Fish out of Water

by Natalie Whipple

  “Uh oh.” Her warm brown eyes fill with concern. It’s funny how the color is about the same as mine, and yet I always see hers as warm and mine as cold. Maybe it’s the difference in skin tone—I’m paler, like my dad. “I have a break in ten. I’ll meet you then, ’kay?”

  I nod.

  “Mom! Mika’s coming back!” she yells.

  “Okay!” I hear from behind the kitchen door, and then Shreya is off to tend tables.

  The kitchen air is hot and thick with curry. Her father and three older brothers work the line, and her mother stands at the pass making sure all the food goes out perfectly. She analyzes me when I sit at the table in the corner. Her long hair fights to escape the scarf she uses to cover it. “Let me guess … saag paneer.”

  I smile. “How did you know?”

  She holds up her hands. “It’s a gift. Or I’ve taken your curry order for years.”

  I laugh. She probably has my family’s favorites memorized.

  Shreya comes in just as her mom sets down my food. I grab the naan, warm and soft and the best of breads, and stuff my face. I’ve learned if I go for the curry first, I’ll burn my tongue and ruin the meal. As I spoon saag and rice onto my plate, everything feels better. It may look like green mush with white bits in it, but it’s magic. I take a bite, and the spice with the silky paneer cheese makes all the bad feelings go away.

  “Do I need to get you a room?” Shreya asks, one of her thick eyebrows arched.

  “Yes.” The food garbles the word, but I don’t care. “And The Princess Bride.”

  She laughs. “Did you break up with a secret boyfriend? It’s been a while since you had one.”

  “You speak as if I’m never single.”

  “I just thought you’d have found someone else by now. You broke up with Cyrus, what, two months ago?”

  I nod. It was right before Prom, since I didn’t want to complicate things with him going off to college anyway. “It wasn’t that long ago, though I gotta admit I really miss the kissing and—”

  Shreya plugs her ears. “I’m not listening!”

  “Fine, fine.” This is why I need Olivia to not be in Tahiti. We respect that Shrey isn’t ready to date, but I need someone to talk to and Olivia is wilder than I’ll ever be. A month without her is too long.

  “So if not a break up, why are you in saag mode?” Shreya asks.

  “Where do I even start?” By the end of my tale, her jaw is slack and she’s stopped twirling her long black hair.

  She stands. “Let me get you more curry.”

  “Butter chicken!” I call, suddenly craving it after all that saag. I almost feel guilty for horking it down so fast, but it couldn’t be helped.

  Shreya shoves her way into the little kitchen, and her brothers yell at her in Hindi. This means they don’t want me to know what they’re saying, because they speak English perfectly well. I get them back by insulting them in Japanese. They shoot me glares, but they treat their friends in the kitchen just as much as Shreya treats me.

  “Idiots.” Shreya puts the fresh curry in front of me, and I dab my naan there while I wait for it to cool. “I wish they’d get married and move out.”

  “Seriously.”

  Shreya’s brothers are all much older than she is—by at least ten years—and they were born in India before her parents saved up enough to come here. Despite the sibling squabbles, they really care about her, making sure they’re always around for school events and whatnot.

  “So, I need to know one thing,” Shreya says as I dig in. “Is this Dylan guy cute?”

  I nearly choke on a piece of chicken. “Shrey, c’mon! Are you kidding me?”

  She holds up her hands. “I’m just saying. You have been single for a whole two months, and it’s not like you have much to look at during work, between Supervisor Clark, Old Lady Miriam, and Tanya the Gumsmacker.”

  “Do not mock my co-workers.” I shake my head, trying not to laugh at the ragtag AnimalZone team. “They are lovely people.”

  She wears a smug smile. “I didn’t say they weren’t, but attractive they are not. So what about Dylan?”

  “I don’t know.” I lean back, the curry sloshing inside me. “I was too distracted by his overall hatred of the world to notice.”

  “Perhaps I’ll have to make my own assessment.” She leans in to whisper. “If I can ever get off work, that is.”

  “Tell me we’re still on for Saturday at least.”

