We started weaving through stalls that were draped in batik shirts, shell necklaces, and fresh-cut coconuts with straws poking out the top. The air smelled like grilled pineapple and someone’s questionable fruit-based body spray.
Angus emerged from a nearby stall wearing a pink frangipani-print sarong and a string of plastic leis that made him look like a floral octopus. “I feel sexy,” he declared, doing a hip shimmy.
“You look like you lost a bet at a drag show in a bowling alley,” Rashida muttered.
Mr. Banks was already halfway through a banana fritter and negotiating the price of a wooden cane with a carved turtle handle. “This reminds me of the time I traded a pair of shoes and a deck chair for partial ownership of a ferry in the Philippines.”
“You’ve been to the Philippines?” I asked him.
“No. Have you?” he asked, genuinely interested. “The weather must be lovely this time of year.”
Cal leaned into me as we passed a rack of loud Hawaiian shirts. “I give it twenty minutes before someone tries to pick up a stray chicken and ask if we can keep it.”
Rashida was already diving into a stand of kaftans. “Alright, people. Focus. We need clothes that will help us feel at home here. Everyone needs at least one look for polite socializing and one for dancing under string lights with embarrassing enthusiasm.”
“What about one for passing out in the sand after drinking too much fermented fruit punch?” asked Mrs. Mulroney.
“If that’s on your agenda, just please make sure you’re wearing enough sunscreen,’” Rashida said, pulling out a ruffled linen shirt and holding it up against Angus for size. “Now try this on and stop dripping on the merchandise.”
I took Cal’s hand as we all continued on, passing a display shelf of pineapples wearing cheap sunglasses and a wall of floral prints so bright I started blinking back stars.
“So?” Rashida called after me and Cal. “How’d it go yesterday? You two were kinda quiet last night, in a happy-glow sort of way. I gave everyone strict instructions to give you both some space to process whatever happened, but I think it’s time to spill the tea.”
I turned back as the rest of the group closed in, drawn by the scent of gossip the way mosquitoes are drawn to ankles.
“It went… amazing.” I smiled. “Leilani is… I mean, she’s incredible. Warm, grounded, sincere. She said some things about family that really hit us.”
“She said carrying a baby was the greatest honor,” Cal added, glancing around like he couldn’t quite believe he was saying this out loud. “She spoke about her own family like… like they were the reason she breathed. It was just—quietly beautiful.”
“She sounds like a nun,” said Mrs. Mulroney. “In a good way. Not the terrifying kind I remember, with the clicky shoes and the ruler. Sister Philomena could make a child confess to sinsGodhadn’t even thought of.”
“She’s not a nun,” I said. “She’s smart, funny, confident. Very real.”
“I can’t wait to meet her,” said Angus, who had now somehow acquired a palm-thatched fan and a henna tattoo of a dolphin on his cheek.
Suddenly my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen.
As if she knew we’d been talking about her, Leilani’s name appeared along with a text that read—
Aloha! My family’s hosting a big luau tomorrow evening. We'd love for you both to come!
“Oh,” I said.
Cal looked over. “That’s from her?”
I nodded and held out the phone so he could read it. “They’re having a luau. She wants us there.”
“Wow,” Rashida said, peeking over my shoulder. “That’s not nothing.”
“I wanna go,” said Angus immediately, fanning himself with his palm contraption. “Should I wear a hula skirt? Do you think they’ll have fire dancers? Or a sacred chant where I find my true name?”
“We can’t all gate-crash,” I said.
“It’s not gate-crashing if you ask and they say yes,” Mr. Banks pointed out, licking leftover fritter off his fingers.
“I don’t know…” I looked around at the group—sweaty, sunstruck, chaotic, possibly cursed. “It’s kind of a big ask.”
“It’s a luau, Matt,” Rashida said, folding her arms. “It’s literally designed to be a big family get-together. And like it or not, that’s what we are.”
