“Ah yes,” Aunt Camellia said. “Jules won’t have a normal wedding, thank goodness.”

“It will be a glorious day,” my mother said, arms outstretched. “Glorious. I will wear my best hat.”

Her sisters nodded. I knew they were already sketching out their Jules’ Wedding Day Hats.

My sister, Jules, only eleven months younger than me, is getting married on the island this summer, right here at Rose Bloom Cottage. I adore Jules. We have always been best friends. The only problem is that she lives in Seattle and not here on the island.

“Who is ready for meditation?” Aunt Camellia asked about an hour later.

My mom and aunts were ready, and they started getting up.

“A little cold out there, isn’t it?” I asked. I eyed the chocolate cheesecake on the counter. I could definitely have two pieces. The sprinting I did that morning should cover it.

“Nonsense, Evie,” my mother said. “Come and relax. You’ve worked hard.”

“Cool air cleans out the negativity,” Aung Camellia said.

“Cool air means you can chill out,” Aunt Iris said. “After what you did this morning, you need some chill, girl. Here. Have a beer.”

I certainly did need some chill, but I don’t like beer.

They grabbed their yoga mats. I grabbed another slice of chocolate cheesecake. I knew they’d settle them on the slight rise above the ocean, then they’d strip naked, touch their fingers together over their crossed knees, close their eyes, and meditate.

They believe that outside naked meditation drives the negative away. At least Aunt Camellia does. My mother believes the wind on her skin makes her skin younger, and Aunt Iris believes beer tastes better naked.

I believe those three do many strange things. Sometimes they drink too much in town, and the police chief, Chief Allroy—a longtime friend of theirs along with his wife, Daneesha—brings them home. Sometimes they lead people in raucous songs in the town square. For Halloween they dress up as sexy witches and pass out candy. For Christmas they dress up like Mrs. Claus and hand out candy canes.

They are known for skinny-dipping and jumping off rocks into our two lakes, and they host San Orcanita’s Drag Racing Party at the end of the island, which is a popular annual event with a town potluck afterward. You have to dress in drag and drive a homemade go-cart. That annual drunken event happened two weeks ago. Only two people had to have stitches: eighty-year-old Marge, who flipped her car, and fourteen-year-old Keely, who crashed but won in her age group and was proud of the blood dripping down her face. She took a smiling selfie. The doctor was on hand and stitched them both up right there.

They also host and organize an annual boat race between the islands. Aunt Camellia usually wins.

To put it plainly: They do what they dang well want. All the time. And they invite everyone on the island to do it with them.

I love them.