American Panda(24)

“I doubt they divorced because of their different backgrounds. Many people get divorced.”

“None of my friends are divorced.”

“None of them are happy, either,” I muttered.

Seeming not to hear me, she barreled on. “I’m sure Mrs. Chen regrets it now. Kimberly is left with two kids, and no one else will marry her. Can you believe she let that happen to her own daughter?”

Umm, yes? Because she’s not an oppressive dictator?

My mother gasped, and I instinctively scooted my chair away, anticipating another non–candy bar wrapper. But when I turned around, she was holding up the calculus test I had “accidentally” left out. The 100 at the top was so big and red I could see it from across the room.

She smiled at me, a hint of pride in the curve of her lips, exactly as I had hoped for. “I can tell how hard you’ve been working, Mei. My good girl, spending all her time studying.”

I tried to bask in her pride, to feel the glow from inside that came only every few months such that I had to store it away and ration it out . . . but all I could hear was my heart pounding in my ears, trait-or, trait-or, trait-or. Quit teaching dance had been on my calendar every day the past few weeks, but so far I’d been oh for twenty. But it wasn’t getting in the way of my studies, right? Except for the sixty on my biology p-set, which was burning a hole at the bottom of my drawer.

“Mǎmá? Why is it so important to you that I become a doctor?”

She busied her hands with folding as if the topic made her nervous. “You can’t end up like me, Mei. You heard them last night. No respect for me. As a doctor, your husband and in-laws will be better to you. They have to,” she said, more to convince herself than me, it seemed. “You need power in your relationship. If you earn your own money, your husband can never use it against you.”

“Can’t I do something else? A different job, also respectable?”

“Doctor is the most respectable, and you have the smarts to do it, Mei. Don’t worry. You won’t end up like me. I’ve been planning for you since the beginning. Since you came out a girl. And I’m still planning. Always planning. I do your laundry and bring you food so you can devote all your time to studying. So get good grades, okay? Don’t let me work myself to the bone for nothing.”

I’ve always been jealous of my friends whose parents kissed their cheeks, read them bedtime stories, bought them whatever toys they wanted. But my parents showed love in different ways: shopping exclusively at garage sales, reusing napkins and Ziplocs, never treating themselves to the furniture or vacations they coveted. It was so I could go to the best school and end up with a stable career where I would never have to sacrifice like they did. To them, a secure future was the ultimate gift a parent could give. How could I refuse them when this was their motivation?

Except Esther wasn’t what they said she was, a tiny voice whispered in my head.

“What is it?” my mother asked, breaking into my thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

“I can tell—something’s bothering you.”

“Really? You can tell?”

“Of course. I’m your muqīn.”

My chest twinged. “Nothing’s bothering me. I’m just . . . thankful that you want the best for me and that you’ve sacrificed so much to get me here. Thanks, Mǎmá. You gave up your own education and career for me.”

My mother balled socks angrily. “I could’ve been successful, too. I went to Tái Dà, National Taiwan University—the Harvard of Taiwan! I did better than Bǎbá, and certainly better than Yilong. Yet I don’t have anything to show for it.”

Each ball she threw into the pile further pounded into my head that my mother’s demands, her criticisms—they were because she wanted better for me. I tried not to think about the fact that she was so unhappy.

Or that Xing and Esther had looked so in love.

Or that the pressure was boxing me in, restricting my airflow, with no end in sight.





Voicemail from my mother

Mei! Good, you didn’t pick up. You are supposed to be in <pause> five . . . one . . . one . . . one . . . right now. Why so many numbers? Call me at two fifty-five when lecture ends. It’s your mǔqīn.





CHAPTER 10


QUEENS


NICOLETTE GROANED IN HER SLEEP. I froze, hoping to stave off what usually came next. The hoarse, Must you be so frickin’ loud?

I jumped when she spoke.

“Why do you see your parents so often? It’s, like, every week. You know that’s not normal, right?”

Nothing about me was normal. Maybe if she were around more, she’d have figured that out already. I wasn’t even seeing my parents today, but she didn’t get to know that.

I didn’t say anything. Wasn’t that what she liked about me anyway?

She yawned. “Tell them to get a life and stop inserting themselves into yours.”

I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. Nicolette opened one eye and squinted at me. “You’re an odd egg. What’s so funny?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“They’re just . . .” My mind blanked. Fuzzy screen, jumbled words, emotional soup. “Traditional,” I finished lamely. “Not that that’s a bad thing,” I added quickly.