My alarm goes off far too early, much earlier than I’d prefer, but it’s our last day on St. Catalina Island, and there’s one thing I need to do that I haven’t done yet. I change into my bikini and grab a bar of surf wax off the living room table. Then I proceed to Dad’s board bag because I know there’s an unwaxed board hidden away at the bottom.
I retrieve it and use some elbow grease to make sure I haven’t lost my waxing touch. I haven’t surfed since last summer since Mom lives in a landlocked state, but every year, when I think I’ve lost my ability to pop up on a wave, I’m pleasantly surprised when I realize I haven’t lost the froth.
I think Dominic was right about surf genes. I just prefer that people not know. When you grow up surrounded by legends, people place expectations on you that are unrealistic. Being Glenn Anderson’s daughter doesn’t mean I’m destined to be a surfer, but it also doesn’t mean I can’t surf.
“I knew you’d give in,” Dad says, strolling into the living room. “Couldn’t leave the island without at least one surf with your dear old dad.”
The truth is, summers with Dad are about sneaking out and partying with locals. It’s about the tan lines and smell of chlorine. It’s about the smell of charcoal and watching fireflies. But it’s also about early morning sunrises, catching waves that he didn’t think I’d be brave enough to paddle into, and realizing that year after year, since I was five, I’m still the surf coach’s daughter who hasn’t lost her touch.
Surfing with Dad has always been just the two of us, so having a beautiful rich boy take my place in the lineup wasn’t exactly easy to accept. But Dad never coached me. With me, it was quality time. It wasn’t a job, which is probably a good thing because I much prefer him as my dad rather than a coach.
“You’re gonna have some competition in the lineup this morning,” Dad says, turning my attention to a messy-haired Dominic. “Kaia’s paddling out with us.”
Dominic eyes me the way I’ve eyed him all summer – a bit evil with a touch of arrogance. “So, you do surf,” he accuses me.
I shrug. “Every now and then,” I say. “I just figure if you’re going to win this Drenaline Surf sponsorship, you need all the coaching you can get.”
“Ohhhh,” he replies. “So is this a family business now? Anderson Surf Coaching? Father/daughter team of the year?”
If he wins this sponsorship, I definitely think we deserve team of the year. I may not have coached him on aerial maneuvers or how to ditch the fins, but I think I helped him learn to stand his ground and not give in, even when someone is determined to bring you down. Because if I’m honest, that’s exactly what I tried to do to him a few weeks ago.
“I think I could do this coaching thing,” I say, half-joking. “I mean, at some point, Willow Harper is going to need someone other than her brothers to teach her something. I’d be a great surrogate big sister.”
Dominic laughs. “Hey, I’m all for that. I think you’d be a great coach. It runs in the family. I mean, you’ve taught me a thing or two.”
I don’t dare say it in front of my dad, but Dominic has taught me a lot more.