30. Magnolia Steel
Chapter 30
Magnolia Steel
The Malietoa family home hums with laughter and soft voices, a melody that blends with the natural rhythm of the place. The air carries a comforting warmth, its earthy scent—a mix of dried grass, coconut, and something rich yet unnameable—wrapping around me like an unspoken welcome. It feels like a world apart from anything I’ve known, yet there’s a strange comfort about it.
My gaze sweeps the room until I find Malie seated on the floor. Her hands move with practiced precision, weaving a large mat. When her eyes lift to mine, her smile radiates a warmth that instantly puts me at ease.
“Come join me, Magnolia.” She pats the space beside her.
She holds out a bundle of dried leaves, her fingers demonstrating the first steps. “Have you ever woven anything before?”
I laugh as I settle beside her. “Not unless a few lopsided friendship bracelets from middle school count.”
Malie chuckles. “That’s a start. It just takes patience and practice. You’ll get the hang of it.”
Her steady confidence draws me in, and I mimic her movements, though my fingers fumble against the unfamiliar material. Meanwhile, her hands work with quiet grace, each fold and twist deliberate. Slowly, I begin to find a rhythm, my fingers moving a little more confidently.
“This mat is for Sela’s wedding next month.”
Sela. I’ve heard her name mentioned a few times—Alex’s cousin, vibrant and full of life, if his stories are anything to go by. She’s marrying the son of a high-ranking chief, a union steeped in Samoan tradition and significance.
Malie shifts closer, her hands steady as she guides mine. The dried leaves, pliable under her skilled touch, feel awkward in my fumbling grip. She adjusts a piece with the patience of someone who’s done this countless times.
“We make these mats for special moments—weddings, funerals, births,” she says, her hands never slowing. “They’re not just decorations; they carry a piece of the person who made them. A gift of yourself, something that lasts long after the moment has passed.”
I follow her hands, mimicking her movements. “A gift of yourself. I like that. Too often, people focus on things that don’t matter.”
Her smile warms, pride glimmering in her eyes. “It is. And it’s something we pass down, teaching each generation how to give of themselves.”
Her expression brightens, a playful edge creeping into her words. “My niece, Sela, is a fiery one. Mark my words, her poor husband’s going to have his hands full. But she’ll be a good wife. This mat will remind her of home and the family that stands behind her.”
“From what Alex has told me about Malietoa women, a fiery spirit seems to run in the family.”
“Oh, it absolutely does. The men think they’re in charge only because we let them believe it. Right, girls?”
Laughter ripples through the women, nodding and shaking their heads with knowing smiles.
There’s a quiet strength in the way the women move together—sharing glances, laughter, and unspoken understanding. Their camaraderie feels unshakable, like a bond that transcends words.
I glance down at the mat forming beneath my hands, a small smile tugging at my lips. There’s something about the Malietoa women—their fierce independence, balanced with deep roots in family and tradition—that draws me in. I want to learn from them, soak up everything they have to teach.
Malie’s hands still, and she stretches her fingers, flexing them as if seeking relief. “What about the women in your family, Magnolia? Do you have that same bond with them?”
My fingers falter for a moment before I recover. “My family is… different.”
“Different how?”
I keep my eyes fixed on the weaving, avoiding her gaze, keeping my emotions in check. “I’ve been in Australia for over two months, and I haven’t spoken to my mother once.”
Malie’s expression clouds with quiet sadness, but she doesn’t press.
“My mother’s not like you. She’s always been more focused on herself and the men in her life. That’s how she is.” I shrug, forcing a small smile. “But it’s okay. I’ve learned to live with it.”
Malie’s brow furrows, compassion etched into her expression. “It’s not okay, Magnolia. Not by any stretch. But despite it all, you’ve grown into someone remarkable. That kind of strength is all yours.”
Her words settle deep, wrapping around me like a balm. “Thank you.”
She smiles, her hands resuming their steady rhythm. “Family comes in all forms. Sometimes, it’s the one we’re born into, and sometimes, it’s the one we choose. You’ll always have a place here.”
I nod, swallowing against the unexpected lump in my throat. “That means more than I can say.”
She pats my hand gently, her smile warm and knowing. “If you ever need a mother’s ear, you know where to find me.”
It strikes me then how remarkable Malie is. Her grace, the quiet strength rooted in kindness and tradition, radiates in everything she does. She pours so much into her family, shaping them with a love that feels unshakable. Watching her now, I understand where Alex gets his quiet confidence and fierce loyalty. How lucky he is to have grown up with someone like her shaping his world.
