The Vanderbeekers Make a Wish

by Karina Yan Glaser

  Hyacinth watched her sisters and Aunt Penny gather their things and get ready to go. She wasn’t excited to be left alone with the grandparents all day.

  “Grandma, want to come to the cat café with us?” Isa asked, as if reading Hyacinth’s thoughts.

  Jessie shot her sister dagger eyes, which Isa ignored.

  “No,” Grandma said.

  “Are you sure? The bakery is really cute. I think you would like it,” Isa said.

  “No,” Grandma repeated.

  “You haven’t seen it before, have you?” Laney asked as she fed Paganini cilantro. “You would love it. The cats are so cute!”

  “I do not want to go,” Grandma said, but this time she spoke with steel in her words.

  Isa raised her eyebrows at Grandma’s tone. Jessie shook her head, and they left with Aunt Penny for the bakery.

  Hyacinth tried to stay out of Grandma’s way as much as possible for the rest of the afternoon. While Oliver went down the street to play basketball with some of his friends, Hyacinth and Laney went upstairs to have tea with Miss Josie and then to visit Orlando and Mr. Beiderman. Laney brought Tuxedo to have a kitty playdate with Princess Cutie, but they purposely left George Washington at home because he got cranky when forced to leave the apartment. It was lovely and restful being with their brownstone family, and Hyacinth felt only slightly bad that they left Grandma and Grandpa alone all afternoon.

  To make things even better, Mama was closing the bakery early and coming home to make dinner. Oliver, Hyacinth, and Laney timed their return to the apartment for Mama, Isa, Jessie, and Aunt Penny’s arrival. Mama got to work making special food, since it had been such a crummy day: macaroni and cheese, a salad of fresh lettuce and ripe tomatoes, potato salad with lemon and mint, and bean soup. Aunt Penny, Jessie, and Hyacinth helped get dinner ready while Isa practiced downstairs and Grandma watched and criticized Mama’s food choices.

  “You eat so much cheese,” Grandma said, wrinkling her nose.

  “There’s no such thing as too much cheese,” Oliver said as he swiped a piece of grated cheddar off the cutting board.

  “I love cheese,” Laney said as she rode by on her bike. “It’s my favorite food.”

  “Too much is not good for you,” Grandma said.

  “Too much of anything isn’t good for you,” Jessie pointed out. “You can even get sick if you eat too much spinach.”

  “Paganini can’t eat a lot of spinach because it has ox-lights,” Laney called out from her bike.

  “You mean oxalates,” Jessie said.

  “It’s fine,” Mama said to Grandma. “The kids eat lots of different foods.”

  Grandma shook her head. “And the beans? So many beans?”

  Laney went by again on her bike. “I love beans! Mama gets them special from a farmer and they are delicious!”

  Hyacinth kept quiet, cutting the lettuce leaves to a more manageable size and gathering the salad toppings. She really hoped Grandma wouldn’t say anything to her.

  “Hyacinth, you need to slice those radishes thinner! Why are you putting crackers on top? Aren’t you going to shake up that dressing?” It was as if Grandma couldn’t help herself, and by the end of dinner prep, Hyacinth was feeling extra frazzled. Mama tried to intervene, but Grandma would not be silenced.

  Finally, the food was ready. Hyacinth made sure to take the seat farthest away from Grandma. Unfortunately, distance didn’t stop her. Grandma nagged Hyacinth to sit up straighter, to speak louder and more clearly, and to eat more vegetables and less potato salad and macaroni and cheese. The constant barrage made Hyacinth want to stop eating entirely and hide in her bedroom until Grandma went back to Ottenville.

  “Can we talk to Papa tonight?” Laney asked when Grandma took a breath between reprimands.

  “He doesn’t have any reception,” Mama said. “He had to walk to the gas station to use the landline there to call me about his canceled flight.”

  “I miss him so much,” Laney said, and she started to cry.

  Hyacinth put her arm around her sister.

  Grandma shook her head disapprovingly and turned back to Hyacinth. “I hope you’re not going to cry too.”

  “Mom,” Mama said, “be gentle.”

