by Susan Tan
“I don’t know.” My dad sighed. “Ellen and I have talked about it. But I just don’t think they’ll agree to move.”
“Maybe a nurse.”
“Maybe,” he said. “I didn’t think we’d have to think about this just yet, you know? They’re so young. But maybe things will turn around.”
The conversation made me feel strange.
Sometimes I even forget that Ye Ye’s their dad, the one who carried them around, and bounced them when they cried, and helped them with their math homework.
It’s a funny thing to remember.
And it was scary to hear them talk this way.
So I decided to stop listening. Instead, I closed my eyes again, and tried to think of other, happier things. Of the Epic journey that would make everything better. Of having Auntie Eva there. Of all the helpful people around me: Ms. Clutter, the doctors and nurses, and Gwen, and Nai Nai, and my dad, and my mom, and even Batman. Who had stayed back at the hospital.
Because even in the face of Fuhstrations and Trials and all the Struggles of being a hero, it turns out that Batman and Gwen are also very Wise.
8
TAKE CARE
“Take care” is something my mom calls “a very Chinese” thing to say. It’s what Nai Nai and Ye Ye and their friends are ALWAYS telling us to do. Sometimes “take care, take care” means “you’re swinging too high!” or “the sidewalk is icy, don’t fall!” Or if you’re trying to walk on top of the monkey bars, it means “get down right now, Young Lady—you’re going to hurt yourself.” And when they say it when you’re taking a pan out of the oven it means “that’s hot, use a potholder,” and also maybe “let me do it.”
So even though there are lots of different ways it can be meant, it all comes down to the same idea. It means “be careful.” And even more than that, it means “I’ll take care of you.”
It seems simple.
But I’m learning that taking care is actually a really hard thing to do.
Which is strange to discover.
Ye Ye’s had SO many visitors recently. Lots of people come, and friends from Chinatown and the community center visit, and sit with him, and bring him soft foods (there’s TONS of tapioca pudding, which is excellent because I love it too, and Ye Ye is a great sharer). All around his walls are cards from friends, and his windowsill is always filled with flowers. And Auntie Stella and Uncle Gerard made friends with Ronnie and even bring him flowers, too. So their entire room is bright and beautiful.
Seeing all these things makes me happy. I’m glad Ye Ye has his friends, and that they can make him smile, and it’s great to see them and say hello.
But I also know that they can all speak to him in Chinese, and I can’t.
So really, they’re better at taking care of him than I am.
Ms. Paradise and Ms. Moody, and Mom and Dad, and my Nai Nai, Grandma, and Grandpa all keep saying things like “Do you want to talk about anything? Is there anything I can do to help?”
But the answer is “no,” because unless they have a magical orb that teaches you English when you touch it I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do.
Ye Ye hasn’t been upset since I saw him that day. He’s making progress, the doctors say. And lots of days, after school, I go to visit him. Some days I try to teach him vocabulary, and do charades, which he thinks are funny. But they haven’t worked quite yet. Plus it can be hard because we get interrupted a lot, by things like doctors and nurses and physical therapy and speech therapy.
But we’ve had fun times too. One day, I brought my tuba to the hospital to show him my progress. Gwen danced around and sang the Batman song, waving him in the air while I played. (I was playing the “Macarena,” not the Batman song, but she made it work.) And Ye Ye waved his arms around and danced, which made Essie laugh and giggle and drool on his sweater.
This weekend, I wasn’t planning on going to the hospital. I was sleeping over at my Grandma and Grandpa Jenkins’s house, and it was just me, which was nice, because even though I enjoy being an older sister (and am excellent at it), sometimes it’s nice to have your grandparents to yourself, and to be able to do what you want to do.
The timing was great, too, because I could ask Grandma Jenkins for teaching advice.
“Why?” she asked.
“No reason.” I shrugged. “I just want to know.”
Grandma Jenkins has been teaching college students for a long time. College is even older than middle school, so also scary. But happily, when my Epic’s done I’ll be so grown-up that I’ll be ready for that too, so I won’t have to worry. (I plan ahead like that.)
