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“I plan to read on the beach.”
“How many books are in here?” She riffles through my array of Addison Adams novels. “You’ll only be there a week, right?”
I huff. “Well, what else am I supposed to do?”
Autumn cups both hands to my cheeks. “Live, Meg Miller. Go and live a Kyleless, visible, fun-filled week. You deserve it.”
5
Kal
One more day. One. And then my online classes will be complete for the semester. My time and my devotion will no longer be split. Manuahi.
“Kalani, what are you doing?” My mother’s voice is in full Samoan lecture mode. “You teach today.”
“I left my hat and glasses here.” I snag my sunglasses and baseball cap from Mom’s table.
“I’m talking about your shorts,” she says, one hand on her Polynesian hip. “You can’t teach in those.”
I peer down at my favorite shorts, blue with large white tropical flowers. They dub as swim trunks, which makes them perfect for my daily activities.
“Ah, Tina. No one sees my pants. I could wear a lavalava and no one would be the wiser.” I tuck my hat under my arm—no sense in ruining my gelled hair yet. My students will see my head. “Online, remember? They see from the chest up. Besides, I’m teaching from the beach. I need my swim trunks.”
Mom smacks my shoulder. I see it coming. It’s one long, dramatic movement, but I let her make contact. If I dodge that hit, I’ll just be in store for a lecture, one I don’t have time for. If I don’t leave now, I’ll never make it to the beach on time.
“Did you wash my black pants?” I ask.
“Yes, son,” she says with fire in her blue eyes. “You are thirty-one years old with a house of your own, two hands, and working feet, but I washed your pants. Mea valea.”
I wrap one arm around her. “You’re not foolish, you’re the sweetest mother known to man.” I kiss her cheek. “In the dryer?”
“Folded and on your old bed.” She crosses her arms over her chest, covering the pink flamingo on her lavalava. “What do they matter? I thought you were teaching online. In your shorts!”
“Yeah, but I’ve got a meeting at the college afterward. Last one of the year.” I beam at her. Man, I love my job. I live at the beach, and my job allows for it. I get paid to sit on the sand—and teach English, of course.
“Do you have a date for Gracie’s wedding yet?”
“Ahh—no.” I haven’t even thought about going to my cousin’s wedding, let alone bringing a date. But of course, my mother has. Because I get this lecture on a regular basis. Bless that woman. But I’ve no desire to turn into my father—a married man who worked himself into leaving his family just to find a little freedom. I’ve got all the freedom I want—and my family.
“You have to have a date, Kal. You’re thirty-one,” she reminds me again. “It is unacceptable to come without a date.”
I escape this conversation, walking toward my old bedroom, the one Mom hasn’t changed a bit—because I am her favorite child.
She doesn’t follow me but that doesn’t mean I can’t hear her. The woman has a stalwart set of lungs and makes certain her voice travels all through the house. “You’ll never find a wife if you can’t even wash your own pants!”
I hurry back, pants in hand. If I’m late, I’ll never make it to Polihua. “I’m not looking for a wife,” I tell her for the hundredth time this week. “Or a date.”
“You’re going to send me to an early grave. You know that. Right?”
“Never,” I say, kissing her cheek. “You aren’t allowed to leave me.” I head outside, just as she calls—
“You can’t be a little boy forever, Kalani Jex!”
I slip on my sunglasses and peer back at her. “But I can sure try.”
6
Meg
