Taro swallows his last bite of pastry. “I’m talking to you now.”
I try to figure out what his intentions are. I don’t think he cares about Jamie—they used to be friends when they were kids, until he realized me and Jamie had way more in common. And by the crumbs he’s licking off his fingers, I don’t think he’s here to share his food with me.
I think, in his unbelievably off-putting way, he’s trying to “hang out.”
My brother has never known how to get anyone’s attention without being abrasive and blunt and loud. When we were kids, it was the only way he could get Mom to notice him—by demanding her attention. It’s something I will never be good at.
But maybe his abrasiveness is also his armor. He’s loud and thick-skinned. He offends before he can be offended. He laughs before his feelings get hurt.
He stops Mom before she can get to him by getting to everybody else first.
Taro looks around my room, taking in the abundance of art prints I’ve collected over the years and the shelves of “creepy clay things” against the wall. “You’re weird. Everyone thinks so.”
I cringe. The part of me that doesn’t believe him thinks he’s trying to get under my skin. But the part that does believe him is too scared to hear exactly who “everyone” is.
“You’re socially awkward,” I bite back.
He laughs again, and I’m grateful it doesn’t sound like Mom’s. “We’re all socially awkward. Mom made sure of that.”
I twist my mouth. I don’t understand how he can say something so sad and still look so happy. I know some people laugh to hide how they’re really feeling, but I don’t think Taro is hiding anything. I think he found a way to never let the sadness in. He’s strong that way. And part of me wishes he told me his secret a long time ago, but the other part of me understands why he couldn’t.
Because my brothers and I can’t all be strong. Somebody has to be on Mom’s target board—I think Taro would rather it was me than him.
When he leaves my room, I’m no longer thinking about Adam or trying to remember what my teacher told us about Of Mice and Men—I’m thinking about how my brothers and I have been pitted against one another since birth. We’re products of two parents who aren’t around—one physically, one emotionally. There’s not enough attention for all three of us—there’s not enough love to go around. We nurtured ourselves, by ourselves, and protected our hearts even from one another.
We were never going to be close. We were never going to really love one another.
We never stood a chance.
• • •
I paint three faceless people—one becomes the sky, one becomes the ocean, and one becomes the sun. They live apart for eternity because they don’t belong together.
CHAPTER TEN
Leah is the bald one. Emily is the one with giant lips.
People always say babies are beautiful, but I think they look like alien-turnip hybrids. In fact, they kind of resemble my clay sculptures.
Dad smiles at me with lots of teeth, and it makes his eyes disappear into his face. “Aren’t they tiny? I remember when you were this small. Just like a baby rabbit.”
I like the way Dad speaks. He likes to compare people to animals, and he always observes the world like it’s so new and exciting.
“They are really small,” I agree. The twins yawn at the same time. “Oh my God, did you see that? They’re in sync already.” They might not be beautiful, but they’re fascinating.
My little sisters. It feels so weird.
“Want to hold one of them?” Dad asks, already scooping one of them out of the white crib.
Bald Leah, I tell myself.
I hold out my arms. Dad adjusts them with his free arm and places one of my new sisters in my hold. It feels strange, like I’m not doing it right. I’m worried I’m going to drop her or break her or make her uncomfortable.
“How were you holding her with only one arm?” I say in a rushed, quiet voice.
Emily makes a little noise from the crib. She sounds like a baby pterodactyl.
Dad scoops her up too, and the two of us are swaying with little tiny people in our arms. He’s holding Emily, but he’s still smiling at me. He hasn’t forgotten me already. Not like how Mom would if something cute was in the house.
I still feel guilty about playing a part in ruining our family, but maybe Dad actually is happier now. In some twisted way, if he hadn’t found out about Uncle Max, he wouldn’t have these two little babies.
Maybe they are the silver lining. Maybe this means I can let go of some of the guilt.
“How’s Serena?” I ask before Dad reads into my expression.
“She’s good,” he says. “She’s with her mom, trying to get a little break.” He chuckles. “They aren’t always this quiet.”
I look down at Leah’s squashed little face. Okay, I can kind of see why people think they’re cute.
“We’d love to have you around more, you know,” Dad says seriously. “Serena really wants you guys to bond with the twins. We both do.”
I nod, but I don’t say anything. I’ve never truly bonded with Serena as a stepmother. Not because she isn’t nice, because she is—she always hand-makes birthday cards, and she even sent me an e-mail when she heard I was applying to Prism to tell me good luck. But it was never going to be easy to bond with the woman who replaced our family with a new one.
I might have ruined Mom and Dad, but she was the one who took him away.
Dad is quiet for a little while. We sway and listen to the twins breathe.
“Serena cares about you. She really does.” Dad’s eyes are glassy. He always gets emotional when he talks about his wife with me. Probably because he feels guilty about what happened, but also because I know he wishes we could be a family.
Mom would disown me if she thought I even remotely took anyone’s side but hers.
“How are you doing, though? Is your mom okay?” he asks.
I look up and see his concern. Because he knows. He knows, and he still left the three of us with her. I know I should probably hate him for leaving, but when I look at Dad, I don’t see someone I’m capable of hating.