Grandma Jenkins had A LOT of tips that I’m filing away for later. Some Ye Ye already has down, like students needing to learn to take responsibility for themselves (he’s great at this). But she also said that students should have homework due on a regular basis, and get lots of feedback through things like grading, which is very helpful.
“So,” Grandma Jenkins said a little while later, as we mixed cookie batter, “how are you doing, Cilla? I know things have been tough with Ye Ye in the hospital.”
“Yeah,” I said with a sigh. “I’m okay.”
She gave me a sideways look.
“You know, Cilla, you never have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But it’s all right not to be okay. It’s also all right to tell people, and to ask for help, if you want it.”
“Hm,” I said. I was quiet for a few minutes. She was quiet too, and even though she kept looking over at me like she was wondering about something, she didn’t say anything else, which I appreciated. It was a lot to think about.
“I can’t wait for the cookies,” I said, after a few minutes. “If we have leftovers, can I take some home for Nai Nai?”
“Of course,” Grandma Jenkins said. “How is Rachel?” (This, by the way, is my Nai Nai, and it’s pretty Epic itself that she and Grandma Jenkins are on a First-Name Basis, which is a BIG DEAL for adults. See my first book for this story.)
“She’s okay—” I began. But then I stopped. Nai Nai says she’s okay. She’s always smiling when visitors are around. But she also looks tired a lot of the time. Like you can see all the worry she’s feeling.
“Well,” I said. “She says she’s okay. But she’s really tired, I think. Dad and Ye Ye keep trying to get her to spend some days at home, but she won’t. She goes in to sit with Ye Ye every day; she’s been at the hospital this whole time. If dad’s there, she’ll go out for a bit, but otherwise—Grandma?”
Grandma Jenkins had stopped mixing the batter.
“Change of plans, Cilla,” she said. “Get your grandfather—we’re going out.”
So all of a sudden we were at the hospital: me, Grandpa Jenkins, and Grandma Jenkins.
“Hello, Rachel,” Grandma Jenkins said, giving Nai Nai a big hug. “Hello, Lester,” she said, giving Ye Ye a hug in the chair where he was sitting.
“What a surprise!” Nai Nai said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Well,” Grandma Jenkins said, “I’m not staying long, and neither are you. We’re going out—you, me, and Cilla. Edgar will sit with Lester.”
“Oh,” Nai Nai said. “Well…”
Ye Ye took her hand and said something in Chinese. I knew that even though he didn’t completely understand what Grandma Jenkins had said, he agreed with her.
Nai Nai hesitated.
“We’ll have a grand ole time,” Grandpa Jenkins said, trying to help. “Why, we can order a pizza and watch the game!”
“Um, Ye Ye can’t have pizza,” I said. “Also he doesn’t watch sports.”
“Nonsense,” Grandpa Jenkins said. “If we can’t get pizza, chocolate cake! Can he eat that?”
“Uh,” Nai Nai said, but she was smiling now. “Not that either,” she said. She gave Ye Ye an affectionate pat. “He complains about it every day.”
“So does Grandpa Jenkins if he doesn’t get cake—” I said.
“Just like Edgar—” Grandma Jenk
ins said at the same time.
We giggled, because it was true.
“Well, that settles it,” Grandma Jenkins clapped her hands. “They’ll have a lot to talk about. Let’s go!”
I gave Ye Ye a hug, and Nai Nai gave him a kiss on the cheek, and he said something in Chinese that I knew meant “have a wonderful time.” And we pretended not to hear as Grandpa Jenkins whispered to Ronnie as we left, “What about chocolate pudding? He can have that, right?”
So that was how Grandma Jenkins, Nai Nai, and I went out for the afternoon.
We had cake at a fancy café, and Grandma Jenkins and Nai Nai talked about flowers and their gardens and told me stories about all the trouble they got into as kids (which was AMAZING to learn). Then we went to get our nails painted, which felt super fancy, and I’ve never done that before at a store, and Grandma Jenkins let me get neon green, which made me REALLY happy.