  “Be gentle?” Grandma said. “No, the kids do not need more ‘gentle’. You and Derek give them enough of that. They need more direction. They need to grow up and get good jobs. Not be bakers and musicians and basketball players.”

  There was a moment of dead silence, as if the brownstone was holding its breath.

  “They are doing just fine,” Mama said, her voice tight and thin.

  “We love that Mama is a baker,” Isa said.

  “We’re proud of her. She has her own business,” Jessie added.

  “She got reviewed by the New York Times,” Oliver said. “They called her cookies sublime.”

  “They are the most delicious things in the world,” Laney finished.

  “You gave up accounting for baking,” Grandma said to Mama, refusing to back down. “I still don’t understand it.”

  Mama looked sad and confused and disappointed all at once, and Hyacinth felt a hot burn begin in her belly. It felt as if it would turn into a raging fire if she didn’t let it out.

  “Stop it,” Hyacinth said, her voice louder than she intended. But it felt good to shout a little, as if her words had power and strength.

  Everyone froze and stared at Hyacinth.

  Hyacinth let her voice grow even louder. “Mama is amazing and the best cook and baker and her food is delicious! And Papa is the best papa in the world! And you are mean and you make us all feel bad about ourselves and you never have anything good to say about anyone. And you won’t go to Mama’s bakery, and I think it’s because you’re afraid to see that Mama is following her dream. And Oliver is great at basketball and he’s smart too, and Isa is the best violin player and is one day going to be the most famous violinist and tour all over Europe, and Jessie will study important science things and help the world be a better place, and I don’t know what Laney is going to do but she’s going to be amazing at whatever she does because she is the nicest person to ever live and gets along with everyone. So stop making us feel bad about ourselves and if you don’t have something nice to say, then don’t say anything at all!”

  There was a stunned silence at Hyacinth’s outburst. Grandma looked as if Hyacinth had just punched her, and Hyacinth instantly wished she could swallow up all those words and take them back.

  “I’m sorry, Grandma,” Hyacinth began, her voice quiet again.

  But Grandma shook her head, standing up so abruptly that her chair toppled backward and clattered to the floor. Then she rushed out of the brownstone, shutting the front door behind her with a finality that seemed to say she would never cross the Vanderbeeker threshold again.

  Twenty-Four

  Hyacinth didn’t know what to do. She had never lost her temper like that before, and she wanted the floor to open up underneath her so she could sink into the ground and disappear. She closed her eyes to avoid seeing the disappointed faces of her family.

  She felt the light pressure of a hand resting on her shoulder, and then another one, and then more. She lifted her head to see Mama, Isa, Jessie, Oliver, Laney, Aunt Penny, and Grandpa all surrounding her.

  “It’s okay, Hyacinth,” Mama said.

  “You did good,” Oliver said.

  “That was very brave of you to stick up for all of us,” Isa said.

  “I should have said those words to her a long time ago,” Mama said.

  “Me too,” Grandpa said.

  Everyone looked at Grandpa. There was a long pause before he spoke.

  “I’m sorry, Hyacinth,” Grandpa finally said. “Sometimes it’s easier to let things go than to confront them, and I got used to letting things go. I’m sorry.”

  “I need to say sorry to Grandma,” Hyacinth said. “I meant everything I said, but I shouldn’t have yelled at her.”

 
; “I can go with you,” Mama said. “If you want.”

  “I wonder where she went,” Laney said.

  Hyacinth thought for a minute. “I think I know.”

  * * *

  Hyacinth and Mama didn’t say much as they walked along the quiet streets. It was still bright outside, but even though it was a warm August evening, Hyacinth shivered. As they passed the brownstones on their street, she noticed lots of windows thrown open to let in the summer breeze. Hyacinth reached out to hold Mama’s hand.

  They turned north on Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Boulevard, walking by pharmacies closed for the night and bodegas still buzzing with customers buying submarine sandwiches for dinners or last-minute groceries. They turned right on 143rd Street and passed Central Harlem Animal Hospital. While it was closed, the lights were still on, and they could see Dr. Singh inside, talking to a patient holding a large bulldog in his arms.