  “Of course. That’s, like, our thing.”

  I laugh. “Pretty much. I better get back to work—Clark needs me to fill in for Tanya a couple hours.”

  “I gotta get back out there, too.” She stands with me. “Don’t you just hate Olivia right now? If she posts one more picture of Tahiti … ”

  “Seriously.” But at least Shreya and I can share in our no-vacation summer misery. This is my only comfort as I bike back to work. When I get there, Dylan is still lounging at my Aquatics island, messing with the pens. Old Lady Miriam mans the register, where she cheerily chats with a lady about her ragdoll cat. She may be the slowest checker on the face of the Earth, but she is also the sweetest. Tanya the Gumsmacker works the shift after me, so I don’t see her often, but I do get stuck with her hours or Miriam’s when they can’t come in.

  I don’t want to deal with Dylan, but I force myself back to my station. He might be slightly more tolerable than Betty. Maybe I should be grateful I don’t have to go home. “Did you have lunch already?”

  He doesn’t look away from the pens. “None of your business.”

  “I was just asking because now that I’m back you can get out. Sorry for trying to be considerate.”

  “I heard you talking to my uncle earlier,” he says. “I know he’s trying to get you on the fix-Dylan train. Don’t bother. I don’t need fixing.”

  “I have no clue what you’re talk—” My phone rings, but when I pull it from my pocket I don’t recognize the number, so I let it go. “Look, I’m just trying to do my job, and I really hope ‘fixing you’ isn’t part of it, because that has a very different meaning in a pet store, you know.”

  That earns me a disdainful glance.

  “Though I hear fixing dogs really calms … ” Whoever it was leaves a message, and I decide it’s better to listen to that than deal with Dylan. The voice I hear is definitely not one I expected.

  It’s my neighbor, Mr. Choi. “Hi, Mika. I couldn’t get a hold of your parents, so I thought I’d try you. Um, there is a strange woman in front of your house ruining your zen garden. I tried to ask her about it, and she called me a rather distasteful name and said it was her house. I thought I should call you before I called the police. Call me back if you can.”

  My lungs can’t seem to get air. My parents left Betty alone at the house? Are they insane? I assumed at least one of them would stay with her. And my mother’s zen garden! She is obsessive about getting those lines just right. I redial the missed call number, and he picks up immediately. “Hi, Mr. Choi? Don’t call the police—she’s my grandmother. Yeah, my dad’s. Yeah, that’s the one.”

  Dylan’s ears perk up at this, and I’d rather not have him hear about my new family drama. I take a few paces away from him and speak quieter. “My parents are probably in meetings. Let me talk to my supervisor and see if I can get there before she destroys the whole thing.”

  “Police, huh?” Dylan says when I hang up. “And here I thought you were a tight ass.”

  I give him my best glare instead of flipping him off like I want to. “Don’t. I have more than enough to deal with right now. Try not to kill any fish while I’m gone.”

  Clark is kind enough to let me go early, even though he needed me to cover Tanya’s hours. Then I speed off to whatever disaster my grandma is causing.

  I have a feeling it won’t be the last time.

  Chapter 5

  When I pull up to my house, I can barely believe what I’m seeing. How can an old woman do so much damage in so little time? Betty h
as managed to shovel all the gravel into piles, like tiny mountains scattered about our yard. And now she’s digging at the packed dirt below for no reason I can guess.

  Across the street, poor Mr. Choi stands nervously in his driveway. He’s been such a good neighbor, and sometimes I babysit his grandchildren when his kids come home for holidays. I better get his account before I attempt to break Betty out of her furious digging.

  “How long has this been going on?” I ask as I wheel my bike across the street.

  “Since this morning. I was returning from my early walk when I spotted her. At first I thought perhaps your parents hired someone to tend the yard, but then I realized it would probably be a younger person.” His eyes might be wrinkled with age, but they still show a hint of anger. “She called me a dirty Jap when I asked her what she was doing. I’m not even Japanese, but still.”