Because Dad is like a rabbit too. He’s gentle and kind and he disappears too quickly, but it’s only because he’s scared. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone, but he doesn’t want to get hurt either.
I don’t know if that’s selfish or not, but I don’t hate him for it. Because I know, too.
Mom preys on the weak. He got out alive, which is what I’m trying to do.
I turn my eyes to my sister to keep them from watering. “I’m fine. Mom’s Mom, I guess.”
He nods, and I think he’s trying to think of more words to say, more words to explain himself.
So I try to change the subject, because I don’t want to waste the little time I get with Dad being upset. “Do they look like me when I was little?”
Dad smiles. “I think so. Except you had so much fluffy, dark hair, like a little wolf cub.”
I laugh, watching the twins scrunch their faces in unison. “I wonder if they’ll look less Asian than us.” I look up at Dad. “Remember when Taro, Shoji, and I used to fight about that?”
“I know it was tough for you guys. I wish my family had still been around. You guys missed out on getting to know that side,” he admits, and there’s a quiet sadness in his voice. His parents died before he ever met Mom. For a brief moment in time, Mom was all he had. Sometimes I wonder if she preferred it that way, when it was just the two of them and there were no children or relatives to share his attention with. I might not like spotlights, but Mom definitely does.
Dad’s the only person I know from the Japanese side of the family—the side I feel like I’m supposed to be connected to, even though I don’t know anything about it. Everyone expects me to be Asian, not white, because of the way I look. But I’m only half Japanese—I’m the same amount of Asian as I am white. Why doesn’t anyone ever call me half white? It’s
confusing. I wonder if it will always be confusing.
Maybe Dad’s family could’ve helped with that, if they were still alive. Maybe Dad could’ve helped with that too. But maybe there just wasn’t enough time.
Dad shrugs. “But at least the twins will have the three of you to learn from.”
I force a smile. I guess he doesn’t realize I don’t have anything to teach them.
The door opens from downstairs, and we listen for the slow, shuffling footsteps on the stairs. Serena appears in the hallway. She’s wearing yoga pants and a loose shirt, and her auburn hair is twisted up in a high bun. She has lively green eyes and freckles she never tries to hide with makeup. Mom calls her “very average-looking,” but I’ve always thought she was kind of pretty, especially for someone who doesn’t paint her face with layers of cosmetics.
Mom didn’t like me saying that. She always wears makeup.
“Hi, Kiko,” Serena chirps. Her smile is bright. “Looks like the girls are still asleep.”
Dad leans toward her and kisses her cheek. “We’ve got it all under control. Did you have a good time? You didn’t have to rush home so fast.”
She scrunches her nose. “It felt too weird to be away. Thought they might be missing me.” She looks at me. “And I wanted to catch you before you left. Any news on art school?”
God, she’s so nice. I don’t understand how she’d get together with a married man with three kids. It doesn’t make sense. “Not yet,” I tell her. “I’m still waiting to hear back.”
“I’m sure you’ll get in. I don’t know anyone as talented as you,” she gushes.
Yeah, so nice. It makes no sense at all.
“Thanks,” I say sheepishly.
“How about we take these two little bunnies downstairs, and you can tell us all about what you’re working on while we stuff our faces with cake?” Dad offers. “I’m starving, like a bear after winter.”
I try not to laugh too loud into Leah’s little ears.
Serena brings out a plate of carrot cake and banana bread. I eat one slice of each and wash it down with a can of cream soda. When it’s time to go home, I kiss my sisters for the first time and decide that they are the most beautiful little babies in the world. Dad reminds me to come over more often, and Serena reiterates that she wants to see me more.
I tell them I’ll try, even though I know Mom won’t like it.
I like their house. I like their family. I like how they make me feel like I’m a part of it.
I leave feeling happier than I have in a long time.
• • •
I draw a flower with eight petals, and each petal is a dancing woman.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The last time I saw Uncle Max was when he had shaved all his hair off and looked like an ex-convict. Now that his hair has grown back, he looks like an ordinary, middle-aged father. Except Uncle Max doesn’t have kids, and thank God for that.
He finishes his can of beer like he’s short on time. Mom passes him another one because she says he’s on “vacation.” He already told us he got fired from his job, but I guess Mom thinks vacation sounds better.
She’s punishing me for going to see Dad and the twins. She has to be. Why else would she invite him to dinner when he was just here?
“So what are you studying at college?” Uncle Max asks, smiling at Taro like they’re old pals. Uncle Max doesn’t look like Mom, except they have the same pointy nose.
“Journalism,” Taro says, stuffing his face with steak.
“Oh, that sounds cool,” Uncle Max says, flashing his teeth.
“I always hoped we’d have a dentist in the family,” Mom muses. “I read somewhere there’s going to be a shortage of them soon—you could open your own practice nearby. Live near home. Wouldn’t that be cool?” I’ll never understand Mom’s obsession with trying to get us to stay close to her. Maybe she’s afraid of being alone. Or maybe she likes the idea of being a family more than she likes actually being a family.
“I don’t want to be a dentist,” Taro says with disgust. “I don’t even like being in school.”
