2019

When in doubt, I asked the Riveras if I could come over for dinner.

I didn't invite anyone else, and when I first brought it up, I asked Alex if she could make sure Nikau hadn't been invited either. As much as I loved my family and being around the alluring musician, I wanted to have time without anyone from my everyday life. The Riveras granted me some familiarity while being detached enough to allow that change of pace. The only downside was having to drive all the way out to Mililani to see them.

Not having to deal with atrocious traffic was a silver lining. When the roads were clear, I actually enjoyed going on a long drive. It allowed me to clear my head without any distractions—windows down, music blasting, complete isolation. I always knew it was a good drive when I got to my destination and realized how much I didn't want it to end.

"I hope you're ready for some kalbi," said Uncle Akamu as soon as he opened the door.

Gently shoving the containers of poke I had picked up on my way over into his chest, I stepped past, kicking off my slippers before heading inside the house. "Do you guys eat anything else?"

"Of course we do. We just don't cook it ourselves."

One of the Riveras' favorite pastimes was sitting out on their front porch, grilling and eating food almost directly off the heat. While I understood it wasn't always possible for families to eat every meal together, whether because of lifestyle or other outside forces, I thought that enjoying a meal together as a family was a lost art. Knowing that the three of them, despite the ways in which they were torn apart, physically and emotionally, came together often to appreciate something as simple as a good meal.

It was a wonder how relaxing it was to walk inside a home that didn't belong to me but made me feel just as much at ease, especially since it had been a long time since I felt completely myself at home. There were times when I never wanted to leave, and there were other times when I walked around, afraid I was about to run into a ghost. When even my own house scared me, the only places I felt safe were my room, a small corner of a space still otherwise tainted, or the ocean.

I breathed in the sweet scent of gardenias as Alex rounded the corner, wringing out her wet hair with a pale blue towel. She only had a pair of biker shorts on with a bra. Upon realizing I was there, she jumped and almost dropped the towel to the floor.

"Why does no one tell me when someone is at the door?" she shouted before running back down the hall to her old room.

Anthony strolled into the room, completely unbothered. "Like that would have made a difference."

When I was younger, I often compared the relationship I had with Kanani to the one between Alex and Anthony. Since we shared almost exactly the same age difference, the comparison came naturally. While I understood my observations were skewed due to having limited observations based on what they wanted to let us, I couldn't help but admire the way they operated as siblings. At times, my feelings could be described more as envy than admiration. It wasn't as if I thought Kanani and I didn't have a great relationship. We did. But we were different.

The biggest difference to me was how they argued. With us, we could get explosive. Not necessarily violent, but a lot of yelling, harsh words, and strong expressiveness. With the Rivera children, they operated in subtleties—stoic silences, looks of disappointment, and inner frustrations. I wasn't sure if there was a good or bad way of arguing, and I knew that neither pair of siblings was capable of acting the way the other did.

They also didn't necessarily show love the same way. While Kanani and I had no shortage of declarations of our love, that same subtlety with which they expressed their anger translated to their expressions of love as well. Instead of saying hey, I love you, they would buy the other dinner and watch their favorite movie together. Again, neither way was better nor worse than the other but I found the differences interesting.

Anthony sported a wild mop of wavy hair I knew would crunch from a healthy dose of sea salt and perfectly golden tan, so it was obvious he had recently spent time at the beach. "So, Nik is on his way here—"

"What—"

"I'm kidding." He laughed. "I just wanted to see the look on your face."

"You're such a little shit." I smacked his arm.

Uncle Akamu strolled past with a drive-by flick to the back of Anthony's head, earning a brisk disgruntled groan in return. "Eh, she's right. Don't even think about bothering them tonight."

Just like that, Anthony looked ten years old again. What I would have given to be ten years old again, and again, and again.

While Uncle went into the kitchen to finish whatever he had going on there, Anthony and I took our seats in the living room where Alex quickly joined us, this time wearing a t-shirt. It had the same floral print Lilo wore in Lilo & Stitch. (I made a mental note to ask where she had gotten it from.)

"I thought Nik was coming," Alex commented as she dropped down onto the sofa next to her brother.

He rolled his eyes. "I was joking about that."

"I just got war flashbacks," I deadpanned before changing the subject. "How's Zach?"

"What about Kaioh?" Anthony asked with faux outrage.

"You'll probably ditch us later to go talk to him on the phone outside and we'll hear your entire conversation."

