Page 41 of Hula Girl

“Well?”

Mama has been waiting for a reply while I’ve been lost in lamenting what will never be. I sit up straight in my kitchen table chair. “I am excited to get back to work,” I say, but my attempt at normalcy falls flat even to my ears.

Mama looks at me with her famous all-knowing expression.

“Okay,” I say, quickly dropping all pretense. I can never keep from telling Mama everything. It’s how we both survived after my dad passed away. We’d talk about everything we were feeling, fearing, and hoping. “I met a guy over there and he was just so … perfect.”

“Perfect, but …?”

I sigh, continuing to channel my teenage self. “He’s perfect in the context of where he is, you know what I mean?”

She laughs. “No, not exactly.”

“It was a vacation fling. It was fun and romantic and … not real. He’s a surfer and a music teacher. He lives in this little shack right on the beach with hardly any possessions. He doesn’t even have a proper phone.”

“But he makes you happy?”

“He did. But it’s hopeless. Maybe that’s why it was so easy to give in to the moment,” I muse.

“What do you mean?”

“You remember how Bryce told me I’m basically incapable of letting people in? That I’m to blame for him not knowing me.”

“Oh, I remember,” Mama says with a look of annoyance she doesn’t try to hide. She had never cared for him and that final Christmas night was proof to her that her instincts were right.

“I think there was some truth in that,” I admit. “No, really. I’ve been in self-protection mode ever since Papa passed. I don’t stop for anyone. I don’t let anyone in.”

Mama considers this brutal truth for a moment before nodding. “Yes, I’ve seen that. But I’ve also never seen you with someone who deserves all you have to offer. Maybe there’s a part of you who knows that, too, and that’s why you’ve kept your distance.”

“Could be.”

“But, this surfer? Did you feel differently with him?”

“I did. But that’s probably only because I knew all along that it was never going to last. So, that made it easier to let down my guard.”

“I suppose that’s possible.”

I nod, trying to convince myself that’s all it was.

“How exactly did you let down your guard?” Mama prods, obviously sensing I have more to say.

“I talked to him about Papa,” I say. “You know Inevertalk about him.”

“Only with people you feel safe with.”

“Wait, what does that mean?”

“Haven’t you spoken of him with your boss?”

I suck in a breath at that, remembering how I had confided in Randall about my father being a big baseball fan and that he had passed away. But that wasyearsago.

“Oh, Mama. How do you remember things like that?” I ask softly.

She strokes my hair back behind my ear in the same soothing way she’s done for as long as I can remember. “It’s just what a mother does,mija.”

I reach out and put my arms around her, giving her a big hug. She squeezes me in return and I feel a measure of relief, the ache in my chest lessening just a bit.

“Now,” she says as she pulls away, “una quesadilla?”

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