Hot, Sour, Salty, Sweet (10 page)

17

A
na feels like giving her grandfather a kiss. Everyone nods appreciatively after the story, and if they didn't have a piece of chicken before, they all have one now.

“This is delicious,” Mrs. Conrad says to Ana's mom.

“Thank you.” Ana's mom nods. “Would you like to try the lion's head? It's a family favorite.” She holds up the dish.

“Oh . . . I don't eat tofu,” Mrs. Conrad whispers. She flashes a coy look across the table to Chelsea's dad. He clears his throat and wipes his mouth of fried chicken crumbs.

“I know what you mean. My ex-wife was a vegetarian. I think that's one of the reasons we split up.”

“Gross,” Chelsea whispers to Ana. “They're flirting.”

“No, they're not,” Ana replies.

“Well, there is no tofu in this,” Ana's mom says. “Just ground pork and vegetables. But I'll be glad to bring you something else. We've got the second course coming out soon.” Ana smiles. Her mother's explanation is so smooth you'd never guess that the dinner almost got canceled.

Mrs. Conrad blushes. “Oh no, it's delicious. I'm fine. Thank you.” She smiles nervously, then looks at Chelsea's dad and tosses her hair.

“See?” Chelsea insists.

Ana winces. “Amanda Conrad's so gonna be your new sister.”

“This is your fault.”

Ana shrugs innocently.

“So, Ana, tell everyone about your graduation present,” Nai Nai calls from across the table.

A cold spike of adrenaline shoots through Ana's body. “Oh, right.” Under the table, Chelsea digs a hand into her thigh. “Ow! Um . . . I mean, yeah, I'm really lucky. My grandparents are taking me on two trips. Uh, Nai Nai and Ye Ye are taking me to Taiwan, and Grandma and Grandpa White found this great cruise thing. Down the Mississippi. With music. It's a music cruise. It's gonna be great.”

The Tabatas and Chelsea's family look at her a little oddly. Ana's smile is plastered onto her face so wide her cheeks hurt. She avoids looking at her parents. Nai Nai breaks into a proud smile. “Ana hasn't been to Taiwan since she was a baby. So really it will be her first time.”

“Sounds awesome,” Jamie says.

“Yeah, awesome,” Chelsea chimes in.

Amanda Conrad giggles and whispers something in Jamie's ear. Ana glares at her, but Nai Nai is talking again.

“Ana is a very lucky girl, very smart. We are so proud of her.”

“Yes, very proud,” Grandma White says suddenly. Ana blushes. She looks to her mom for help. Her mother clears her throat.

“I'm sure we're all proud of our graduates,” she says equitably.

“Yes, the children have acquitted themselves quite well today,” Mr. Tabata says. Jamie squirms under his father's heavy-handed back patting.

“Education is so important,” Grandma White adds. “Derby and I are going to make sure Ana has every opportunity in life. And Sammy, too.”

Ana starts to cringe. It can only get worse from here.

On cue, Nai Nai steps up to the plate. “Yuan and I are going to give her a house one day.”

“Really?” Mr. Tabata's eyes widen.

“Real estate!” Mrs. Conrad exclaims. “What a good idea!” She pats Ana's mom on the shoulder admiringly.

“It's very Asian, actually,” Mr. Tabata says. “To provide for your children in such a way. It ensures that they can provide for you when they are older.”

Ana wants to crawl under the table. “No way am I taking care of Nai Nai,” she whispers to Chelsea.

Chelsea giggles. “Maybe you can take care of Chuck,” she whispers back. Ana elbows her in the ribs.

Grandma White and Nai Nai are giving each other looks across the table, but they don't say anything. Apparently having dinner guests really does keep the peace. Ana tries to act nonchalant as she serves herself another scoop of rice.

Mr. Tabata chuckles. “It's admirable that you are trying to raise your daughter as both Chinese and black.”

“I
am
Chinese and black,” Ana says. Her parents give Mr. Tabata a questioning look.

Mr. Tabata picks up his soup spoon. “Yes, yes, of course. James, why don't you tell them what we gave you today?”

Jamie gives Ana an apologetic look that instantly makes her feel warm inside.

“Oh, Jamie, what did you get?” Amanda looks like she'll explode if she doesn't find out. Ana rolls her eyes. Jamie sinks down a little in his seat.

“Um . . . a car.”

“What?” Ana says.

“No way!” Chelsea exclaims.

Amanda looks like she's going to pass out.

“See, Dad?” Ana says.

“But . . . you're too young to drive,” Ana's father tells her.

“I'm too young to own a house, too.”

Jamie clears his throat. “Well, I'll be old enough for a permit this winter, and I can take driver's ed next year. Until then, my mom can use it.” He looks embarrassed. “It's nothing fancy. But it's nice.”

“Well, great,” Ana says. “Maybe you can show it to us sometime.”