Alex turned to me, ignoring him as if he wasn't even sitting there. "He's good. Said he went to Nik's show the other month but couldn't find you after he ran into this loser."

"Oh really?" While I had no intention of bringing him up tonight, it was inevitable. They were all aware of how much time Nikau and I had been spending together, and I didn't fault them for acknowledging it. At least they weren't being overtly nosey about it. "Sorry, I wasn't feeling good so I left early with Kaipo."

Neither of them looked as if they believed me. I still wasn't winning that Academy Award.

"Bummer," Alex said.

"Yeah. Huge bummer."

"Major bummer," Anthony contributed.

Uncle Akamu laughed from the kitchen.

"Not as much of a bummer as she is," Anthony added, looking at his sister. "You know. 'Cause you're a bum."

"Eat sh—"

"Eh." Uncle Akamu again.

She narrowed her eyes and flicked him off. "Poop."

"What are you five—"

"What are you five—"

I laughed and grabbed one of the throw pillows placing it over my stomach so I could rest my arms on top. "Uncle must be glad to not have to deal with this all the time."

"You'd think so," he said as he entered the room carrying a couple of plates. He handed one of them to me and the other to Alex. The latter was accompanied by a stack of zucchini while my kalbi and rice were plated alongside a dressed salad and some of the poke I brought. "But then the house is quiet for too long and I realize how much I miss it."

"Yeah, my mom doesn't say it but I know she's glad she doesn't have to worry about a quiet house." Even just the thought of my mom being alone in that house, burdened with the unbearable weight of her broken heart, dug a hole so deep in my chest that I knew I wouldn't be able to survive the real thing. Although there were a few reasons why we were all still home for now—cultural emphasis on family households and high costs of living—I was grateful for the built-in support system that came from being in the same house and found it hard to confront the idea of not having it anymore.

Uncle Akamu flashed me a sympathetic smile.

Being able to see the Riveras laugh as a family as we talked over dinner was pleasant. Even if I wasn't completely sure what the purpose was for coming here, or if I had something specific with which I wished to leave, seeing them like this after all they had been through as a family gave me hope that we would get here someday too.

Over the years, especially after my father had passed away, I re-examined myself beyond the roles I played as a daughter and sister. So much of my identity seemed tied to my family that losing part of it turned not just my life upside down but my own understanding of who I was. I was already a fragile and confused person even before he died; the after version of me had such a strong grip on everything I understood.

Their story wasn't quite the same, but it was the closest I had to relate to, so it came as no surprise I would seek them out in the wake of my uncertainty. Anthony and Alex's mother left when she was young, and I couldn't remember a thing about her myself. For a long time, she was a sore subject, so they didn't talk about her much either. The only two things I could assume were that she was beautiful, as her kids were, and that at one time or another, she must have had a heart of gold because I couldn't imagine Uncle Akamu starting a family with anyone that didn't. He was a good judge of character, even when he led with his heart.

Life had changed for them drastically after their mother left. Processing the feeling of abandonment shifted their perceptions of themselves at a young age. And yet, even if it took years and years, they eventually rediscovered themselves and became a stronger family unit.

That mattered, That was important. Even if we had different stories, and even if we were different people, I still looked at them and saw a possibility. A future that was desirable and attainable.

...

"Can I ask you a question?"

Uncle Akamu and Alex were both fast asleep in the living room, the former with his hands tied above his stomach, and the latter with her legs up on the armrest as she stretched across the length of the loveseat. Both with bellies as full as their hearts. The noticeable feeling of love fluttered through the air, and I drank it all in for as long as I could.

Anthony stood with his back facing me as he worked in front of the sink, washing all of the dishes, with which he had refused to let me help. Instead, I was made to sit and watch while he worked, which, normally, I wouldn't have been opposed to because, contrary to popular belief, washing dishes was never fun, even if it was a responsibility. But I still felt kind of bad just sitting there.

"Shoot."

"What was it like when you lost your mom?" I asked.

Anthony laughed. "You make it sound like she died."

"Does it not feel like she did sometimes? She left and never looked back."

"Maybe."

"So," I repeated, "what was it like?"

He didn't skip a beat, even though he didn't answer right away either. While Alex maintained that she couldn't remember much of her mother, if anything at all, Anthony was a few years older, which meant his experience was a bit different. He remembered more, even if he was still too young to process it in a way that made sense. How could he? Watching a parent walk out on him was traumatic, especially when, as a kid, he had no idea why. Learning the truth of what she did must have only confused him further. I knew it had for Alex. Her entire sense of worth and whether she was capable of loving someone as she loved Zach now was influenced by her parents' marriage.

