23
Niuhi
Kulikuli
Hush; be quiet.
‘Ilima paused halfway through the door, sensing something wasn’t quite right, tilting her head as though listening to something faint and far away. She cut her eyes at me, then Uncle Kahana, then with a doggy shrug, trotted over and laid the bag at my feet.
“Thanks, ‘Ilima.”
I picked up the bag and set it on the table. Inside was a pair of wooden chopsticks, napkins, and a dog biscuit on top of a foil-wrapped paper plate. Peeling back a corner of the foil. I saw it was brimming with chicken katsu, sticky white rice, and potato-mac salad. I tossed the biscuit to ‘Ilima, lifted the plate out, and set it down on the table.
Food.
I snapped the chopsticks, separating them into two and sliding them back and forth to smooth out splinters. I was loading up
