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I shake my head. I cannot imagine this man with kids…but then maybe I can. He’s kind of like a big hunky child himself. Whoa. Hold up. Did I say hunky? Scratch the hunky. I meant child. Just child. A big ol’ child.
My original curiosity circles back around. “And your parents?”
“Aren’t you suddenly talkative?”
“Yeah, well,” I say, attempting to cover my tracks. “It’s probably a good idea for me to know a little about the man forcing me to go out with him.”
Kal laughs. “Force?” He shakes his head. “Invited. You’ve got to get your facts straight before you meet my aunties.”
I lift one shoulder. I’ll behave if he talks.
“Fine, I’ll tell you about my family, but that means I get to ask questions too. It doesn’t go against any of the blessed rules you made up. And it’s too late to make any more.”
“Oh, it’s never too late.”
“Sorry, Miss Miller, that door has closed.” He cracks another grin, making my stomach flutter with his expression.
We drive through the streets of Lana‘i. And as a passenger, I’m free to study everything we pass. It’s so green here. Green and bright with orange and white flowers blooming on every bush we pass. I kind of missed all this on the way in. My head was tucked in my phone, texting Autumn and the Sunny girls and trying to find out if I’d made the biggest mistake of my life coming here.
“My mom,” he says, continuing with his family tree, “makuahine, is everything good in the world. She represents all the beauty and sweetness Hawaii has to offer. Unless we’re talking about me and relationships, and then she’s a hurricane.”
I smirk but can’t help myself. “And your dad?”
How will I feel when he tells me that his father is dead? Why do I need that information confirmed? How morbid can I get? And yet, I feel like I need the facts.
“He left. A long time ago.”
“Oh.” This might be worse. Kal’s tone says it’s worse. His tone implies that there is so much more to the story than those two words: he left. I swallow and shake my head, facing the front of the jeep. “I’m sorry.” And I am. I’m sorry he’s suffered such a loss. And I’m sorry I asked.
“It’s okay,” he says. And yet, I know that it’s not.
15
Kal
Meg Miller is more than I expected. I knew she’d resist, but I’d hoped she’d be easy to break down and give in. I’d be her date for the night, she’d get the aunties off my back, and she’d realize the wonders of Hawaii, all she’s been missing. The End.
But then, she asked about my family. And she came out in that lavalava looking like no tourist should look. She seemed as if she belonged here. The gold streaks in her hair shone in the sunlight. The blue in her eyes seemed to come straight from the ocean. She looked as though Hawaii, itself, had claimed her.
My mother says it happens. That the island will claim someone for itself. They’ll arrive on the land a stranger and leave family—or possibly they won’t leave at all. They can’t. Not with the island calling. But it’s all talk. I’ve never seen a tourist, someone who so clearly doesn’t know Hawaii, suddenly feel like part of the sand and sea.
My mind is playing tricks on me—it has to be.
Our drive is quick with all her questions. Soon, the white tent on Hulopo‘e beach comes into view. It’s filled with my Kekoa family—cousins, uncles, and whole slew of judging aunties.
“Ready?” I ask her.
“Do I have a choice?” She stares ahead at the white tent and party within.
I lift one brow and look from Meg to the tent of Kekoas. “At this point, I don’t think so.”
Walking in next to Meg is different than all the times before. And I have to admit, the approving looks from my aunties and cousins, rather than the glowers of disappointment and recycled questions of—when will Kalani, thirty-one and single, grow up and begin his life—feels refreshing. I could get used to it.
I’m tired of answering the same questions over and over again.
I’m also a good island boy, so I lead Meg Miller over to my little Samoan mother.
“Where are we going?” Meg asks as we pass by a dozen guests. All eyes on us.
