Bend Fly Run

Oahu: January 2019

Do you remember my parents, Jamie?

You must've seen them at the diner a hundred times. My father liked to wave from the kitchen as the chime rang above the door. Even as smoke and steam stung at his eyes, as orders piled high in tall stacks along the window. As chatter from the tables charged, he was always the first to say hello. Not out of duty or calculation or the small-town manners your lot found so charming and queer. He smiled because he wanted to. He asked about your boat or your deck or the health of your cousin because he was genuinely curious.

My mother would've been harder to spot. She was often in the back room running numbers or planning specials for the following week. If she appeared on the floor it was only to scold Roxanne for breaking uniform or snap her fingers at a daydreaming bus boy- forever the first to notice a freshly abandoned table in need of a clear. Some of the other waiters were afraid of her- sought my dad for every request. But despite her daily struggle with our collective ineptitude- she never caused a scene. She never wanted the diners to find reason to stare.

But you stared, didn't you?

I never asked what it felt like, to walk into their restaurant on so many mornings? To nod at my father and smile your greeting? To catch sight of my mother, her expression stiff as she searched for any infraction that might chase you and your friends to another door? Did it make you nervous to know who they were? How upset they would've been? Did you enjoy it? The secret glances, the grazes on my hip? Or did you not think about it at all? You bothered to learn about me- but were they worthy of your notice? Was I the only shadow you saw?

My brother proposed to a vacationer. My parents told me- my father, of course- as we carried a bookcase into my apartment last month.

"Nice girl," he said, dropping his end with a huff. "Very sweet. A bit of a surprise- didn't even know they were dating. Cam said he was afraid to upset us. You know how thick he can be."

I wiped a spot of dust from a shelf and stole a glance to my mother. She stood alone in the kitchen, her body turned, unpacking utensils as if triggers to a bomb.

"We'll have an engagement party next weekend- nothing fancy, just sandwiches and beer. Thought everyone could stop by at least- welcome her properly."

"You don't have to come," my mother interrupted, her words thrown with precision from across her shoulder. "When you arrive for Christmas you can meet her then."

"I don't have any plans next weekend. I can make the drive."

"Make it twice back-to-back? Nonsense."

"I want to."

"You don't have to. Cameron won't mind. And his girlfriend-"

"Fiancé," my father called.

"Fiancé."

"Zoey Ella," he winked. "Two first names."

"Zoey Ella," my mother's voice rose, "would understand. You're still getting settled into your new place. You have a big fancy job-"

"It's not fancy- you know that."

She set a spatula onto the counter, adding it to her line. "Regardless- your life is here."

I visited Walton just after Sydney. I brought with me a bag of stuffed souvenirs and an album bursting from its binding. My father lobbed questions at the flip of each page. My eldest nephew climbed over my lap to get a closer look. My brothers ran off after various children as their wives watched from the doorway- rocking small babies to warm, certain beats. Cam hollered at the shot of me surfing then rustled my hair as he leapt from the couch. But even as the group roamed away my mother said nothing. She sat silent, gaze unyielding, lips half-parted like she was back on that floor, hand to her chest, rooted in place.