He pushes his food around with his fork. Taro’s not a dreamer like I am. He doesn’t have a great love the way I love art or Shoji loves reading. He’s getting a degree in journalism at the University of Nebraska not because it’s his passion, but because it was the only in-state college that offered him a scholarship.
Taro has always been smart, but he lacks motivation. He’s the person who aces all his tests but doesn’t turn in any homework. Maybe it has something to do with his armor—maybe the only way to protect his heart is to not care about anything.
“What are you going to do after you graduate?” Uncle Max asks.
“Probably get a job as a bartender and tell everyone how happy I am that I don’t have to clean people’s teeth for a living.” Taro snorts.
Mom ignores him. I could never get away with talking to her like that. She’d tell me how rude and ungrateful and jealous I was all at once. Maybe it’s because Taro has thicker skin than me. Maybe it’s too much effort for her to try to break through it. Maybe I’m an easier target.
“Well, I think Shoji is going to be my doctor. Aren’t you, Shoji?” Mom asks.
Shoji doesn’t look up from the manga he’s hiding under the table. I don’t blame him—his books are my paintings. They’re an escape.
And hiding the thing he loves most under a table works for him because he’s never cared about getting anyone’s approval. He doesn’t need to share his comics; he doesn’t need anyone to be interested in him. He has more raw confidence than I ever will.
I never learned how to hide my art from Mom. I’ve always wanted her to be a part of what makes me happy, and I don’t know how to turn that off.
Shoji does. Maybe that’s why he picked manga—because he knew the last thing Mom would ever want to do is look at Japanese comic books. His hobby was always his and his alone, and maybe it’s safer that way. Maybe knowing someone will never be interested is better than hoping one day they will be.
Uncle Max turns to me innocently. “What about you, Kiko? What are your plans?”
I shift in my chair, avoiding his eyes. I don’t want to talk to him about art. I don’t want to talk to him about anything.
“She wants to do something with her art,” Mom says without blinking. There’s a brief pause. “She went to go see the babies, you know.”
I have the sudden urge to stretch my spine, as if every part of my body feels cramped and constricted. I feel protective of my new sisters. I don’t want Mom to talk about them. Especially not to Uncle Max.
“I’ve seen a picture of them. They’re cute.” She raises her brow. “Except one of them does have your dad’s nose. Your grandma’s nose, I should say. Just like you.” Mom glances at me. It’s definitely not a compliment.
She’s talking about my wide, round Asian nose. The one she doesn’t have. The one that isn’t as pretty as hers.
Uncle Max laughs—like, really laughs—as if having my dad’s nose is the most hilarious thing he’s heard all day. “Don’t worry.” He winks. “They have surgery for that.” Suddenly Mom is laughing too.
Shoji shifts, turning his page roughly. He doesn’t make eye contact with me, but for some reason I get the feeling he’s worn out. Maybe from tae kwon do, or maybe from Mom. He never talks to me long enough to find out.
“You better eat some more steak before your brothers finish it all,” Mom warns me.
I blink at her. “I’m a vegetarian. I haven’t eaten meat in two years.”
“Why do you have to make everything so difficult?” Mom sighs like she’s tired. Like I make her tired. “I made this beautiful dinner, and you’re trying to ruin it with your negativity.”
Taro coughs loudly and stabs his fork in another piece of pink steak.
I breathe through my nose. Through my big, fat Asian nose that is good for dinner-table jokes.
“Did I tell you my girlfriend went to
art school?” Uncle Max asks after another gulp of beer.
Mom jolts her head back like this is the most exciting information she’s ever heard for the fifth time. “We almost sent Kiko to an art school when she was little, but it was so expensive.”
My head snaps to her in surprise. “What?”
She hums like what she just said isn’t a big deal at all.
But it’s a huge deal to me because it’s the first I’ve heard of it.
“When were you going to send me to art school?” I ask.
Taro snickers into his plate. Uncle Max drinks more beer. Shoji pretends none of us exist.
Mom sniffs. “It was after your second-grade teacher sent her daughter to that place near the lake. Do you remember? Your dad and I did the research and everything. We talked about it.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me that? How long did you consider it for?” I’m not trying to be annoying—I’m actually weirdly excited. Because art is my life. Everyone knows this. Mom especially knows this. But she has a way of pretending she doesn’t. I never thought she cared enough to consider sending me to art school. I just want to know the details. Because this might be the nicest thing I’ve ever found out my mother secretly almost did for me.
“I don’t know, Kiko. We googled it, okay? It was too expensive.” The corner of her mouth twitches in anticipation of what’s going to happen next.
And then, very quickly, I see the truth flash across her eyes because I know my mother very well.
WHAT I WANT TO SAY:
“So you didn’t almost send me to art school. You asked Dad to look up on the Internet how much it costs, probably to find out how a second-grade teacher could afford to send her own kid. And now you’re bringing it up because you think it will make you look like a good parent who tried to do nice things but only couldn’t because of the money.”
WHAT I ACTUALLY SAY:
“Oh. Okay.”
“Becky is really talented. She even plays the piano,” Uncle Max continues.
“I was always a very good pianist when I was younger. Remember all those recitals I had?” Mom asks.
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