2011

Kanani could have picked a better time to bring Keali'i over to meet the family than for dinner.

Some weeks were better than others in regard to Dad's health. Not that the cancer had suddenly gone away in a matter of months, but the symptoms constantly changed. Some lessened while others worsened, and then the following week would be vice versa. Trying to make sense of something so senseless was futile, so maybe it wouldn't have mattered if she rescheduled it to another week. Our persistence to pretend as if we didn't have that annoying guest that wouldn't leave only allowed us so much ignorance.

Cancer didn't take a break just because we wanted to have dinner with Kanani's new boyfriend.

I wasn't sure how to describe the change in our household. It was so gradual that it was hard to make comparisons, yet the more I thought about it, the more I realized there was a distinct before and during.

Knowing there would be an after ate me up inside more than I let anyone else know because I had no idea what kind of after our lives would entail. After could mean being in remission and finally feeling like I had my dad back again. After could also mean something I didn't even want to entertain.

Preparation for Keali'i's arrival was a balance between making sure Dad was comfortable and in a good place mentally, as he had slowly started retreating from his social life once the first round of chemo treatments began, while getting the house presentable. Not that we were under any illusion it could ever belong in a home decor magazine. But that was part of the beauty of our home—it looked well lived in.

"You're sure you're feeling okay for this?" I asked him. Most days, there was a conscious effort to change the way I spoke. I had to appear strong for him and not let him hear just how scared I was that he could be taken away from me at any given moment, but that was easier said than done.

"Yeah." He smoothed a hand over my hair. "I'm okay, baby. I'm okay."

Dad lasted fifteen minutes before he excused himself. None of us could hear it from downstairs, but we knew he was throwing up. It happened a lot to him at night.

The worst part was that he didn't just not want help, he actively refused it whenever we tried to offer it. Even something as simple as one of us going upstairs to give him a bottle of water would result in him sending us back downstairs with the water in hand and a boatload of guilt for even suggesting it.

I understood it, to some extent, and I didn't want to blame him for feeling that way, nor did I want to act as if I understood what he was going through because I didn't, but I still hated it. I hated it even more when I realized it was likely to continue getting worse before it got better.

"Sorry," my mom said as she sat back down. "Bronson's stomach hasn't been the best because of the—"

"You don't have to explain," Keali'i quickly interrupted. "I hope he feels better soon."

"Thank you." She flashed him a warm smile, like a candle flickering through a storm. "How are classes going? Do you miss high school?"

"Oh, not in the slightest," Keali'i said, and he and Kanani both laughed. "High school was hell. I'm glad I'm out of there."

"Really?" Mom smiled. "Kanani loved high school. "She won't admit it but I know she misses it, especially since she has to go close to town now."

"It's far enough away," Kanani interjected. If there was one thing she wasn't going to do, it was to allow everyone to talk about her as if she wasn't right there. It was all in jest, but she controlled her own narrative.

"And what part of the island is your family from?" Mom asked, redirecting the conversation back to Keali'i.

"All over, to be honest, but mostly—"

It all muffled together into a low buzz as my thoughts began to wander. Keali'i was charming and my family fawned over him appropriately. While my outward appearance likely painted a different picture, I didn't disagree with their assessment of him. In the short amount of time I had known him—I had been granted special privileges of meeting him beforehand, as Kanani had claimed my approval was most important. I had no idea why—it was clear he was just... a good guy. Good guys were underrated. Good guys were hard to find.

For the past couple of months, my body had been working on autopilot, all of my thoughts consumed with the state of my father's health. I didn't understand how any of them could operate as if everything was normal. To me, it hadn't been, maybe even before my father's diagnosis, though for completely different reasons than my current uprooting. I knew what they were doing was likely considered the best way to go about their lives—we couldn't press pause just because someone else was sick—but I also knew that it was shit to operate under the idea that there was such a thing as right or wrong, even if that didn't stop me from thinking it anyway.

Because I did. Most nights, I lay awake, asking myself if pretending to be happy and normal was the right thing, and if my obvious sadness and confusion were the wrong things after all. Lying to save someone else's heart from breaking wasn't always terrible, was it? Playing pretend could be admirable to those who were paid millions to wear a mask in front of the entire world. I could play pretend like the rest of my family if I wanted to. I could. But I didn't want to.

