Page 121 of Steel Beauty

“Come join me, Magnolia.” She pats the space beside her.

She holds out a bundle of dried leaves, her fingers demonstrating the first steps. “Have you ever woven anything before?”

I laugh as I settle beside her. “Not unless a few lopsided friendship bracelets from middle school count.”

Malie chuckles. “That’s a start. It just takes patience and practice. You’ll get the hang of it.”

Her steady confidence draws me in, and I mimic her movements, though my fingers fumble against the unfamiliar material. Meanwhile, her hands work with quiet grace, each fold and twist deliberate. Slowly, I begin to find a rhythm, my fingers moving a little more confidently.

“This mat is for Sela’s wedding next month.”

Sela. I’ve heard her name mentioned a few times—Alex’s cousin, vibrant and full of life, if his stories are anything to go by. She’s marrying the son of a high-ranking chief, a union steeped in Samoan tradition and significance.

Malie shifts closer, her hands steady as she guides mine. The dried leaves, pliable under her skilled touch, feel awkward in my fumbling grip. She adjusts a piece with the patience of someone who’s done this countless times.

“We make these mats for special moments—weddings, funerals, births,” she says, her hands never slowing. “They’re not just decorations; they carry a piece of the person who made them. A gift of yourself, something that lasts long after the moment has passed.”

I follow her hands, mimicking her movements. “A gift of yourself. I like that. Too often, people focus on things that don’t matter.”

Her smile warms, pride glimmering in her eyes. “It is. And it’s something we pass down, teaching each generation how to give of themselves.”

Her expression brightens, a playful edge creeping into her words. “My niece, Sela, is a fiery one. Mark my words, her poor husband’s going to have his hands full. But she’ll be a good wife. This mat will remind her of home and the family that stands behind her.”

“From what Alex has told me about Malietoa women, a fiery spirit seems to run in the family.”

“Oh, it absolutely does. The men think they’re in charge only because we let them believe it. Right, girls?”

Laughter ripples through the women, nodding and shaking their heads with knowing smiles.

There’s a quiet strength in the way the women move together—sharing glances, laughter, and unspoken understanding. Their camaraderie feels unshakable, like a bond that transcends words.

I glance down at the mat forming beneath my hands, a small smile tugging at my lips. There’s something about the Malietoa women—their fierce independence, balanced with deep roots in family and tradition—that draws me in. I want to learn from them, soak up everything they have to teach.

Malie’s hands still, and she stretches her fingers, flexing them as if seeking relief. “What about the women in your family, Magnolia? Do you have that same bond with them?”

My fingers falter for a moment before I recover. “My family is… different.”

“Different how?”

I keep my eyes fixed on the weaving, avoiding her gaze, keeping my emotions in check. “I’ve been in Australia for over two months, and I haven’t spoken to my mother once.”

Malie’s expression clouds with quiet sadness, but she doesn’t press.

“My mother’s not like you. She’s always been more focused on herself and the men in her life. That’s how she is.” I shrug, forcing a small smile. “But it’s okay. I’ve learned to live with it.”

Malie’s brow furrows, compassion etched into her expression. “It’s not okay, Magnolia. Not by any stretch. But despite it all, you’ve grown into someone remarkable. That kind of strength is all yours.”

Her words settle deep, wrapping around me like a balm. “Thank you.”

She smiles, her hands resuming their steady rhythm. “Family comes in all forms. Sometimes, it’s the one we’re born into, and sometimes, it’s the one we choose. You’ll always have a place here.”

I nod, swallowing against the unexpected lump in my throat. “That means more than I can say.”

She pats my hand gently, her smile warm and knowing. “If you ever need a mother’s ear, you know where to find me.”

It strikes me then how remarkable Malie is. Her grace, the quiet strength rooted in kindness and tradition, radiates in everything she does. She pours so much into her family, shaping them with a love that feels unshakable. Watching her now, I understand where Alex gets his quiet confidence and fierce loyalty. How lucky he is to have grown up with someone like her shaping his world.

I shift my focus back to my mat, determined not to let my thoughts wander too far. But my fingers fumble, and a few loose strands slip out of place. Malie glances over, her soft chuckle breaking the moment.

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