  I cover my mouth in surprise and embarrassment. He’s Korean-American, but it seems Betty is one of the many people who are happy to lump all of Asia together. And use racist words while they’re at it. “I’m so sorry. She showed up yesterday. I don’t think my parents realized her condition was this bad.”

  “Condition?”

  “She said she has Alzheimer’s.”

  “Ahhh.” He nods, some compassion returning at the news. I’m not sure I should be happy about that or not. Does her disease exempt her from being kind to my neighbors? That doesn’t seem fair. “I swear we’ll make it up to you. Treat you to dinner or something.”

  He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. I just knew Yumi would be upset.”

  “Yeah … ” Mom loves the zen garden. It’s her only real hobby. She says it gives her peace, sitting out on the front porch with her tea most every evening. “Maybe I can get it almost back to normal before they get home.”

  “Good luck.” He straightens his glasses, looking over my shoulder at Betty. “Perhaps your parents should take her to a doctor.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for calling.”

  He nods, and I head back to my house. Betty doesn’t look up from her work as I lock my bike to the porch. I watch her for a second, still unsure of why she’s digging a hole in our yard.

  “What are you doing?” My voice is angrier than expected.

  She looks up at me, seeming confused by my presence, until it clicks. “Grace, you’re back.”

  “Actually, it’s Mika.”

  “Oh … I’d rather call you Grace.” She goes back to digging. “Did you know that’s my sister’s name? I love my sister. We make dollhouses together.”

  “You told me about her yesterday. Except you said you’re glad she’s dead.”

  “What?” She laughs. “No I didn’t.”

  I roll my eyes. “So is there a reason you piled all the gravel into little hills? Because my mom will be pissed about that.”

  “Who has rocks in their front yard? You need grass. And more trees.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Are you seriously crazy enough to think you can re-landscape our yard?”

  “If I want it done right I have to do everything myself—that’s what my mom always says.” Her arms strain as she works, and a gust of wind blows her unpleasant scent right in my face. She’s drenched in sweat.

  “You can’t do this. It’s not your yard. You don’t have a right to change it just because you don’t like it.” I grab her arm, though there’s no way I could pull her up.

  She freezes, then slowly turns her head to me. All the pleasantness in her expression drains. “Don’t touch me!”

  “I was just—”

  “I don’t want your dirty hands on me!” She stands up, looking surprised by her surroundings and the trowel in her hand. “I need a bath.”

  Words fail me. Maybe because I’ve never been so insulted in my life, and by my own grandmother. Mom prepared me for prejudice from strangers, not from my own blood. How am I supposed to handle this?

  Betty disappears inside before I can figure out what to say, but I know one thing for certain—my parents were right to cut her out of their life. She’s awful.

  I get to work on the gravel, which is surprisingly heavy. How Betty got all this piled up is beyond me. At least I’m used to the lifting, what with how much I haul at work. I only get five mounds smoothed out when I hear, “Grace! Grace! Help!”

  Shooting up, I run for the house with no clue what I might find except that it must be bad. I don’t know enough about Alzheimer’s to deal with her. And I don’t want to. I rush through the door, where I’m met with way more old lady flesh than I ever wanted to see in my life. “You’re naked!”

  “I don’t have any clothes!” She’s crying like a child, soaking wet from what I can only assume was her bath to clean off my dirty touch. “I think someone stole my clothes.”

  “Ugh.” I shield my eyes, wishing I could go back to work. Stupid Dylan is better than this. Barely.

  After all that digging, she really doesn’t have any clothes that aren’t dirty. She didn’t even have a purse when she showed up yesterday, which makes me wonder how she managed to get on a plane and all the way to Monterey. I head into the living room and grab a blanket. “Here. Let me see if I can find you anything.”

  She nods slowly, wrapping the blanket around her chest.

  I head to my parents’ room in attempts to find something for her to wear. The search doesn’t go well. Betty is not a small woman, and my mom has never been bigger than a size two. Even my dad is thin and lanky, and none of his stuff looks remotely big enough. But I have to get her something because I can’t handle her naked, on top of everything else.

