The Astonishing Color of After(73)

I wonder if Waipo and Waigong still feel that way. I wonder if that’s why Dad walked out of the apartment—if it was unbearable to be with them.

How did my parents think they could build a family around so many secrets? It’s like setting a house on top of a network of ditches and loose ground, and praying the foundation holds. No wonder we fell apart.

My phone chimes.


FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected] SUBJECT: (no subject)



I click it open, and it takes a while to load.

No words in the body of this email. Just an image I’ve never seen. A watercolor Axel painted of the cat on the kitchen counter turning her whiskers up toward my mother’s chin.

The two of them gazing at each other like there’s nobody else in the world.





76





FALL, SOPHOMORE YEAR


The trees had changed, many already letting loose their browns. Crunchy pieces of autumn sprinkled across our lawn. The air nipped at me, a good ten degrees or so lower than I was ready for.

Halloween decorations had taken over the world. Scarecrows in the fields we passed to get to school. Decals of ghosts and witches and Frankensteins in every other window. Pumpkins carved up, some of them aglow with candles in their bellies.

So when I got home that chilly afternoon, I didn’t even blink at the cat on the piano bench. My mind shuffled it back into the deck without a thought. It was another decoration, a creature as black as they come, perfect for witching hour.

I took off my jacket and the cat pounced on it. That got my attention.

“Um, hello?” I called into the house.

“Shit!” Something heavy thudded to the floor. “Ow, crap. Ow ow ow.”

“Dad?” I was surprised to find him here. His flight wasn’t supposed to bring him back until the next morning. Part of me was disappointed; it meant I wouldn’t be able to spend the night sketching in peace. But I tried to summon some good cheer. It was rare to have him home on a Friday.

“Leigh!” My father rounded the corner of the hallway, and his face lit up with relief. “You’re just in time. I persuaded your mother to go run errands, but she’ll be back any minute. Come help with this.”

He beckoned me into the living room, where this weird geometric structure had fallen over on its side. I helped him push it back up, and he clicked something on the bottom into place.

“There. What do you think?”

“Uh. It’s great?” The structure was taller than me. There were carpeted platforms and columns wrapped in what looked like rope.

“It’s a playground. For Meimei.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Who?”

The cat meowed then, like she knew we were talking about her.

“It’s a surprise,” said Dad, picking up the creature.

“You got us… a cat?” I tried to tamp down my shock. He traveled so much we couldn’t even keep track of his time zones. He should’ve been the last person in the world to be making decisions about getting a pet.

“I just figured… well. I worry that Mom’s been lonely. Seems like she could use some company.”

“What about me? What about her piano students? We’re just chopped liver?”

“Her piano students,” my father repeated, his face strange. “Right.” He was suddenly very busy fiddling with the cat playground, which already looked fully assembled.

“Dad. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Hmm?” he said innocently.

I thought of my mother, tired and drained when I got home. I’d been taking the late bus every day—Nagori was letting me use the art room to work on my portfolio for Kreis. It used to be that I had to listen through at least four piano lessons after school. But these days I got home so late I missed it all.

Unless there wasn’t anything to miss.

“She is still teaching, right?”

My father said nothing.

The anger boiled up so fast it surprised even me. “She stopped? Again? When was anyone going to tell me?”

And how did Dad find out first?

“Listen, she’s just having a difficult time—”

“How are you supposed to know what kind of time she’s having? You’re barely even here, Dad,” I said, more harshly than I meant to.

He winced visibly.

I crossed my arms. “She’s been getting worse again. She needs help.”

He was silent for a long stretch. Finally, he said, “You’re right. I’m not here enough. I need to change that. One more year of this and I’m done. No more conferences, no more traveling. I’m booked through next summer, but after that, I’ll be home and sticking to a normal—and local—teaching schedule. All right?”

It was my turn to be silent. I didn’t know what to say. Did I believe him? I couldn’t be sure. It sounded too good to be true. And worse, a dark and horrible part of me wasn’t sure I wanted it to be true. Because if my father stayed home, I wouldn’t have the freedom to work on my art. He’d be nagging me constantly. He’d tell me to focus on the practical things. He probably wouldn’t let Axel come over so much.

“And she is getting help,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “Her doctor just switched her to a new medication. Sometimes that can make things a little worse for a while. But we’re keeping a close eye on it.”