Waves of Us

epilogue

On the edge of Kaneohe under a thick layer of mist rests the souls of those who have passed on. Visions of the great red temple have appeared numerous times in my life, but never because I've come here for someone I've known. Cemeteries or memorials always seem so bleak in theory. Then I come to a place like the Valley of the Temples and realize how calm and beautiful the end of a story can be.

After all, endings are rarely ever truly just an end. A spirit—of ourselves, our words, our impact—carries beyond our last breaths.

Water trickles down a small fountain near the end of the pond. The koi fish swim in circles, drawing my eyes with each move. When a gentle breeze caresses the side of my face, causing a few strands of hair to brush past my eyes, I slide them back behind my ear. My movements catch the eyes of my companion who's been wandering around—not as a lost soul but one who seeks solace in the art of solitude. Emmie hardly treats herself to being alone, as she tends to thrive when surrounded by those she loves, but a moment of quiet contemplation can grant anyone the clarity they seek from within themselves.

With a bundle of flowers in her hands, she smiles at me. Bidding my fish friends a fond farewell, I stand up, brush my palms off on my pants, and walk over to her. Without question, she clasps her hand in mine and pulls me along with her through the grass.

Weaving our way carefully across the grounds, we arrive at her father's resting place and her grip immediately tightens. I do my best to be reassuring, but it's hard to know exactly what to do. Sometimes being there is all we can do.

Emmie holds the flowers in her hand and lowers her head, eyes closing and lips moving as her words enter the stratosphere. Though I don't close my eyes, my head bows and my eyes skim over his name and headstone. It's weird to think that someone's life can be summed up into a small rectangle in the ground. I'm not sure I want to think about what mine would say.

As soon as she finishes her prayer, Emmie opens her eyes and steps forward so she can place her flowers in the holder. Bringing her fingers to her lips, she blows a kiss and sends it straight to him.

We walk hand-in-hand back to the parking lot in complete silence. There's a beauty in those moments that don't need words. The understanding that two people share a bond so close that a simple touch paints a feeling worth a thousand words.

I wonder if the silence feels the pain, forgiveness, and closure all at once. If the deep breath she takes before the plunge knows how hard it falls upon her chest. If it knows that my friend who's spent years running away from saying goodbye has finally learned that goodbyes are never just an end.

"Ready?" I ask.

Emmie nods, twisting the key in the engine until cold air blasts out of the vents. Even though the heat seems to have dissipated for today, some habits are hard to break and she pulls on a cardigan from the backseat instead of turning down the air conditioning.

Emmie navigates the car with the ease of someone who's traveling back along a familiar road to a house that was once a home but no longer is. I'm ashamed to admit that it's been longer than it should have been since I've gone to this restaurant Anthony and I used to spend days endlessly wandering—and by association, Emmie as well—but this was another casualty of Anthony spending more time at home.

We pull into the parking lot and while it's full, I don't see any familiar faces waiting outside. Emmie recognizes the disappointment on my face, but she nudges me out of the car and into the family-owned establishment.

The sign at the front is worn down, with the corners of the paper curling in on itself, and directs us to choose any seat we want. Emmie and I pick one off to the side, and soon after, Kanani Kahananui appears through the double doors balancing a tray full of plates on one hand.

While she disperses the dishes, a smile rests upon her face I can only ever recognize coming from another kanaka. And as easily as she lights up the entire table she's serving until they're roaring laughter, she spots us and saunters over.

"Sis, it's literally been more than eight years and you finally show up again?" she clicks her tongue once she's leaning a hip against the table, the corner of her lips upturned into a smirk.

I smile guiltily at her. "Distance makes the heart grow fonder?"

"Bullshit," she scoffs, sliding the menus out of our hands and placing them back into the holder. "I want to see you around here more. Mama and Hoku miss you too. Anthony says you're all going out again."

If there's anyone my brother will admit family secrets to, it's his best friend Kanani, so I know she knows more than she's letting on.

"Pinky promise," I say, holding my hand out.

Kanani grabs it right away, mumbling under her breath about our old favorite meals we'd order from here. Before she disappears once again to drop our orders off at the kitchen, she slides Emmie a quick hello as well.

Emmie looks at me with a grin as Kanani turns and marches back to the double doors.

"So, do you think she's coming?" I ask.

She looks down at her phone, but there aren't any new messages.

"I told her no hard feelings if she can't make it," Emmie says casually, though the timbre of her voice betrays her.

"And what if she doesn't?" The question weighs on both of us.

She looks at her phone one last time before tucking it away like a wish she's saving for another star.

"I guess we keep waiting." She pauses. "I think she'll come around eventually. And we'll all look back on that day and laugh about it."

My fingers slide across the smooth, glossy surface of the table, cresting upwards and back down. "Must feel awkward. I wouldn't put it past her to have outgrown this place."

Emmie opens her mouth to scold me for giving in to the less-than optimistic thoughts, but her eyes shift right and anchor onto something that catches her attention.

My heart patters in my chest. Though I was as prepared as I could be to finally accept that maybe this friendship would remain an unfortunate casualty of past mistakes, the way a smile spreads across Emmie's face makes me realize that hope can be such a flimsy thing, but when it manifests into reality, few things can measure up to it. Three might be a crowd, but this one brings me more comfort than I'll ever be able to put into words.

It takes me a second to build up the courage to turn around, but eventually, I do. When my eyes connect with Jem's, I hold a breath. And when she smiles at me for the first time in years, I release it slowly but surely. Distance—in miles, in time, or within two hearts—matters little when we'll always share a home.