“Ugh. Yes.” I turned to Sunny, adding, “Please excuse my sister’s vulgarity. She doesn’t know how to act in front of decent company.”
“Bitch, don’t be ashamed of me,” Diya said, plating veggies and fish for us.
Kimo sighed. “It’s my sister’s doing. I take full responsibility.”
“It’s endearing,” Sunny said.
When he looked at me, I retorted, “If you ever call me that, I’ll end you.”
“I would never,” he said in all seriousness, and now I felt bad for even joking about it.
“No. Of course, you would never.”
He leaned toward me and whispered, “Smart-ass, yes.”
I pinched his side before he could elbow-block my attack.
Kimo plated the fish for Sunny first. “You’d said you liked fish, yeah?”
Sunny did his best to show the utmost appreciation. “Most people in Seattle do. Fresh salmon and all.”
“Ah, nah, brah. You don’t like fish? Here, give me that. I’ll make you something else. Everyone stop eating.”
“No, wait,” Sunny said, tugging the plate back from Kimo. “I like halibut. I like the fish that doesn’t taste fishy…if that makes sense.”
Kimo relinquished and grinned. “Ah, we good then. My cousin caught this yesterday. It’s ono…which is ono.”
We had a chuckle and I explained to Sunny, “Ono is the name of the fish but also means delicious. And it’s very mild. Doesn’t taste like fish.”
Sunny nodded, thanking Kimo, who added, “Bhanu doesn’t like fishy fish, either. She’s good with ono and mahi-mahi. But my cousin didn’t catch any mahi.”
“That’s good to know because I’ve seen mahi-mahi on menus,” Sunny said, driving a fork into his perfectly flaky fish after we’d all been plated.
He leaned down to take a bite. We watched with bated breath. He glanced at each of us, his mouth hanging open in front of his fork.
“Sorry!” Diya said, elbowing Kimo.
I went for the soy sauce when Kimo shot me a glare and said, “Don’t be salty like your sister.”
I scowled. “I’m your elder.”
“It’s perfectly seasoned. The greens have shoyu on them; don’t add more. Here, have some chili crisp.” He pushed a container of a semi-spicy condiment consisting of crushed, fried red chili and crunchy soybeans in chili oil.
I took it, the taste adding a depth of flavor that tasted a lot like the dried chilis my mom made at home, the ones she fried with each meal. Although those chilis were brown and spicy.
“What do you think?” Kimo asked Sunny, the cook eager to hear his thoughts.
Sunny’s brows hiked up with appreciation and he said, before taking one big bite after another, “My man, this is really good!”
Kimo beamed, nodding at Diya and at myself, as if anyone had been arguing against his culinary skills.
Sunny enjoyed everything and took heaping seconds. Kimo urged me to take more.
“I have to save room for these drinks,” I contested. The drinks would be filling in themselves, seeing that they were made from coconut cream with farm-fresh pineapple and dragon fruit.
“Tonight, my cousins are swimming for bugs, so maybe we’ll get a good lunch tomorrow?” Kimo mentioned around a bite.
“Bugs?” Sunny asked.
“Lobsters,” I explained.
“Yeah, we free-dive and usually catch a few, makes for good eats,” Kimo said.
Knowing how averse Sunny was to being in the ocean, I added, “At night.”
Sunny stilled. “Don’t start with me.”
I silenced a laugh, although, to be honest, being in the ocean at night, much less free-diving, was especially terrifying. Even Diya stressed out whenever Kimo went for night dives, because anything could happen in the water, especially in the dark. As she’d often vented, how would they find his body, much less save him? She, much like everyone else at this table, had absolutely no intention of dipping one toe into a dark ocean.
Dinner was a hit, per usual whenever Kimo cooked. “You pau?” he asked my sister.
Diya nodded, confirming she was done eating. All of our plates were empty and Kimo deftly took them out of our way.
My little sister entertained us with stories of tourists and work, of her experiences in wildlife preservation and supporting Kimo and his family in local protests to protect the land and its people.
As she spoke about all the great things she was doing, I leaned my elbows on the table and steepled my fingers, watching her with awe and admiration and such a deep sense of love. We were wholly two different people from the same womb, the same household, and yet so far apart. I was happy for her, and I was happy with my own life. Sure, there were ambitions and goals on the horizon, but I wasn’t miserable or envious of Diya. In a world where jealousy and hate ruled, this baseline was a huge win. I couldn’t see us being otherwise, ever.
Kimo leaned back in his chair, draping an arm over the back of Diya’s chair as she related another story of the feral cats on the property. He looked at her the way a king looked at his queen, powerfully loving, and I wished I could somehow covertly get a picture of this moment.