I shift my focus back to my mat, determined not to let my thoughts wander too far. But my fingers fumble, and a few loose strands slip out of place. Malie glances over, her soft chuckle breaking the moment.
“Not bad for a palagi.”
I pause, glancing up. “What’s a palagi?”
Her laugh deepens, humor sparkling in her eyes. “It’s what we call foreigners. Outsiders.” She reaches over, her practiced hands deftly fixing the strands I’d loosened.
“Good to know I have an official title here.”
“Oh, don’t worry about being called an outsider, dear. My beloved Alexander is a palagi too.”
I bet there’s a good story here. “How did you two meet?”
She sets her mat aside, settling in with a storyteller’s ease. “Let’s just say it wasn’t love at first sight—at least not for me.”
A playful glint shines in her eyes as she crosses her arms, drawing me into the moment.
“This is a good one, Magnolia. Picture this: I’d just arrived in Australia, full of wide-eyed excitement to see the world. I picked up a job waiting tables at a small restaurant to make ends meet. One night, in walks this serious-looking tall blond man. But here’s the twist,” she pauses, her voice brimming with mischief, “he was on a date.”
My eyes widen, and a grin tugs at my lips. “No way.”
“Oh yes,” she says, her laughter spilling out. “He was dressed to impress, doing his best to charm this lovely girl. But the moment he saw me? That poor woman didn’t stand a chance. He kept sneaking glances every time I walked by. She might as well have been invisible.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Did he manage to get your attention?”
Malie raises a teasing brow. “Oh, I noticed him. But I kept it professional—polite, charming, maybe a smile or two. Still, I felt his eyes on me every single time. When they left, I figured that was the end of it. But wouldn’t you know it? He came back and asked for my table.”
“Tell me he didn’t bring the girl back with him.”
Malie waves her hand, her laughter bubbling over. “Oh no. He came back alone after that. Sat there like a lost puppy, ordering everything on the menu as an excuse to keep sitting at my table. Eventually, he worked up the nerve to ask me out.”
Her laughter fills the room, and I picture a lovestruck young Mr. Sebring, trying to charm his way into her heart.
I shake my head, grinning. “He must’ve been thrilled when you said yes.”
“Oh, he was. He may be a palagi, but he loved me enough to learn about my culture, to understand what matters to me. That means more than any grand gesture.”
Her words settle over me, quiet but full of meaning. “That’s really beautiful. Thank you for sharing that.”
“Life has a way of surprising us, and love’s often one of those surprises. When it’s real, you know. But it isn’t a fixed thing. It grows. It changes. It’s never the same from one year to the next. No one tells you that, but it’s true.”
Her words take root, quiet but certain. “And you’d know. You’ve been married… how long now?”
“Thirty-four years. And I’d do it all over again—bumps, bruises, and all.”
Malie’s smile turns wistful, a warmth in her eyes that speaks of great love. She gives a small sigh, as if lost in a memory, before focusing back on me.
“I can see that you and Alex share something special. Don’t overthink it. Love is simpler than we make it out to be.” She winks, leaning in. “But don’t tell Aleki I said that. Let him sweat a little. It builds character.”
I laugh, glancing down at my mat as my fingers continue weaving. “I think he’s figuring me out more than I expected.”
“Good.” Malie pats my hand. “Let him. Don’t close yourself off. Life’s too short to spend it guarding yourself because you’re afraid of being hurt. Love isn’t about staying safe—it’s about taking the leap, knowing there might be a few bruises, but trusting it’ll be worth every scar.”
As we near the end of our weaving, Malie reaches over to adjust the corner of my mat, her skilled fingers smoothing the loose strands with ease. “This is good work, palagi.”
Pride swells in my chest. “Thank you for teaching me. I really enjoyed this.”
“You’re a quick learner. And you’ve got spirit—like us. Don’t ever lose that. No matter where life takes you.”
Her words carry a depth I can’t quite put into words. I look at her, feeling the sincerity of her kindness. She’s more than Alex’s mother—she’s a mentor, someone with the rare ability to recognize the walls I’ve built and the strength it takes to hold them in place.
I set my finished mat beside hers, the two works lying side by side. Malie meets my gaze, her expression full of understanding and encouragement. In that moment, something shifts—a sense of belonging, not just to this family, but to a part of myself I’m only beginning to discover.