I start to run, but Hanh grabs my arm. “Walk! Running draws attention! Here, pretend you’re looking at this. Then no one can see your face.” She shoves her phone in my hands and the three of us speed-walk back to our room, me with my head bent over Hanh’s phone, just in case. Once in the room, Hanh and Reggie shove Elaine and Jimmy off the bench next to the door, and I sink onto it, shaking.
“What?” demands Elaine. “You just took our spot!”
“Sana thinks her dad’s out there,” explains Reggie. “She needs to sit where no one can see her through the door.”
The whole room erupts.
“Oh, shit!”
“You’re in troubllllle!”
“Move farther into the corner!”
Hanh sits down next to me and takes back her phone. “Here.” She opens up her photo gallery. “Wanna see the photo I just took?”
“Ugh, you and your stupid selfies! No, I don’t want to see it. I already know what you look like.”
“No, you idiot. God! Look.”
Sighing, I look. “Oh.” It’s not a selfie. Clever Hanh just took a picture of the group in the lobby over her shoulder. With my dad, red-faced and bleary-eyed, right in the middle. Which is awful. But it’s not the worst part.
“Is he in there?” I nod. “Jeezus, what a close call! We’re so lucky he didn’t see you. Which one is he?” Numbly, I point. “That guy? Huh. But who’s—” Hanh stops abruptly. She clears her throat. “Who’s that?” She points.
I shake my head. It’s not just that I don’t know the answer. It’s that I don’t know anything—what to feel, what to think, what to say. Because Hanh is pointing to a beautiful Japanese woman hanging all over Dad’s shoulder.
21
IT’S NOT EVEN LIKE THE WOMAN IS DOING an Elaine-the-Leech move and he’s just patiently waiting until she detaches herself. Or like they’re good friends just chilling. Dad’s old-school, countryside Japanese. He doesn’t touch people if he can help it. The most PDA I’ve seen between him and Mom is probably a pat on the back. But now he’s got his arm snaked around this strange woman, and their laughing faces are inches apart. I can’t ignore it, can’t make up excuses, like I did with the texts. There are witnesses. Photographic evidence.
I stare at the picture on Hanh’s phone and shake my head, as if this will make the image disappear. For the second time tonight, my heart is racing, my mouth has dried up, and I can’t breathe. For a fleeting moment I wonder why my body can’t tell the difference between being about to kiss Jamie, and finding out for sure that Dad is cheating on Mom. I feel a hand on my arm. From somewhere far away, I hear Reggie’s voice asking, “Sana, are you okay?”
I manage a nod, but to my horror, the picture clouds up and a tear splashes onto the phone. Frantically, I wipe my eyes and then the phone, hoping no one saw what just happened. I can’t cry in front of all these people—they’ll want to know what’s wrong, and then what will I say? I look up to see Reggie and Hanh gazing anxiously at me. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” I choke, and wave them off. They look unconvinced.
“Wanna talk about it?”
No. I shrug and wipe away another stupid tear. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“Sana, come on. You’re not fine.”
Hanh’s right, of course. I’m so not fine. But I’m in no shape to talk about it. I’m having a hard enough time just existing, just being in the world with the fact of my father and that woman together. And anyway, I’m not going to chat about my family’s awful secrets like I’m on some dumb reality TV show. Why can’t they just leave me alone? “I said I’m fine, okay?” I snap. “Just—just let it go. I don’t want to talk about it.”
The next couple of hours go by in an excruciating slow-motion blur. At first, Reggie and Hanh keep looking at me when they think I’m not looking, and then looking at each other. But I refuse to look at them, and eventually they give up and move on. It turns out that Reggie has an amazing voice, too, and she and Elaine sing hit after pop hit to wild applause. At some point, Jimmy’s arm finds its way around Elaine’s shoulders.
I try to look like I care about what’s going on. But it’s difficult, because the sentence “Dad is cheating” keeps repeating itself in my head like some kind of horrible mantra: Dad is cheating. Dad is cheating. Dad is cheating. Each time the truth declares itself, it feels heavier, and I have to concentrate hard to keep a smile on my face, to look like I’m floating effortlessly along with everyone in the giddiness of the karaoke room.
Finally, finally, it’s time to leave. Jimmy has apparently asked Elaine to go to the movies with him next weekend and she’s whipped herself into a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings, which she unleashes in the van on the way to Sharon’s apartment: “Omigod, he’s so cute! And so sweet! Do you think he really likes me? Do you think I should go? What should I wear? What if my parents find out?” I let Reggie and Hanh handle Elaine and thank God for Jimmy for providing a distraction. Hopefully this will keep everyone occupied for the rest of the night, and they’ll leave me alone about Dad. I close my eyes and let the girl talk wash over me, and try try try to push away the stomach-churning image of Dad and That Woman.
And then, thank God again, I get a text from Jamie.
Hey, you
Hey
I miss u! ;-)
:-) I miss u too I’m at a party but it’s hella boring. U?
Karaoke . . . My dad showed up w his gf WTF! Holy shit! Did he see u?
No
Wanna talk?
Nah. Maybe tomorrow
U sure?
Ya
I’m so sorry about your dad
But I’m so happy about us.
Can’t stop thinking about u.
. . .
ttyl . . .
I close my eyes, and it’s hard work but I hold the text in my mind, and slowly I start to re-feel Jamie’s lips on mine, remember how her body felt, how her hair smelled. I remember her eyes, how I felt like I could see into her soul, and the tenderness I saw there. By the time we arrive at the apartment, I’m almost smiling. When Hanh shakes me gently and says, “Wake up, Sana, we’re here,” I play along, figuring it will give me a good excuse to burrow right under the covers once we’re inside, and escape any inconvenient turns in conversation.
“So, Sana, we have to talk about last night.”
Damn. Shoulda known. “What?”
Reggie and I are at the Starbucks around the corner from Sharon’s apartment, picking up coffee and pastries to take back for everyone. Sharon, being on a ridiculous diet to get even super-skinnier for her wedding, has nothing but kale and lemons in her fridge, and nasty protein bars in her cupboards.
“Well, let’s just start with the dance,” she says. I head for the door, but Reggie plants herself at a table and stares at me until I go back and sit down next to her.
“Okay, what?”
“So . . .” Reggie stirs her pumpkin-spice latte and regards it with intense interest, like maybe she thinks she sees the face of Elvis in the foam.
“What?”
Reggie snaps the top back on, takes a fortifying sip, and says, “So did you know that there’ve been rumors going around about Jamie? That she’s a lesbian?”