, it was sweltering.

The crowds made it hotter. The staff was inundated, even more so than yesterday, with three long lines stacked with annoyed or visibly upset people. The manager who’d tried to assist me was up front, hurrying between four front desk staff talking to customers and typing away on computers and two with their backs to the lines, on the phone.

He finished with a couple, gesturing toward the hall, where many others were waiting slumped against walls, pacing, or taking up every seat possible. Some singles, most couples or families. He looked up as he gulped from his thermos, eyes landing on mine as I stood near the long front desk, beside the lines, trying to figure out if there was a difference and which line I was supposed to get into.

“Ah!” He raised his hand and waved me over.

The manager was at the line closest to me. He was able to sidestep and allow someone else to seamlessly take over.

And here, I thought I’d been sweating. His round face was flushed, pink, and dotted with sweat beads. I hoped whatever he was drinking was ice-cold.

I ignored the scathing looks from those in line and said, “Thanks. You guys are slammed. The system error must’ve really screwed things over.”

“Yeah,” he said, out of breath. Maybe he was helping me to get a breather. Irate vacationers and system glitches were two of the many reasons I could never work in the hospitality industry.

“Is there an update on that suite you said might be available tonight?”

He scrolled through his tablet, swiping away sweat, muttering under his tongue as conversations got louder and phones rang. The staff were unable to keep up, and this was hard to watch. I honestly felt horrible. Had I been lead dev or PM on their reservation website, no such error would’ve happened under my watch. I would’ve seen a bug like this from a mile away. Okay, well not a mile away. Pretty close up and over many hours of test runs, but the point was, I couldn’t imagine this happening on one of my projects. If it did, my entire team and I would be working around the clock to fix this. Surely a worldwide hotel chain as massive as this one had hundreds of people working on their sites. Surely they’d have fixed the problem by now. Woken up their top devs in the middle of the night. Said devs hustling to track and adjust.

But they had not, apparent by the level of raging tourist fumes. Many scrolled through phones or were on calls trying to find something. Tension thickened the air; grumbles were getting harsher.

Some were outright speaking loud enough for everyone to hear. “This is ridiculous. Been waiting in line for twenty minutes. I have reservations. Hawaii needs to get their act together.”

“I’ve been waiting for an hour,” another volleyed, as if out to win a game of who’d been angrier longer. He was with his family along a wall and his teenaged kids seemed severely disinterested.

And there it came. “Let me talk to the manager. I demand a manager. I don’t want to talk to you!”

The manager in front of me side-eyed the customer, who was yelling at a short woman behind the counter, her face red.

“You don’t need to yell,” I told her, my voice rising over the commotion.

She glared at me. “Are you the manager? If not, mind your business.”

“I’m speaking with the manager right now, so you’ll have to wait. No need to yell at staff who are obviously trying their best to fix problems they’re not at fault for.”

She huffed and glared at the manager in front of me. He plastered on a tourism smile, adding, “I’ll be right with you.”

Her hard stare swept back to me. “I was here first. He just walked over to you. I saw that!”