  From the corner, Hyacinth could see a solitary person standing near the middle of 143rd Street. The person was looking at a building, the twinkle lights from the storefront illuminating her silhouette. When they were a few yards away, Mama released Hyacinth’s hand and Hyacinth walked by herself toward her grandmother.

  “Hi, Grandma,” Hyacinth said, turning so she was facing the Treehouse Bakery and Cat Café like Grandma was.

  When Grandma didn’t say anything, Hyacinth shifted uneasily. The shame of having yelled at her grandmother filled her mouth with a sour taste.

  Hyacinth swallowed. “I’m sorry for yelling.”

  There was such a long period of silence after Hyacinth’s apology that she wondered whether she should leave, but then Grandma spoke.

  “You’re right,” Grandma said, “about me being afraid. I was afraid that your mom was going to be unhappy like I was. I didn’t want her to wait on people and be on her feet for twelve hours every day. I didn’t want her to worry about money.”

  “Really?” Mama interjected from behind them.

  Hyacinth glanced back at Mama, then turned to Grandma. “You want Mama to be safe.”

  Grandma nodded. “Grandpa and I retired two weeks ago.”

  “You did what?” Mama said, but she pressed her lips together when both Hyacinth and Grandma turned to look at her.

  Grandma continued. “We’ve worked almost every day of our lives for fifty years. And now we have nothing to do but think about lost time. The lost time with your mom and the lost time with you. I thought if we spent time together, I could fix everything. But I made it worse instead.”

  Hyacinth didn’t know what to say to that. She knew how difficult it was to change the way you were. “Last year Orlando helped me make new friends. It wasn’t easy.

  Grandma turned and looked at Hyacinth. “I think I have been hard on you because you remind me of myself when I was younger. I thought you needed to be stronger. But I was wrong about you. You are strong. You speak with a clear voice. You protect your family.”

  Hyacinth didn’t know how to respond. She had never thought of herself as a strong person, but Grandma’s words encouraged her.

  She searched for what to say. “We want to know you better, Grandma,” Hyacinth said.

  Tears filled Grandma’s eyes. “I watched you looking for information about your dad’s father all week. You were so determined to find out about him. And I have been here all along and have not given you a good reason to know me.”

  Hyacinth didn’t respond. Instead, she took Grandma’s hand and led her to Mama, joining their hands together. And they stood there, three generations of strong women, holding one another’s hands and forgiving one another under the darkening summer sky. Laney was already in bed when Hyacinth came home with Grandma and Mama. Isa and Jessie were sitting in bed with her because Laney didn’t want to go to sleep in an empty bedroom. And Oliver was in the bedroom because he was upset about Papa’s birthday party being canceled and wanted to complain about it where people could hear him.

  Hyacinth entered the bedroom, her face peaceful and happy.

  “Did you find her?” Jessie asked.

  Hyacinth nodded. “She was at the bakery.”

  Oliver whistled.

  “Did she like it?” Isa asked.

  Hyacinth nodded. “And we talked.”

  “I’m glad,” Jessie said. “That must have been really hard.”

  “It was,” Hyacinth acknowledged. “But I think things are going to get better.”

  “That’s so great, Hyacinth,” Isa said, sitting up and stretching. “That took a lot a courage.”

  “What a weird week,” Jessie said as she yawned.

  “Yeah,” Oliver said. “Good things and bad things, all mixed up together.”

  “I can’t believe Papa won’t be back for his party. Everyone was going to be there,” Jessie said.

  “No party and no present,” Isa said gloomily. “So much for celebrating Papa’s fortieth birthday.”

  Isa and Jessie got ready to go back to their bedroom, but Laney stopped them. “Let’s be together for a little bit.”

  Isa looked at Jessie, who shrugged. “Sure,” they said.

  “You too, Oliver?” Laney asked.

  Oliver nodded and settled back down on the carpet with Franz and Hyacinth. Isa took her phone out and put on the Bach cello suites, and they sat listening to the music, letting their minds rest from the stress of a long week. Laney was feeling drowsy and comfortable in her bed, surrounded by her blankets and stuffed animals and siblings and the lovely low notes of the cello, when she heard those familiar footsteps going down the hall. She sat up.

