American Panda(46)

“You’re a child.”

I squeezed my eyes shut so I wouldn’t have to see his sneer as I spoke. “I’m in college. I may be young, but it’s only because you pushed me and pushed me, making me skip a grade without asking what I wanted. I’m seventeen only when it suits you.”

“Have you no respect?” my mother whispered, aghast. “Haven’t we taught you better than this? You’re Chinese. Act like it.”

“I’m Chinese-American. America has culture too. Why can’t I identify with that also? What if I identify with it more?”

My mother’s usually poised face turned down, revealing the wrinkles she normally worked so hard to hide from the world.

Look, I told myself. Look at Mamá’s sad, pained eyes, the utter disappointment in the frown on her face. You caused that.

But why did I have to bear this burden? Why was I destined to be unhappy?

Life wasn’t fair.

My mother shook her head, eyes closed. “Mei, people need to know where they come from. They can’t know who they are without that. And traditions must be kept alive. Otherwise they die.”

“It makes sense that you and Bǎbá care about keeping traditions alive since you were born in Taiwan. But it’s different for me, for my generation. We were born here, live here. It’s Chinese culture at home, American culture everywhere else. Do you know how hard that is? Can’t we keep the traditions we like and alter the ones we don’t agree with? Don’t we get to choose who we are?”

Instead of answering my questions, my mother said, “First the boy and the”—she peered at my father—“candy bar wrapper, and, Mei, I found your ballet shoes and ribbons in your dorm room! And now this? Seeing your brother? Talking back to us? What’s gotten into you? You used to tīnghuà.”

I closed my eyes briefly to collect myself. “I can’t ignore what I want anymore. I can’t do whatever job you pick, marry whoever you choose, or cut my own brother out because of an outdated tradition I don’t agree with. That’s not who I am.”

The silence that followed was the heaviest and most painful of my life.

My father cleared his throat. His tone was even and practiced as he said, “Mei, you are not the daughter we raised you to be. I no longer claim you as my child. We will no longer be paying your tuition unless you come to your senses.”

I grabbed the edge of the table as a wave of vertigo hit. My vision obscured and I swayed side to side. My breath hitched, and my reply tumbled out, unguarded. “Please don’t do this. I’m trying. I’m doing the best I can. Can’t you see what this is doing to me? Please!”

My father stood. “You, you? What about the damage your words have done to us? When you stop thinking about only yourself, we’ll be here.”

I wanted to shove all the secrets back in. Back where they couldn’t hurt anyone except me. But the dumpling had exploded—meat, veggies, and secrets everywhere, unable to be gathered up and shoved back into hiding. And a tiny part of me was glad. I hated that piece of me. It was selfish, just like my father had said. It wanted the secrets out because I couldn’t handle it anymore.

My mother’s sobs shook her entire body, but her face was to the wall so our gazes wouldn’t meet. My father looked past me. To him, I didn’t exist anymore. As they left—my father confidently and my mother reluctantly—I prayed they would stop. Turn around. Tell me they love me, were willing to compromise, and that I wasn’t alone.

But, of course, they didn’t.

I was going to be sick. I fled from the restaurant, rounded the corner into the alley, and slumped against the brick wall, completely spent from the exchange. As my body curled into a ball, my mind removed me from reality to make it bearable.

I didn’t comprehend the magnitude of my actions until the SUV’s tires screeched down the street. How could they leave me here? Memories of Xing packing his suitcase at various ages surfaced. That’s right, my parents were experts at abandoning their children.

The ache of loneliness ballooned outward, engulfing every thought, a black hole. Eventually, the smell of the Dumpster and the creaking of the chain-link fence snapped me out of my haze, hitting me with another wave of dizziness as I transitioned back to the real world too quickly. I had forgotten my location (an abandoned alley) and my immediate surroundings (graffitied walls, decrepit furniture, and piles of rotting trash). But now aware of my horror-movie scenario, I hurried to the busy street. A screech of tires sparked a flicker of delusional hope, but it was merely a Porsche showing off, not my parents returning.

I jammed my palms into my eyes and told myself to get it together. I had to find a way home. Public transportation didn’t extend this far, and I didn’t have enough money for the long cab ride back.

Aren’t you an adult? I could hear my father sneer.

I called Xing.

He answered with a worried, “Is everything okay?”

I took a shaky breath. “No, I, uh, had a fight with . . . them . . . and now I’m, uh . . .”

“Where are you? I’ll come get you.”

I didn’t need to ask how he knew what had happened. And it made the tears stream down again.

After what felt like hours, Xing pulled up in his navy Corolla—the one my parents had bought for him. Had they asked for their money back? Did I have to start cataloging all the tuition and fees they’d shake me down for even though they knew I had nothing?