Jamie smiles at her and Ana remembers why she's here in the first place. “Yeah, that'd be cool.”

“I wish I had a car,” Amanda says with a look at her mother. Her mom grins awkwardly.

“You do, honey. It's
our
car.”

“Yeah, right.” Amanda folds her arms and pouts. Ana gives Chelsea a look.

“A car is a big responsibility for a child,” Ana's mother says to Mrs. Tabata.

“I believe in teaching children responsibility while they're young,” Mr. Tabata responds for his wife. “That is what makes them excel. It's why James is the head of his class today. If you encourage second-rate, you get second-rate. I encourage the best.”

Ana's heart pounds a little harder. Her mother's eyes narrow. So do Grandma White's.

“As do we, Mr. Tabata,” her mother says. She glances at Ana as if to say, “Are you sure this boy is worth the trouble?” Ana shrugs back.

“Well, first or second, I think they're both pretty wonderful,” Grandpa White says. “Just like the second course is going to be just as good as the first. Helen, what have we got coming next?”

Ana's mom rises a little too quickly. “Daniel, weren't you going to stir-fry the
mapo
?”

Ana's dad stands up. “Right away. Right away.” He disappears into the kitchen.

Chelsea's dad says something that makes Mrs. Conrad laugh. Dina and Sammy are making faces at each other across the table.

“Hey, want to see our garden?” Ana asks Jamie. It's like taking recess halfway through a test. Everyone gets up, moves around the backyard, breathes a little. Amanda Conrad tries to follow them, but Chelsea hangs back in the gateway to the side yard and blocks her.

“I want to see the garden too,” Amanda says.

“What garden?” Chelsea winks at Ana when Jamie's back is turned.

“Sorry about my dad,” Jamie says once they are in the side yard staring at the tangle of mint and sage. “He can be kind of abrupt sometimes.”

“No, no problem,” Ana says. “My family's no picnic either. They're driving me crazy.”

Jamie laughs. “Yeah. Too bad they had to cancel the dance. At least then all we'd have to deal with would be teachers.”

“No kidding,” Ana says.

Her heartbeat is getting louder in her ears. Suddenly, she wishes she had changed into that sundress.

“Sorry we didn't get to hear your speech.” Jamie takes a step toward her, his hands clasped behind his back. Ana feels her face grow warm.

“Round two, everyone!” Grandpa White hollers out across the backyard. Ana straightens up. Right. Romance in a garden full of parents. A spicy scent drifts in over the bright smell of the mint. She clears her throat.

“Sounds like the
mapo
's done. You should have some. It's really good.”

They all move back to the table with its new steaming dishes. Ana reluctantly takes her seat a whole table-width away from Jamie.

“This is delicious!” Mrs. Conrad exclaims, shoveling in a forkful of
mapo dofu
dripping with saucy ground pork tinged red by pepper and oil.

“Yeah, it's great,” Chelsea's dad says with his mouth full. “What's it called again?”

“Mapo,”
Ana's mom says. “
Mapo dofu
. It essentially means . . . stir-fried tofu.”

Chelsea's dad and Mrs. Conrad both pause in mid-chew. “Really?” Mrs. Conrad says slowly. Chelsea leans against Ana and breaks into giggles. Ana joins her. But neither of the adults stops eating.

“Leave room for dessert,” Grandma White says. “We've got cake and ice cream.”

Choruses of enthusiasm rise around the table. “Yay!” Sammy shouts. “Cake and ice cream!”

Mr. Tabata chuckles. Ana can feel her hair stand on end. She tries to ignore it.

“Such a wonderful fusion of cuisines tonight,” he says. Not “Wow, this is good,” but “fusion of cuisines.”

“Who talks like that?” Chelsea whispers. Ana and Jamie exchange a look across the table.

“This is soooo good,” Amanda purrs. “Try it, Jamie.” Ana can practically feel the steam coming out of her ears as Amanda offers him a bite of tofu, suddenly skillful with her chopsticks.

Mr. Tabata leans across Jamie and taps Amanda's arm.

“If I didn't know better, Amanda, I'd say you have your sights set on my son.” Amanda blushes and tosses her hair in a honey-colored cloud that Ana's sure will send strands flying into everyone's food.

“Oh, Mr. Tabata, don't tease me,” Amanda says. It's so practiced, such a perfect sidestep from what should have been a total embarrassment meltdown, that it makes Ana sick. Her mouth fills with a sourness no amount of gumbo or lemonade can erase.

Jamie looks at Ana again, but she looks away before they can make eye contact. She wants to die.

“God, are they gonna get engaged right here?” Chelsea whispers.

“Mrs. Conrad, your daughter is a delight,” Mr. Tabata calls down the table.

Mrs. Conrad smiles. “Mandy was voted most popular in her class.”

“Most popular hag,” Chelsea whispers. Ana snorts.

