“I like your tattoo.” I sip my coffee, complimentary with the tour, which Kai insisted on paying for. I resisted until I noticed Tanya had taken my wallet. Probably on purpose.

We’re on the patio off the coffee plantation’s tasting room, at a bistro table just big enough for the two of us. His hands are behind his head as he leans back in his chair, revealing the design on his bicep: a surfboard.

He glances at it, then grabs his coffee. “Thanks.”

“Can I see it up close?”

Cautiously, like he’s embarrassed, he scoots closer. “If you want.”

The surfboard has a vaguely tribal pattern, comprised of rhombuses and tropical flowers. Three letters are inked into the center.

“N-o-e?” I spell, and reach out to touch them. Kai tenses, but doesn’t stop me.

“Noe. My brother.”

“I thought it was just you and Luka.”

“It is.”

It takes me a minute to understand, but when I finally do, the realization hits me square in the chest. “Oh. I...I’m so sorry.”

The table wobbles as he rests his arm there again. He sips his coffee, eyes still cast downward, unfocused. “Thank you.”

I can tell he doesn’t want to talk about it, but it also seems rude to change the subject too quickly. “Can I ask...how?”

The scent of coffee, so calm and inviting the last hour, is overwhelming now, his silence amplifying it.

“He drowned,” he says. His voice is flat, the words stark.

“I didn’t do anything special.” Now I understand why he believed saving me wasn’t a big deal—or why he wanted to believe it, at least. That night wasn’t an amazing feat, in his eyes. It was a reminder.

“I’m sorry,” I say again. The sentiment feels meaningless, but I can’t help it coming out, anyway.

When I was a kid, my neighbor died in a motorcycle crash coming back from a high school football game. I remember his mother crying at our kitchen table long after I was supposed to be in bed. While I sat on the stairs and eavesdropped, Mom brewed coffee and tried to comfort her. It had been at least two months; being seven and not close to the guy, I’d already accepted this new reality and moved on. It was weird to learn other people hadn’t—or couldn’t.

She went from weeping to furious in a flash, snapping, “And everyone keeps saying they’re sorry for our loss. I just get mad at them, every time I hear it. It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t mean anything by now.”

“They don’t know what else to say,” my mom offered, refilling her water glass and coffee mug at the same time. She was a counselor at the high school, and had mastered the soft-but-strong approach: her voice was always easy and kind, but with a quiet authority to it. She just knew things.

Our neighbor sniffed and nodded, and I snuck back upstairs. I never forgot that night, and thought of it every time I ever told someone “I’m sorry” when they lost a person they loved. Sorry was useless. It couldn’t change anything. But I still understood why people said it: in the end, what else could you say?

Kai must know this, too, because he thanks me again, no offense taken. “It was a couple years ago, so....”

I wait. He doesn’t finish his sentence. I don’t know what he was about to say—“So I’m over it?” Definitely not. “So it is what it is?” “So there’s no point talking about it?”

The silence is unbearable. We were having such a great conversation, and I hate myself for ruining it. For all I know, I’ve ruined the entire date. If this is a date at all, of course.

We finish our coffee and head back to our bikes, chained to a post out front. He kneels and unlocks them. “Where to next?”

I’m surprised he doesn’t want to head back, but happy I haven’t driven him away. “Um...I’m not sure.”

“There’s some art galleries around here,” he says, not looking at me, but instead giving his kickstand undivided attention, “or we can pedal back to Kona and do something there.”

“We don’t have to do anything,” I offer, tentatively following as he pedals to the road. “I mean, I like just hanging out with you. We could ride around and talk, enjoy the scenery.”

For the first time in at least ten minutes, he glances at me. “Okay. If that’s what you want to do.”

We pedal in near-silence now, but at least mild conversation about the weather (sunny, unchanged) or the coffee tour (interesting, fragrant) is better than nothing.

After we’ve ridden at least a mile with this boring back-and-forth, I apologize yet again. “I didn’t mean to open a wound or anything. Bringing up your brother, back there.”

He slows down, the two of us taking up most of the road while I keep a friendly distance between us. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

“But now things feel weird.”

“That’s on me, not you.” He pushes his hand through his hair. “My family doesn’t talk about him. Like, at all. So it’s strange hearing someone say his name.”

“You don’t have to tell me about him,” I offer, “but...if you do want to, I’d like to know more.”

“About how he died?”

“No.” I steer my bike closer to his, arms brushing. “Unless that’s what you want to talk about. But I meant knowing more about him.”