  It comes down to the kimono my mom wore for her big twentieth birthday celebration or my dad’s favorite bathrobe. Seeing as one of my mom’s prized things has already been destroyed today, I grab the bathrobe. At least now it’s even.

  “How’s this?” I ask her, holding out the robe.

  She smiles meekly. “Yes, thank you.”

  I look away as she dresses right in front of me. “Can you not ruin anything else now? Just watch TV or something.”

  She frowns as she grabs the remote. “I don’t know how to make it work.”

  I sit her down and show her how to use the remote. It seems to take her more than normal time to understand, and my patience is long gone. This isn’t fair. I shouldn’t have to be doing this while my parents are working. They’re the adults—they should be here.

  After I start the washer to clean her sweaty clothes, I sit in my dad’s recliner and let out a long sigh. Betty watches the TV, but she glances at me, seeming confused. “Where’s Martin?”

  “Who?” I ask.

  “My husband. Do you know where he is?”

  I shake my head, exhausted with her. “I don’t know anything about you. Watch your show.”

  Betty shrinks into Dad’s robe, looking sad. “I don’t know either. He just left. No note. No calls. Jenny and Stan and Greg keep asking where he is, and I don’t know what to say. Business trips don’t last forever, you know?”

  “Whatever.” I have no idea if what she’s saying is real or not. Dad doesn’t talk about his family. As far as I know, his life began in college. That’s as early as he’ll go.

  “Everyone leaves me.” Her voice is soft. “You will, too, Micah.”

  “Mika.”

  She cringes. “Does your name have to sound so foreign? Couldn’t they have at least given you an American name?”

  “I’ve always liked my name just fine.”

  Long pause. “I think I’m hungry.”

  Rolling my eyes, I stay put. “Can’t you get your own food?”

  “Your refrigerator smells weird.”

  What the hell is that supposed to mean? I decide it’s better to feed her than listen to her talk. “I’ll make you a sandwich or something.”

  As I rummage through our meager food stock, I wonder if I should call my parents again. But then I hear their car drive up and the garage door rumble open. Maybe Mr. Choi left them mess
ages as well. I run out the back door, into the garage, and spot my parents out front surveying the damage, but I stop short of them.

  Mom’s face slacks in shock at the sight of our ruined front yard, and then she turns on Dad, livid. “Look at this!”

  “I’m not blind, Yumi.” Dad heads for the piles of gravel. “You’re the one who said she’d be fine on her own.”

  “Don’t you dare put this on me. She’s your mother, and she hates me. Of course I didn’t want to stay home with her!”

  Then my dad explodes, and they’re arguing in front of our house where everyone can see. Taking a few steps back, I decide to go back inside. I stand in the kitchen, reeling. I’ve never seen them fight before.

  I don’t like it.

  Chapter 6

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” Dad’s on the phone with his sister, Jenny. “She didn’t show up with anything but the clothes on her back. How could you put her on a plane without … that is no excuse … ugh, you’re just like her, you know that? I can’t believe you’ve been living off her, using her trailer, and you can’t even tell me who her doctor was or if she has any insurance. What about Medicaid?”

  Mom and I eat breakfast in silence. Betty hasn’t gotten up yet. From what I’ve gathered so far, Jenny is not the beacon of responsibility my dad is. It sounds like instead of physically escaping, like Dad and Greg did, she chose a more … chemical route.

  “You know what? Forget it. I’ll deal with it, like always.” Dad sets his phone on the counter, looking like he’s about to burst. “Jenny said there was a carry-on bag—Mom probably didn’t take it off the plane, so I get to call the San Jose airport next. There’s no telling where her purse ended up.”

  Mom frowns. “What are we going to do? Two days, and she’s already ripped a hole in our lives. How much does Alzheimer’s care even cost?”

  “Probably more than we can afford, but what choice do we have?” Dad sits at the table, seeming exhausted, though the day has only just begun. “Greg will chip in, but forest rangers don’t make much. Jenny has nothing—she’ll probably use Mom’s social security money if we don’t hurry and transfer it here.”