We got back to the hospital a few hours later. Just before we walked into the room, Grandma Jenkins took Nai Nai’s hand.
“You know, Rachel,” she said, “you have to take care of yourself.”
“I know,” Nai Nai said, squeezing Grandma Jenkins’s hand. “It’s just hard.”
“Of course,” Grandma Jenkins said. “Well, we’ll just have to visit more, to give you a break.”
“That would be wonderful,” Nai Nai said with a smile.
So hand in hand, they walked back in together.
* * *
“Wow, Grandma,” I said, as we got back in the car, to go home. “You’re very Wise.”
“Well, you don’t get to my age without being a little Wise, kid,” she said with a smile.
I smiled back, because I was VERY impressed. And it’s a reassuring thought, because I’ll at least have Wisdom someday.
* * *
That night, Grandma Jenkins cooked my favorite dinner. Grandpa Jenkins surprised us with chocolate cake and mint ice cream, my favorite dessert, from the bakery down the road.
After dinner, we sat together, quietly, all reading. I snuggled up with Grandma Jenkins on the couch, and Grandpa Jenkins sat in his special armchair. It was so nice to just spend time together, and to say “Golly!” when the mystery took a twist (Grandpa Jenkins) or “My heavens!” when an interesting fact came up in her history book (Grandma Jenkins), or to laugh and then read a paragraph aloud so everyone could enjoy it when the book got really funny (me). And Daisy spent the whole time curled up on my lap, sleeping and sometimes waking up to lick my nose, then going back to sleep.
And just then, as hard as things can sometimes be, it was nice to know we were all taking care, in the best ways we knew how.
9
MATURITY IS HARD, BUT COOKIES ARE GREAT
Getting older is complicated.
There are so many things to look out for, like people who say there are boys’ things and girls’ things (see: the tuba). Growing up also means that certain things feel harder. So, for example, it feels more complicated sometimes to have conversations now that we’re older.
When I was in first grade, Colleen and I had our first big fight. Later, we realized that we were both wrong, and we both said sorry, and we both said it’s okay, and then we hugged, and that was that.
But now that we’re older, I’m realizing that “I’m sorry” can be harder. In fact, it can be a pretty big Trial all its own.
Because Melissa didn’t do anything wrong. I did.
On Monday, I told Melissa I was sorry.
She smiled and said, “It’s okay.” But she hadn’t suggested we go and play in the field with our fairy houses since.
And I didn’t really know how to make it better.
If life were normal, the person I’d ask would be Ye Ye. It’s not that the rest of my family doesn’t give good advice (my Grandma Jenkins, as I’ve mentioned, is VERY Wise). But when it comes to school and my friends, Ye Ye’s the one who’s always really understood me. Plus, after my visit at their house, Grandma and Grandpa Jenkins went away for the week. So even if I’d wanted to ask them for advice, right now, I couldn’t.
On top of all that, everyone else is so busy. My dad is helping Nai Nai get the apartment ready for Ye Ye to come home, and when he’s not, he’s working and running around, saying things like, “Argh, why does Excel never work?” My mom has a lot of work projects too, and between Gwen and Essie, and my homework, and helping my dad with Ye Ye, I know they’re both busy. And I don’t want to worry them.
So I felt sort of on my own with this one.
But weirdly, I wasn’t on my own with another problem. An actually much worse problem, that also happened at the very beginning of the week.
We had just gotten out to recess, and Colleen ran ahead of us to tell Sasha that she wouldn’t be playing kickball today because Melissa had a new origami pattern to teach us.
Melissa and I found a place by the side of the school and waved to Colleen as she came jogging back to join us, through the shortcut between the field and the climbing structure, and the boys who always played there.
Just then, I remembered that, for some reason, she’d been avoiding the climbing structure.
And as she ran by, one of the boys there said something. His friends laughed.
