Pablo and I walk along the line of trees, looking out at the clusters of families hanging out at the park. Children's laughter skips in the air and mixes with the sweet warmth of the sun rising early in the morning sky. The air is crisp and clean against our skin.

Spontaneity doesn't always grant enough time to truly soak in an experience, so our time together feels entirely too short for the years of friendship. Regardless of that fact, I've still enjoyed our time together. More importantly, he's done what he always does best taking my mind off things that make my heart ache.

"You never told me where you two wandered off to the other night," he says.

"Just some much-needed time to talk," I answer. Steam rises from the cup of coffee in my hand. "I really needed this."

The cup of coffee. The talks. The short trip to Seattle. Even though it flew past in a flash, it's already been more than enough, and now I know exactly what I'm going to do once we go home.

"I'm sorry you couldn't stay longer," he says. "Next time you're staying for two whole weeks. Or better yet, Darren and I are coming to see you."

The edge of the park comes into view. As the air warms with the rising sun, our days in Seattle are quickly reaching their end with only a few hours left ahead of us.

Pablo steps closer as he moves out of the way of a couple pushing a stroller. "What are you going to do when you get back?"

The flickering images in my head of how I imagine my plans coming to life appear like a movie, and Pablo would be great to test the screener and make sure I'm not doing something I'll regret later on. But another part of me thinks, maybe, this is something I need to keep to myself.

"I'll tell you all about it when I get back," I tell him instead. The reward will feel so much sweeter if I don't let anyone else's opinions affect my decisions, and I know Pablo won't mind. "I promise."

Pablo peeks at me from the side. On the edge of the horizon, the sun rises, and I know we'll have more of these moments again. "You always do."

When we run out of park to keep us entertained, we go to his car so he can drop me back off at the hotel. While we make our way over, I soak up the last bits of Seattle I have left before we leave. The Pacific Northwest is a beauty all of its own, and even though my time here has been limited, I already find myself agreeing with Emmie this is the best of it there is.

Pablo pulls the car up along the curb and puts it into the park, letting the engine idle. We stare at each other over the console for a few moments, waiting for the other to go first.

"Is this the part where one of us says something cheesy about goodbyes and the other person is obligated to repeat that Winnie the Pooh line?" I ask.

"No, this is where we tell the other person to not cry like a bitch."

I lean over the console and wrap my arms around his neck while he pulls me close. After embracing for a few moments, we pull back with glassy eyes, though neither of us let our tears fall.

"I love you." Gripping the door handle, I push it open and exit the car with a wave. "You know where to find me."

"Love you." He waves back to me. "Do what you gotta do, girl."

...

Emmie drops down onto the seat next to me with her Totoro doll in hand. It takes her a minute to get settled in and buckled up. As she turns to look at me with a tired smile on her face, I realize how ready I am to go home. It was a much-needed break, but one that must come to an end, and having her by my side brought me a lot of clarity. Clarity I know only she could have given to me.

"Are you ready?" she asks. The specificity of her question needs no clarification, as there's an endless ocean ahead of us full of possibilities.

"No," I nod, "but let's go."

As soon as the plane takes flight, my heart races the entire six-hour plane ride back to Hawai'i. Since it's a day flight, we're wide awake for this entire journey. It's hard to imagine getting a minute of sleep when my brain is on overdrive.

When our plane lands and we collect our bags from overhead and race out of the airport. Anthony is waiting for us by curbside pickup, and he wordlessly understands where I need him to take me. We drive to the house after dropping Emmie off at home where she whispers words of encouragement to me before departing.

Anthony lets the car idle and I exit the vehicle, leaving most of my bags in the car. He tells me he'll park and wait for Kaioh to pick him up so we have some alone time.

My dad is sitting at the kitchen table when I enter the house I call home, which I'll always call home. At the end of the day, it's my favorite kind of home because it's the one I know I'll always find him in. One day when he's gone and leaves it to Anthony and me, I'll make sure to treat it with as much love and respect as he's always given it.

His fingers flick through the photo album in his hands, full of pictures from a time when sentimental value outweighed the pain of remembering a past long gone. Most of the pictures he's looking at are from a time I don't remember since I was too young, but the woman in many of them is the mother that feels like a dream I've awoken from where I'm not sure if I'm remembering it correctly or just filling in the missing pieces with my own imagination.

"Your mother was the most beautiful person I ever knew," he says. The words are slow and thoughtful with less anger than before. Instead, the anger is replaced with a sadness that's beginning to slip away. "Then we had you and Anthony and I realized what true beauty was."

I slide the chair out opposite him. The cushion molds to my body, reminding me of where I've always belonged. "A little sappy for you, isn't it?"

