2011

[ LYANNA ]

Hey, are we still down for this week? Lmk.

[ LYANNA ]

Just checking if you're okay. Haven't heard in a while.

[ LYANNA ]

If you want me to drop off the oboe sometime this week, I can do that. Just lmk what time works best.

[ LYANNA ]

Here if you need me. Hope you're doing okay.

Guilt ate at me for ignoring, yet, another text from Lyanna about oboe lessons, but I didn't have any energy to go to them anymore, and because I had no spine, I couldn't tell her about it even after being upfront about how forgiving she was for canceling them. I knew I should have just asked my mom to give her a call to break the news, but even that felt like a burden since she was my dad's number one support system right now, and asking her to do anything took that resource away from him.

"What is that about?" Kanani peeked over at my screen before I tucked it away, out of sight.

It was a Sunday afternoon and Kanani and I were having our brains rewired while watching Black Swan as Leimomi worked on one of her school projects. She had her earphones in while she listened to music and sang along with it, which was a little distracting against the ominous backdrop of the Aronofsky flick, but I didn't mind. Ever since she began picking up singing more in the past year, we had all been gifted with her absentminded displays of talent, and it seemed like such a waste to put a stop to them once they started.

"Mind your business," I grunted.

In the universal language of siblings, that was practically an invitation to keep prying, so that was exactly what Kanani did. Not that she needed my permission. She did whatever she wanted. "Did you cancel your lessons?"

"No." It technically wasn't a lie. I hadn't canceled them yet.

"So, you're just ghosting them then."

"No." Okay, that was a lie. "Leave me alone."

Kanani scooted closer to me on the couch, and since I was already pressed up against the armrest, I had nowhere to go. "I'm pretty sure that was you ghosting your tutor."

"I'm pretty sure I just said to mind your business."

"Why aren't you going anymore?" she asked. "I know you stopped playing music at home."

Being called out on something that I should have known was painfully obvious but had convinced myself no one noticed because I refused to acknowledge that anyone cared about me enough to pay attention wasn't fun. The fact it hadn't crossed my mind once that she already knew I had stopped playing was a little hilarious in hindsight. There weren't many things Kanani and I were capable of keeping away from each other, as was the case with most sisters who were close in age.

"I've been busy."

Kanani laughed. "With what? You don't do any extracurriculars."

"I just am. Can you leave me alone?"

There were many times when I truly didn't mind Kanani giving me a little push to talk about things I avoided because it was often the only way I opened up. If it meant not letting grievances bubble beneath the surface, I could handle the pressure and come to appreciate it, even if I didn't realize it until much later.

There were also times when I didn't have it in me to care. And maybe that was when I needed it more, but energy wasn't something I could just pull out of thin air. Considering how bleak and emotionally draining the movie we were watching was, I was less inclined to talk about anything at the moment.

"Why don't you want to talk about it?"

"Can we just watch this movie?"

"Is it because of Dad?"

I stared at her. "Are you serious?"

Now, I couldn't quite tell if she was doing this for my good or because she wanted to push my buttons. I was inclined to point at the latter given how incessant she was being over something that wasn't a big deal. Who cared if I wasn't playing music anymore? Dad was battling cancer and it was taking a visible toll on him more and more each day. My interests were of zero importance when there were bigger problems in the world.

"I don't think it's a good idea to quit just 'cause Dad's going through what he is right now," she continued, completely unsolicited. "It probably makes him sad to see you act like this. And you know he knows."

One of the reasons why I hated talking about these kinds of things was the way "advice" was formed around it. If my behavior shifted, it was framed as something I was doing all of my own accord and not a reaction to something traumatic or a symptom of a much bigger issue.

I was acting like this, not this was a reaction to my dad possibly dying.

"I really don't know how many times you need to be told to mind your own business for it to stick, but please take me leaving the room as a sign to finally listen." I stood up and began walking toward the stairs. But as soon as I heard the sofa groan under Kanani's movement, I turned back around briefly. "And don't follow me. I'm not in the mood to talk to you right now."

"You're never in the mood to talk," Kanani scoffed.

I probably should have left it there since my perpetual migraine was wreaking havoc on my fragility, but since all of the frustration bottling up within me for the past however many years had been let loose like a broken dam, I didn't.

Crossing my arms, I narrowed my eyes in her direction. "Some of us don't need to listen to ourselves talk all the time, Kanani."

"Oh, here we go again." She slapped her legs before sitting up and spinning around to face me. "Just admit that you're too scared to talk about your feelings, even if it means worrying both Mom and Dad in the process. It'll make it easier for the rest of us."

"Have you considered that it's not my job to make things easier because I'm a fucking child and shouldn't feel guilty for feeling the way that I do about something nobody should have to go through?"

"Well, at least we can agree on one thing," she replied.

I nearly rolled my eyes. "And what is that?"