  Oliver looked at her. “What—”

  “Shh!”

  Laney waited until the footsteps descended and the door to the backyard opened and closed. “Come on,” Laney said, gesturing to her siblings.

  She crept down the stairs and past her sleeping mom and aunt. She led the way through the kitchen and to the back window. Grandpa was outside, and to Laney’s surprise, she also saw Grandma with him. Together they moved in the moonlight, their silhouettes strong and graceful.

  “Wow,” Isa breathed. “I didn’t know they could move like that.”

  “Come on,” Laney whispered, and she walked to the back door.

  “Maybe they want to be left alone,” Hyacinth said, hesitant.

  “No, Grandpa likes it when people join him,” Laney insisted, and she opened the door.

  Grandpa and Grandma didn’t notice them come out at first, but when the door closed with a quiet click, they turned their heads to see the five Vanderbeeker kids outside. They hesitated before continuing again, and everyone tried to copy their movements except Laney, who let her body move the way it wanted to.

  While Harlem slumbered, the yard behind the red brownstone on 141st Street pulsed with life and new beginnings. Isa, Jessie, Oliver, Hyacinth, and Laney danced under the big maple tree with their grandparents, beneath the charcoal sky, surrounded by the soft glow of New York City lights.

  Friday, August 8

  One Day Until Papa’s Birthday

  Twenty-Five

  The sun greeted the brownstone on 141st Street with a beautiful rise that transformed the sky into a canvas of gold and orange and pink. Unfortunately, none of the Vanderbeeker kids were awake to see it. They had all been up late, doing tai chi together in the backyard until one by one they collapsed on the grass and looked through the tree branches to see the sky. While they were staring up into the cosmos, something truly magical happened. For the first time in their lives, the Vanderbeekers heard some of Grandma’s stories.

  They heard how Grandma and Grandpa had left China and come to America as a newly married couple, and how they worked long hours washing dishes and running the cash register at a nearby restaurant, the same restaurant they had just retired from after forty-five years. They learned how hard it had been for them to communicate and how they had gone to English class every morning before work because they wanted to be able to speak English to the kids they hoped to have.

>   Then Grandpa had shared a story. On the day of their first wedding anniversary, they had to work at the restaurant. When their shift ended, Grandma and Grandpa put their aprons in the laundry, threw their hairnets away, and washed their hands. They were about to head out the back door to the parking lot when one of the cooks asked them to leave out the front because someone was hosing down the back entrance and it was all soapy and slippery.

  Grandma and Grandpa didn’t think much of it—that was not unusual—but when they stepped out into the dining area, they were surprised to see one of the tables set up with a white tablecloth, two candles, and a vase of roses. Two of their favorite servers, Emmanuel and Marta, led them to the fancy table and poured a bubbly pink soda into wineglasses, then served a special meal the chefs had prepared just for them. It wasn’t food they normally served at the restaurant. It was food Grandma and Grandpa loved and missed from the country they’d left: crispy rice noodles and stir-fried vegetables and dumplings packed with delicious spices swimming in a flavorful broth. For dessert, there were delicate egg tarts with centers as yellow as the sun and layers of flaky pastry holding it all together.

  When Grandpa finished telling that story, he looked at Grandma and said, “We should do that again.”

  And Grandma looked at Grandpa, smiled, and said, “That would be nice.”

  * * *

  It was nearly nine o’clock when the Vanderbeekers woke up on Friday morning. Isa blinked and her mind went instantly to the previous night. The events of the past week flooded into her memory, and she felt more connected to her extended family than ever before. Jessie stirred, and Isa looked over and thought about how she and her siblings carried the stories of so many people.

  They carried the stories of the brownstone, of Mama and Papa and of Mr. Jeet and Miss Josie and of Mr. Beiderman and Orlando.

  They also carried the stories of their grandparents, and of their grandparents’ grandparents.

  And they carried their own stories, which they were creating each day with each other in the cozy brownstone and in their neighborhood and country and world.