Kai does a double take. I brace myself, sure the date’s about to come to a screeching halt.

Instead, though, he smiles. Faint, but there.

I haven’t talked about Noe in almost two years. I’ve mentioned him, always ignored; everyone else sidesteps him as easily as the hole in the porch we’ve never bothered fixing. But I still think about him, sometimes.

A lot, actually.

So when I start to tell Mollie about him, after we choose a grassy hill in the shade, shrouded in trees that block the sound from the road, I have a harder time thinking of what to say than I thought I would.

“Start with the easy stuff,” she says, lying on the grass beside me. “Was he younger than you, older?”

“Three years older.” My brain clears now that some words, any words, are out. “He loved surfing, too. He’s the one who taught me how.”

Her hand finds mine with a light touch, almost asking if she can hold it. I turn my palm up as an answer and close my fingers around hers.

“He was kind of the golden child. I mean, my parents never played favorites or anything, but everyone knew Noe was the reliable one. He watched out for me and Luka, got straight A’s. Whenever something went wrong, he’d make a joke, just some stupid comment, but it...it made us all feel better, you know?

“Like this one time, the sound system in the lounge just, like, blew up. Actual sparks and smoke. So here we had all these guests waiting on a party, and no music, except for this crappy little radio from the kitchen. Then Noe says, ‘Hang on a sec,’ goes home, and comes back with this karaoke machine we had as kids. He hooked it up to the only speaker we had left, and just started belting Celine Dion at the top of his lungs.”

Mollie laughs.

“He saved the whole evening,” I finish, and realize I’m smiling again. “And of course he acted like it was no big deal. That’s just the kind of guy he was.”

Her hand squeezes mine. “Sounds like he was really funny, too.”

“Yeah, he was. Guests loved him. And being as smart as he was—plus being the oldest—it just made sense that Dad was going to pass the business on to him. I don’t know if he ever sat us down and told us. It was just something we all knew.” I pause. “Dad had him in training basically his whole life.”

“That was probably hard on him.”

“Yeah. He was excited about the business, but you could tell it got to him, sometimes. He’d wake me up to go surfing really early or late, and I guess…that was his chance to get away from it all, for a little while.”

Mollie scoots closer to me. Her hair tickles my arm, but I don’t brush it away.

“You must miss him so much.”

My eyes sting. It’s the biggest surprise of today by far, topping even my conversation with Dad: that I can still cry at all.

“Yeah.” I swallow it back. Talking is one thing, but I refuse to cry in front of her. In front of anyone. Not for some macho reason—not even because it’s our first date, or whatever this is, and I’d feel awkward.

It’s because, in the end, I don’t deserve to cry over Noe.

We listen to the wind coming through the trees above us, like paper rustling. I don’t know what time it is, but the position of the sun puts us at early afternoon. Dad is probably taking his lunch break right now, or postponing it for a mountain of paperwork. The usual.

Or, more likely, he’s using the time he should be relaxing to clear out my room from top to bottom, like I never existed. Just like he did to Noe’s room.

“So with Noe gone,” Mollie says, “the business will go to you?”

“Yeah. Or it would have, until this morning.” Even though I’m lying down, I suddenly feel kind of dizzy. “Guess it’s all on Luka, now.”

“Does he want it?”

I shake my head. “He’s the class clown kind of kid—always goofing off, never taking things seriously. When we were younger, he ditched just about every shift he got until Dad gave up trying.”

I pause and think of this morning: Luka’s pressed shirt, perfectly spotless dress pants and shoes. Or the new ticker system he implemented. Or the fact that, ever since the resort opened, I’ve skipped at least a shift every week, while Luka hasn’t missed a single one unless he’s trading with me. Even a month ago, when he had a bad ear infection, he showed up. Right on time.

“But lately,” I add, “he’s kind of changed. Taking things more seriously, I mean.” I chew the inside of my cheek. “And I haven’t.”

“You don’t want to run it now, though. Right?”

“Yeah, but....” I sigh and put my free hand behind my head. “It is hard, walking away like I am. It feels like I’m breaking this huge family tradition.”

Mollie rolls over and props herself up on her elbow. “Sometimes you have to do what feels right for you. Not what everyone else tells you is right.”

“Real life is a little more complicated than that.” I look at her. Talk about complicated: here I am, revealing almost everything about myself to someone I’ve known only a few days. A girl who’s leaving in just a few more. I know it’s a waste of time and a bad idea, but I’m still doing it.

And I think I’m about to make things even worse.