He shakes his head. "Not enough. We don't love each other enough."

"Loving each other has never been the problem," I correct him. "We just don't always show it the way we probably want to."

"You're right." He nods. "You're always right."

This table we're sitting at has witnessed too many discussions like this in the past. Our repetitive nature comes out in full bloom on evenings like this, but I tell myself tonight is different because I feel different. The same person with a new understanding of what she wants out of life, and it all starts with him. After all he's given me—bad expectations and complicated talks and a love written in subtleties—the least I can do is make sure he gets what he wants out of life too.

"Where'd you go, Wailana? You've been gone a whole week."

"Seattle," I answer truthfully. No more hiding. No more beating around the bush. This man deserves every ounce of honesty I want from him in return. "When Zach took me back to my apartment after the protest, we had a moment and I got scared. I needed to get away."

"Seattle," he hums thoughtfully. "I guess Emmie was involved since she's been missing."

"I needed someone to help me think straight."

"And did she help you?"

More than I ever knew she could, but Emmie is right about running away from the wrong things, and this place is one of them. Instead of jumping in to help the way I should have, I left my brother here to fend for himself while taking care of our father. Even though I was doing what I thought was best for my health, there are certain battles worth sticking out. I think about how I know my father would have never left me.

"There are a lot of things we need to work on as a family," I tell him, "and making sure you get the help you need is one of them."

He flinches from the words, even though it's not the first time he's heard them, though that might be the part that scares him the most. My father is not a man that looks at himself in the mirror anymore and it has nothing to do with his physical appearance.

"We tried it before, remember?" he says. "It doesn't work. It never does."

"You can't think like that, Papa. You have to believe in yourself. Your children do. Your children love you and believe in you and know that you're gonna get better but this is only going to work if you open yourself up to the idea that you deserve this." I let the words hang in the air between us. "That you deserve the happiness you wish upon those you love."

My father stares back at me, afraid and ashamed, and I wish I knew how to take his pain away. If I could, I'd swallow it whole and let him hold all of the happiness in the world for both of us because he deserves it. He raised two children all on his own for most of our lives, and though we've both had our faults along the way and continue to grow every day, there's so much he should be proud of, if not for the very fact he's still sitting here today.

"She's never coming back, and even if she did, she doesn't deserve you," I tell him sternly, hoping for once that he'll listen to me. My father stares back with an unreadable expression, but I barrel on because it's all or nothing. "This heartache you've been nursing for the past twenty years has been too much. You need to move on. And I know it isn't easy but I promise life will be so much better. Tell me how many times you've told me in the past two years to stop letting myself feel down about what happened between Zach and me."

"Too many times," he whispers. "Too many."

"Then how do you think we've felt?" I ask, reaching forward and grasping his closed fists between my hands. "Do you know how much it breaks my heart to see you like this every day? Dad, I love you so much more than I'll ever be able to tell you and I'll be there for you for as long as you need me because I know you'd do the same—you have done the same—but please, please do this for yourself. Please remember that life was beautiful and will be once again when you let her go."

He shakes his head with a soft smile on his face and one tear slips down his left cheek. "You came here first, didn't you?"

"Of course. You're the most important to me. You always will be."

There are a lot of things that frighten a man like my father and even though it pains him to admit these things, he's never been afraid of it. He knows his weaknesses and has succumbed to them many times over the years, but I can see it in his eyes that he wants to do and be better.

More importantly, I see in his eyes that he recognizes how desperate I am to see these things from him. It doesn't matter how far I come personally; if all I see when I come home is the broken version of him, the good days won't last long.

"I want you to be happy again," I murmur, tightening my grip on his hands.

He turns his hands over so our fingers can intertwine. Through the callouses and scars etched into his skin, I can feel the years reaching out to hold me.

"I don't think I could ever forget her," he tells me.

I shake my head. "I don't expect you to. Regardless of where she is now, you two shared a love so deep you grew a family from it. And she once gave you happiness. We can be thankful for that."

He nods, reminding himself of this truth he's never been able to accept. "I've never been good at letting go."

"There's an art to letting go and holding on." I smile. "Keep the good memories. Forgive her and yourself for the bad ones. Move forward with your life. And it starts with this place."

I look around the house that somehow still has remnants of her existence. If my dad is ever going to accept that she's never coming back and be okay with that, this place needs a facelift. Remove those impurities, rebirth the shell of this man, and rediscover happiness together as a family.

"I believe in you," I tell him and lift his hand to my lips, pressing a kiss against his rough knuckles. "You're going to get through this. And I'll be here every step of the way."

"What did I do to ever deserve you, Wailana?"

As the tears finally fall freely from my eyes, I reply, "You gave me everything, Dad."