Mr. Tabata beams at Amanda and her mom. “I bet you've never eaten like this before, Amanda. Such a wonderfully multicultural meal.” He chuckles and Ana's stomach tightens into a knot. There's that phrase again, the one her social sciences teacher used to use. Mr. Tabata spreads his hands delightedly. “It's like . . .” He searches for the words. “. . . like a food court at the mall.”

Ana's face grows hot. She puts down her napkin. Pushes away from the table. Stands up.

And throws a dumpling at Mr. Tabata.

“Honey!” her mom says.

“Young lady!” Mr. Tabata roars.

Chelsea laughs. “That was awesome.”

Jamie's eyes go huge and he stifles a snort. Sammy starts chanting, “Food fight, food fight,” but Ana's dad grabs his arms before he can throw anything.

“Don't waste good food,” Nai Nai cries, chopsticks in midair, as if she could somehow catch the thrown dumpling.

“Ana, what are you doing?” her dad asks through gritted teeth.

“Sorry, Dad. I'm just trying to get Mr. Tabata's attention. And now that I have it . . .” She takes a deep breath. “You have got to be the rudest person I've ever met. I mean, we invite you to dinner, and you call it a food court? This isn't a food court. This is my house! And it's clear you're horrified that your son might actually like me. I mean, I may not be a hundred percent Chinese or black or a hundred percent anything, and God knows I'm not a blonde, but this is still my family, and my dinner and my house. And you can respect us or you can leave.”

“Ana!” her dad exclaims.

“This is lunacy,” Mr. Tabata roars.

“Ana, apologize,” her mother says in a tired voice.

“What? For real?” Ana stares at her parents in shock.

Ana's mother hesitates. “This is not the way to make friends,” she explains steadily. And, in that sentence, Ana can see it: all the years her mother has held her tongue against the judgments of family and strangers, too. All the times her father has kept quiet or joked and pretended it didn't matter what people thought of his black wife and half-breed kids.

All the times Grandma White has had to listen to jokes about marrying a black man named White. Every barb and insult Grandpa White endured in a newly desegregated army while serving his country at war. And all the doors shut in Nai Nai's face when they first came to the United States, trying to rent an apartment or buy groceries with the wrong accent and the wrong skin.

It makes Ana shake.

It makes her want to scream.

Instead, she picks up another lumpy dumpling, looks at Mr. Tabata, and says, “Leave.”

18

“S
he's right,” Ana's mother says. Ana's dad stands up from the table. Even Sammy is quiet, eyes wide. The Shens and the Whites all look deathly serious. Mr. Tabata's mouth shrinks into a thin line.

“Come on, Jamie. I will not be insulted in front of my family.” Mr. Tabata gets up from the table, wiping his mouth as if to wipe away a bad taste. Jamie's mother hesitates, then slowly rises.

“The meal was delicious,” she says apologetically. Mr. Tabata glares at her.

“Jamie.”

Jamie doesn't move. He stares straight ahead at Ana and there are tears in his eyes, building slowly from a shine to a clouded veil, trembling at each word as he begins to speak. Ana knows Jamie's not looking at her. He's just
not
looking at his dad really hard.

“No, Dad. I'm staying.”

“Jamie! These people aren't worth your time.”

Jamie turns on his father, a tear spilling over.

“ ‘These people’ are my friends, Dad. I've known Ana for nine years, ever since kindergarten. She's been in every play and assembly with me since we were five years old. Have you ever even noticed her? Or anybody else? Of course not.”

Jamie looks across the table at Ana. “I'm sorry, Ana. I'm sorry I let him put you guys through this.” Ana blushes but can't think of a response.

Jamie turns to his mother and puts a hand on her shoulder. “And you, Mom . . . I'm sorry I didn't say something sooner.”

Jamie's mom turns red. Jamie clears his throat and looks up at his father.

“Dad, you bully her, and it's not right. Let her eat what she wants, let her have the car. I don't want it.

“You boss us around and I keep quiet. When you push me, I tell myself it's because you care. I work hard in school so you'll be proud of me. But it's not enough. I've tried to be a good son. Why can't you be a better father?”

Jamie's mom buries her face in her hands. After a moment, she wipes her eyes and walks away. Ana's mother follows her into the house.

Mr. Tabata just stands there, suit coat clutched in one hand like a life buoy. His mouth moves but no words come out. Ana wishes she could read his mind. Instead, she gets up and goes to stand behind Jamie. He reaches back and takes her hand.

The movement wakes Mr. Tabata out of his daze. He drapes his jacket across his arm, clears his throat and removes his glasses to polish them casually on his sleeve.

“This is a family matter,” he says in a strained voice. “We will discuss it at home.”

Ana squeezes Jamie's hand. Jamie is trembling, but he stands his ground. Everyone watches as Jamie's father replaces his glasses, pulls on his jacket and leaves the table in search of his wife.