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She was all stretched out before me—the mighty Pacific in all her glory. Crystal blue and sparkling in ways I had never seen her sparkle, I was like a lover seeing their long-time partner in a new light while watching them gracefully work the room at a party from a distance. She had never shined so bright. It took my breath away and, strangely—it felt like home. My fiancé, Brad, and I had planned a trip for Hawai’i to attend his brother’s wedding. I had never wanted to visit the islands; for what reason, I do not know. I love the food, I love Hawaiian people, I love the music, and I was practically raised in the ocean…I cannot rightly say why I was always so disinterested other than, like the grandmother of all hipsters, I just didn’t want to go because so many people did. Images of zinc-smeared midwesterners swimming through my head in their goofy t-shirts and souvenir hats, piling into the sea in droves with their boogie boards and water noodles, bumping into one another with their snorkeling masks in 2’ of water while dodging the occasional out-of-control surfboard nauseated me. “That’s just Waikiki, we won’t spend much time there. Give it a chance. I think you’ll like it,” urged my fiancé. Brad had never taken another woman to Hawai’i since living there with his ex-wife and son, Ryley, in his early twenties. The ex-wife had remarried well and returned to the islands. The son fell into a state of teen rebellion as the wealthy family he was not completely accepted into grew around him. When his mother threw him out, I told Brad we could take him, and it was decided that Ryley would fly home with us after the wedding. It is hard to remember how nervous you are while you stare out at an ocean like that, and there on the North Shore, I found a piece of myself I had never known was missing. I had found a home away from home. I found a place that seemed to somehow understand me. Beautiful Kailua Beach offered me her hand in support, and as we walked towards the tall blond teenager with the sheepish grin, I didn’t feel nearly as alien as I thought I might. In fact, I felt oddly in my element. “Hey, I’m Ryley.” “Hey, I’m Nicole.” “So, you’re gunna be my new stepmom, huh?” “Yeah, I guess so.” I notice kids jumping off of a large rock formation into the water further down the beach, in the direction Ryley had come from. “What’s up with that rock?” “Oh, that’s Jump Rock. Its pretty cool. Wanna try?” He tries to hide his visible surprise when I say yes. I’ve never had any kids of my own, and I don’t suppose to know how to relate to them, especially when they are going through a difficult time. The only thing I know about kids is that sometimes the best way to find your way with them is to remember what it is to be one. We swim out, climb up, and assess the situation. “How high up are we?” “Oh, about 20’. You ok?” “Yeah, I’m ok….water pretty deep?” “Yeah, but it’s still a good idea to wait for a swell.” “Ok.” I peek over the edge and gauge the distance. Everything feels right, the swell is rolling in. So I turn my back to the water, look down at my toes, bend my knees, and extend back into a big, floating backflip—the perfect jump for 20’—my favorite jump from one of my favorite heights. Of all the jumps I’ve ever done, I must admit, it was one of the prettiest. The last thing I hear before going in was the local boys screaming with glee, and first thing I saw upon surfacing was a blond teenager staring down at me from 20’ above, mouth agape. “MY NEW STEPMOM IS AWESOOOOMMMMEEE!!!” I laugh, and pause to take in the moment. This may be a leap into the unknown for both of us, but I think we’re going to be ok, Ryley. I think we’ll be ok.