“This is Rashida,” I said.
Rashida extended her hand with the elegance of someone who could depose a government during lunch. “I’m here for the food and the background checks. You’re holding steady so far.”
Leilani sighed with relief. “Whew! Let’s hope it stays that way. Tutu said if things go south tonight, I’ll be sleeping outside with the chickens.”
Next came Angus, who stepped forward like he was about to accept a lifetime achievement award.
“Angus Croft,” he introduced himself proudly. “Cal’s brother, Matt’s emotional support snack buddy, and soon to become the best uncle in the whole wide world. I’ve practiced holding a watermelon like a baby.”
Leilani grinned. “You’re gonna do great.”
“This is Mr. Banks,” I said, easing him forward.
He took her hand with grace and flair. “You must be the girl carrying the future. That’s no small task. My joints felt it coming.”
Leilani smiled gently. “I like him already. He’s got prophecy energy.”
And finally, I turned toward the hibiscus-crowned figure to our left. “And this is Mrs. Mulroney.”
Leilani opened her arms. “I’ve heard stories.”
“There’s lots more where they came from,” Mrs. Mulroney said, swaying slightly as she pulled her in—more for balance than affection. “But if anyone asks if they’re true, I’ll deny everything.”
“Noted.”
By the time Leilani stepped back, she looked thrilled.
“I love them,” she said to me and Cal. “This is going to besofun.”
“I give us thirty minutes before someone challenges one of your uncles to a dance-off,” I warned.
“That’s optimistic,” she replied. “They’ve already started stretching. Come on over. It’s my turn. I want you to meet everyone.”
She turned toward the firelight, and we followed—me gripping Cal’s hand like we were about to be shoved onto the stage of a talent show we hadn’t rehearsed for.
One by one Leilani led us around to meet her family.
A woman with silver hair sat on a bench weaving small tropical flowers into a crown for a toddler and looked up with a warm smile. “Aloha. It’s so lovely to meet you.”
A tall man draped flower leis over our necks and whispered, “Careful with the punch. It’s been banned from three weddings.”
Another waved toward the roasting pig and declared proudly, “It’s been slow-roasting since four a.m. I hope you’re hungry.”
A teenage girl with braces and a flower behind her ear offered us a tray of Spam musubi with such intense eye contact I took two out of fear and gratitude.
Behind her, an older man with thick eyebrows gave Cal a long handshake and said, “If you hurt her, we bury you inside the volcano.” He held the smile for just a second too long. “Deep, deep inside.”
Leilani laughed, her hand lightly resting on the man’s shoulder. “That’s Uncle Manu. He’s kidding.”
“No, I’m not.” Uncle Manu didn’t blink.
We quickly moved on.
A boy in board shorts zoomed past, shrieking, followed by a girl in a princess dress holding a garden hose and screaming, “I am the sea! Feel my power!”
I was still gripping Cal’s hand like a lifeline. He gave it a small squeeze, his thumb brushing mine. “You okay?”
“No,” I whispered. “But also yes. But also maybe.”