Colleen’s expression changed, just for a moment, like she was upset. But then she froze. Her face was, all of a sudden, blank.
Melissa and I looked at each other and frowned.
“Colleen,” I said, as she reached us. “Is everything okay? What did he just say?”
“It’s nothing.” Colleen shrugged. “Let’s go play.”
“It didn’t look like nothing,” Melissa said. Which is a BIG statement for Melissa, because she’s like me, and we don’t like to disagree or fight with people.
“They just … they made fun of my hair,” Colleen said, touching one of her braids. “It doesn’t matter. This boy just said it was dirty, and, well … gross.”
“Colleen, that’s awful!” I said. Then, “Has this been happening a lot?”
She shrugged like it didn’t bother her, but I know Colleen, and I knew she was pretending.
“A few times,” she said. “It’s no big deal.”
“But … I think it’s a big deal,” Melissa said.
“Yeah,” I said. “I think so too.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Melissa asked.
Colleen crossed her arms. “I dunno,” she said. “He’s younger than us, so I figured I shouldn’t let it bother me. And I didn’t want people to think I was immature, or Silly, because I couldn’t take care of it on my own. We’re fifth graders, after all.”
I looked at my best friend. The person who’s there for me and who I’m supposed to be there for. But this whole time I’d had no idea that this was happening.
She’d been keeping all that inside her, and all because she’d thought she needed to deal with everything on her own.
Suddenly, it occurred to me that even though I think of Colleen as the strongest, bravest warrior, and someone who can defeat any dragon, she still has her own Quests, and Struggles, and Trials.
And I realized that, maybe, she didn’t have to go through those alone.
“You know, Colleen,” I said, “my Ye Ye says that when things like this happen, it’s their problem, not yours. But,” I went on, “I think it’s really actually and truly…”
At the same time we ALL said it, me, Melissa, and Colleen: “A Ms. Moody problem.”
“Also, maybe you should also talk to your mom,” Melissa said. “That’s what I do.”
“Yeah?” Colleen said.
“Yeah,” I said.
And even though I couldn’t talk to Ye Ye about this, and couldn’t ask him about it, I knew he’d have said yes too.
And I was really proud of Colleen when, that night, she told her mom and dad what had happened.
* * *
There were a lot of meetings after that. Colleen and her mom and dad met with Ms. Moody, and then Colleen and her parents an
d the boy and his parents met with Ms. Moody. And according to Colleen, his parents made him apologize A LOT.
“Are you okay?” I asked Colleen, the day after one of the meetings at recess.
“Yeah,” she sighed. “It’s just a lot.”
“It is a lot,” I said. “But I’m here if you need me.”
It was funny to actually be the one saying it, for once.
And to realize that I really and truly meant it.
There was nothing I could do for Colleen but to be there for her.
So I hoped she’d tell me if there was anything she wanted to talk about.
* * *
The next week was the week I’d been dreading all year long. It was the day of the middle school visit.
I knew there would be four seventh graders coming. I imagined a four-headed dragon stalking into our classroom, and I wondered if it would be an evil one, or the friendly kind that you share your snacks with and then it likes you, or, at least, decides not to eat you right away. In fact, I wondered if I could bring in cookies to appease them (it happens a lot in stories). But my mom said there was no time to bake, and the only other cookies we had at home were the gross ones my dad gets from the health store, and that wasn’t going to help get middle schoolers—or anyone—to like me.
So in the end, it was just me, no cookies, in class, sitting next to Colleen and Melissa and Alien-Face McGee.
We sat at our desks after math, and waited. The classroom felt hot and stuffy, and everyone was quiet, which is unusual.
The door opened.
I took a deep breath, and reminded myself to be Serious and not make up stories, or say anything that they’d think was Silly or Immature. Ms. Paradise said, “Come on in!” And I prepared for what was about to come—four students, or an evil four-headed lizard monster, or a friendly four-headed dragon, or—
“Hey, is that your sister?”
One of the middle schoolers pointed as they filed in, and another smiled and began to wave.