She smiles, a blush coloring her cheeks as she says, “Actually, I loved it. I sucked at it, but I loved it.”
“You didn’t suck,” I laugh as I throw an arm around her shoulders. “You just need some more practice. And a board.”
“Oh no, I can’t—” Quinn starts.
“Relax,” I tell her. “We still do a non-custom range too and a couple second-hand ones, so don’t worry,” I add with a wink, just as Mom walks out of the back office. “Yo, Mama!” I shout.
Mom turns my way, a smile on her face as she makes her way over to us. I drop my arm from Quinn’s shoulders, pulling my mom into a hug as she clasps her hands on my cheeks and turns my head from side to side, just like she’s always done. “Kuu keiki,” she says with a smile. “And who do we have here?” she asks, turning to Quinn.
“Ma, this is Quinn. She just moved to Maui,” I say. “Quinn, my mama, Luna.”
My mom smiles at Quinn, holding her hands out as she takes Quinn’s in both of hers. “Aloha, Quinn. E komo mai. Welcome.”
“Nice to meet you,” Quinn replies.
“I’m just showing her around. Gave Quinn her first surf lesson this morning,” I explain to my mom, who has a smile I recognize on her face. It’s a smile of hope, that she somehow thinks this is all way more than what it is.
I wish it were, but it’s not, and I don’t want to tell her that.
It’s not like I bring other girls here. In fact, I never have. But my mom knows who I am, and she knows I’m not ready to put down roots just yet. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t wish for it every single day.
“I see,” Mom says, glancing at Dad, who just shrugs. “Well, best you show her around then.”
I lean in and kiss her cheek before grabbing Quinn’s hand again. “Come on. Come check out our wall of fame,” I say as I drag her over to the back wall, the space filled with photos of surfers on their Olsen boards.
“Recognize anyone?” I ask, gesturing to two recent additions.
Quinn leans in, looking at them both before she turns to me and says, “Alana and Flynn?”
“Yep,” I confirm with a nod. “That’s Alana surfing Maui Pipe. Her first pro comp and her first custom Olsen,” I tell her. “And that’s Flynn at the Masters on Oahu. His big comeback.”
“And his first Olsen board?” Quinn asks, still staring at the photos.
“Yeah,” I say with a laugh. “Although the dude’s got like four of them now. Loves them.”
“Wow, your dad must really like him?” Quinn says.
Chuckling, I say, “Well, he is a five-time world champion, so yeah, Dad will give him pretty much whatever he wants. Alana too.”
“He’s won five times?”
“He’s won a shitload more than five times,” I tell her. “He’s won five world championships. That’s like the culmination of a year each time. Dude is a fucking great surfer. They both are.”
Quinn blows out a breath as she turns back to the photos. “Remind me never to surf with those two,” she mutters as she moves down to the center of the wall and the large, framed photo that hangs in the middle. “Is this you?”
“Yep, that’s me, Miles, Dad and Grandpa,” I tell her, pointing to each of us. “Grandpa comes in every now and then, but he’s given up working here. Just wants to surf now, lazy shit.”
“Your grandfather still surfs?”
“Fuck yeah, he does,” I say with a laugh. “He’ll be surfing till he dies.”
“How old is he?” Quinn asks.
“Hmmm, I don’t know,” I say, turning to Dad. “Yo, Dad, how old is Grandpa?” I shout.
Dad laughs, shaking his head as he says, “Sixty-eight. Still kicks your ass out on the water too.”
I laugh, giving Dad a shaka as I turn back to Quinn. “He’s probably right. Grandpa’s kind of a legend.”
