Ethan guides us down the street as I think. We stop at another booth with some pretty clothes, all the colors deep and rich. The blues are bright like the ocean with slivers of green and some pinks. A pretty, flowing skirt catches my attention. The soft, light material slides over my fingers like liquid, sparking another memory.
“We went to a hula class that the resort we stayed at was hosting, and we wore skirts like this one,” I tell Ethan, lifting the skirt off the rack. I hold it up to my waist, remembering the bright pink and red skirt I’d worn as a kid. This one is similar, but instead of red, this one has purples in it, more like the one my mom wore.
“She wanted to do something fun with me, and I liked watching the dancers during the dinner we went to one night, so she signed us