"Hokulani?"

I snapped out of it. "Huh?"

The entire table stared back at me.

"Sorry, what?"

"I asked if you're pau already." Mom glanced down at my mostly untouched plate. Did Dad having cancer give me an excuse to stop eating too? "Did you want to go upstairs?"

"Yes."

"Okay." She nodded. "Go ahead."

"But Mom—" Kanani started.

"It's fine. I'll clean up her plate."

With the green light, I slammed on the accelerator and darted away without another word, feeling Kanani's eyes on my back the entire way. Since the view of the stairs and the hallway leading to the backdoor were both out of the line of sight from where everyone was sitting, no one was the wiser when I escaped onto the back porch instead of going up to my room. The closer I was to my father, the more I wanted to help him, and knowing I had nothing of value to offer besides my time and a broken heart wasn't helpful. Plus, I needed the fresh air. Being holed up in the house had begun to take a negative toll on me.

It wasn't just my personality that had flatlined. A person's room was often a direct reflection of what was going on in their mind, and mine had also taken a turn for the worse. Dishes had begun piling up, my bed went unmade for weeks on end, and my dirty laundry overflowed out of the basket until it had nearly taken over my entire bedroom floor. Clothes were worn without washing, only a spray of shitty perfume to mask the smell. I didn't want to think of the number of roaches I had to kill in the past week alone.

The only time my room got like that was when my depression got really bad.

I thought I was doing so well.

It was embarrassing. I wasn't the one with cancer. I had no excuse for why I was reacting the way that I was. And the worst part about it was that my family either didn't notice, which wasn't likely, or they thought pretending as if I hadn't changed was better for all of us.

Part of me would have rather been called out for wallowing in self-pity while my dad battled cancer. Maybe then I wouldn't feel so guilty about the pathetic thoughts bouncing around my head. Having evidence that everyone else was thinking the same thoughts about me would justify the way I hated myself.

Hating myself was easier than hating the world. It was nobody's fault that my father had cancer. Putting the blame on myself—for what, I had no idea—was easier in my eyes. In theory. That was what I told myself.

...

"What are you doing here?" Kaipo looked me up and down, taking in the way I was embarrassingly out of breath for the short distance I had run. "Aren't you supposed to be having dinner with Nani's new boyfriend?"

"I have to tell you something."

It wasn't all that difficult for someone like Kaipo to tell when I was being serious, so his demeanor shifted immediately upon processing the implication of my tone.

He scooted aside to allow me inside. Since it was dinner time, his parents could be heard from inside the kitchen. I was about to make my way over to greet them since that was the appropriate thing to do, but Kaipo pushed me aside and gestured for me to go upstairs. As I followed his commands, I listened in as he told his parents that I was there but we needed some time alone and could come back down later if they wanted.

Only once Kaipo had closed his bedroom door behind him did I allow myself to breathe.

"What's up?" he asked.

It took me a while to build up the courage to say what I wanted to say, even if it had only taken me three seconds to decide to come here after the idea first popped up in my head while standing on our back porch. Then again, I hadn't told him these past few months either. I hadn't told anyone. Dad's cancer had been buried deep inside me like some cursed buried treasure just waiting for some unfortunate soul to dig up and then wish they hadn't attempted it in the first place.

"My—um..." I stumble over my words, unable to decide if I would rather swallow them back until I choked or regurgitate them onto his carpet. "God, I hate this."

"Hate what?" He wasn't just concerned now. Kaipo was scared.

In the end, I told him. He was only the first person I had admitted it to, and I already found myself wishing I could take it back. But taking it back, pretending as if this truth wasn't an anchor tied to my ankle, wasn't going to change reality.

"Shit." He gasped and closed his eyes. "Hoku, I'm so—"

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," I cried, feeling tracks of moisture on my cheeks. It didn't register at first that I was crying. I just thought this is me, and this is my body, and this is a separate sensation that isn't connected to me. "I can't fix him. I can't do anything. Tell me what I'm supposed to do."

Kaipo caught me in his arms. He was good at that.

"I don't think there is anything you can do except... be there for him."

It wasn't the answer I wanted. But, then again, he'd probably tell me I hadn't asked him a question he ever wanted to answer.