"Do you want to know something specific?"

I shrugged. "Whatever you want."

Anthony waited until the water ran clear from his hands before turning around, leaning back with his hands resting on the edge of the counter. "It felt like a part of me was torn away that day, and I've never really found a way to get it back." He observed my reaction. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. I guess we just... never really talked about it. Especially after Dad died." I paused. "Did Kanani ever talk to you about it?" It wasn't a question I needed to ask because I was sure I knew the answer, but a little confirmation wouldn't hurt either, especially since I often found myself comparing the way I handled my grief to the way Kanani handled hers. While I couldn't definitively speak for anyone else, even if that person was my sister and the person whom I was closest to, my impression was that Kanani made a conscious effort to seek out help through the most difficult time of our lives, and that included finding solace in her best friend's guidance.

They had a lot going on over the years with Uncle Akamu, and we did as well, which meant we had gone through a long period where our families didn't see each other as much as we would have liked to. That also meant that, although I knew they would have helped me if I reached out, I hadn't because I didn't want to feel like a burden when they already had so many other things going on. And I wasn't as close to Anthony as Kanani was, so it added an unnecessary layer of guilt I knew only existed in my head. If I was being honest with myself, it wasn't as if I spent much time seeking out the kind of help I needed. Running away from my problems—literally and figuratively—only got me so far. Eventually, I needed to face them head on and I knew that. I dreaded it. I dreaded it so much I never stopped to confront it. Instead, I let the truth pass me by until I was left choking on its dust.

"Do you ever miss her?"

This time, he didn't need any time to respond. "All the time. But after a while, what little memories I had of her weren't enough to make up for everything else. So I think I miss the idea of her more than... well, the actual her. You know?"

"I guess."

He looked at me expectantly. "What's on your mind?"

I shook my head. "It's just... I'm just thinking."

"Just thinking, huh." Nothing got past Anthony. The unique superpower of being the eldest sibling. If I thought Alex cared about getting caught as a teenager—she never did—I would have felt bad for her. But then I remembered that, for as deceptively protective as Anthony was, he also trusted his sister enough to make mistakes and be there for her on the side when she needed him.

"You don't have to keep things bottled up," he said, his shoulders relaxing. "I get how tempting it is to lean into the idea that you can handle things on your own and eventually it'll get better. It gets better because you make the effort, even though making the effort hurts."

"Is that what you and Alex did?"

"Honestly?" He glanced to the right, casting a solemn but loving observation at his family who looked peaceful in their sleep. "No, not at first. It took all of us a long time to realize we needed to get out of our own heads and admit we needed help. Some of us took longer than others. But all of us lived with this weight for far longer than we should have and it did a lot of damage."

"But I don't... I don't know how to get the help I need if I can't even explain how I feel."

Anthony walked around the counter and sat on the stool next to me. "Can I let you in on a little secret? None of us know how we feel. And even for those of us who think we do, once we open up, we unearth things we didn't even realize about ourselves. But grief?" He exhaled. "It's not an equation you can solve or a pain you can ignore until it goes away. It's not linear either. It goes up when you don't want it to and slowly goes back down until you don't even realize it has shifted. It's kind of like when you get a sore throat all of sudden and you spend those few days chastising yourself because you feel like you took not having a sore throat for granted, right? And finding a way to not just survive but live with it... there's no time limit. Even if it's been eight years, the hurt is still valid. You're still valid. If tomorrow is the very first day where you start to heal, that's okay. You shouldn't feel bad about that."

"How do I make that first step?" First steps were the scariest—as babies learning how to walk, as teenagers becoming adults, as adults moving past what they thought adults were supposed to be when they were younger, but turned out to be something completely different.

Anthony smiled. "Maybe the first step is having a family dinner with your friends and asking them questions you haven't yet asked yourself."

"Do you..." I wasn't sure if this was a request I should make of him, but something in his eyes and the way he spoke gave me the confidence to keep speaking. "Do you think you could tell me a story about her? A good memory."

I needed proof that, despite whatever heartache brought us to where we both were today, through the different paths our lives had taken, it was possible to talk about someone who we lost and not have it destroy us time and time again. That our grief wasn't an anchor tied to every nerve ending in our body, waiting to make us sink at the slightest thought of breathing. 

I could learn to swim again.

"How about I'll trade you a story, yeah?"

"Yeah." I breathed. "Deal."