"That you're a child." Kanani stood up but kept the sofa between us. "It's one thing to crawl around the house like a sad puppy that's been kicked; it's another thing to not carry your weight with the responsibilities of the house and then get all pissy when someone tries to help you."

Angry tears pooled in my eyes, and I swiped them away before they toppled over. "What is there to do? Dad doesn't want our help. He actively refuses it."

"I'm not talking about Dad. I'm talking about shit like taking out the trash, washing the dishes, or, hell, just writing milk on the fridge when we run out of it. You don't do anything, Hoku, except act like you're the only one dealing with this shit. Wake up. You're not. So, maybe the next time someone volunteers to talk to you about shit, you might want to consider taking them up on it."

"I. Didn't. Ask. For. Your. Fucking. Help. Clearly, you don't really care or else you wouldn't be making this about what will make your life easier."

"I'm trying to—"

"Girls! Knock it off!" Mom trampled down the stairs with her hair up in a messy bun that she picked at with her fingers. It was her only day off this week since she picked up overtime shifts—both of my parents had—so she let herself sleep in. Frankly, it wasn't enough, and the darkening circles around her eyes only enhanced the exhaustion that weighed her down. At this point, I wasn't even sure if she had ever experienced an easygoing time at this job. "Papa is going to be home any minute now. He doesn't need to hear you all grumbling in the living room."

"We can take this into another room if that's better."

Mom released an exasperated sigh as she stared at Kanani. Leimomi, who had been an innocent bystander the entire time just working on her homework, tried her best to look as if she wasn't paying attention to any of us, but we all knew she heard everything. It would have been hard not to.

"I'm not dealing with this shit right now. Go clean up your room, Kanani. Your clothes are all over the floor."

It took her two seconds to disappear, but she made sure to brush past me on the way upstairs, knocking her shoulder hard enough against mine that I had to take a step back. For the sake of not escalating the argument further, I elected to ignore her and joined my mother in the kitchen instead.

"I thought Dad was supposed to have the day off."

"He picked up more shifts." She opened the fridge and rifled through the various leftover containers stacked on the top shelf.

"Why?" I asked. When she didn't answer, I asked again. "Why is he working more? Shouldn't he be resting?"

She scoffed. "You try telling your father that. He wants to work, so he's working."

"That can't be—" I stopped short when I realized how much my line of questioning reminded me of Kanani earlier. Clearly, Mom wasn't in the mood to talk about this, and I wasn't mature enough to grasp the full context of my father's decisions, so I had no right to question them, as much as it pained me to see him work himself to the bone when he had already lost so much of his energy and vitality. "I'm sorry."

My mom sighed. "What are you apologizing for?"

"For not doing enough. For not being enough." As much as I hated the way Kanani confronted me, and I didn't agree with everything she had said, I recognized that my help around the house had lessened in recent weeks, and it wasn't fair to anyone. Although actions mattered most, I felt it necessary to apologize to my mother, especially while seeing her in such an uncomfortable state, and maybe later, when I calmed myself down, I would apologize to my sister as well.

"You're always enough, baby," she reassured me, though her words came out soft, almost like a whisper.

"You deserve a better daughter."

At that, she turned around, ready to argue with me, yell at me, or, worse, agree with me, but the front door opened and my father walked in carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He told me once that it wasn't my responsibility to be a superhero. That it was his job to carry all the burdens, and as much as I appreciated it then, knowing that my father was there to catch me no matter how many times I fell, I knew now that I hated how he thought like that. Because if he could recognize that this wasn't something he needed to shoulder alone and that he could lean on his family more whenever he needed us, as well as give himself the break he required in order to heal, maybe then I wouldn't be so scared to look at my father now. Or maybe it wouldn't have mattered either way.

As the days dragged on, he lost a lot of his strength, and his weight began to slip off him until he had to have a lot of his clothes either taken in or new ones purchased. During those few trips to the mall, Leimomi had been the only ray of sunlight amidst an endless stream of clouds, bouncing around the stores in excitement over the prospect of getting to pick out clothes for our dad or to snag some things for herself as well. Because our parents enjoyed looking at her laugh so much, they gave in, even though I knew our finances weren't in the best place. It was all worth it if only to feed the illusion that we were happier on the surface than we really were underneath.

They didn't talk about what was discussed during his doctor's appointments, probably to save us from worrying about things we didn't understand. In the end, it only served to feed the voice inside my head that speculated about every little thing, wondering if his continuing lack of appetite was a sign that treatments were working or if they were a precursor to something else. When he first had to ask Kanani and me to help him carry in a box from the garage because he was too weak to do it himself, I nearly sobbed right there in front of him. The only reason I didn't was because Kanani snuck a glance at me right as he said it and grasped my hand behind our backs, keeping them out of view so our father couldn't see them shaking.

"Hey, Hoku," he exhaled as if walking up the porch was a high-power workout.

After returning his greeting, I trudged up to my room, afraid to admit that I didn't like who I saw standing in front of me, and how that made me hate the person that I was.