“Oh, that sounds cool,” Uncle Max says, flashing his teeth.
“I always hoped we’d have a dentist in the family,” Mom muses. “I read somewhere there’s going to be a shortage of them soon—you could open your own practice nearby. Live near home. Wouldn’t that be cool?” I’ll never understand Mom’s obsession with trying to get us to stay close to her. Maybe she’s afraid of being alone. Or maybe she likes the idea of being a family more than she likes actually being a family.
“I don’t want to be a dentist,” Taro says with disgust. “I don’t even like being in school.”
He pushes his food around with his fork. Taro’s not a dreamer like I am. He doesn’t have a great love the way I love art or Shoji loves reading. He’s getting a degree in journalism at the University of Nebraska not because it’s his passion, but because it was the only in-state college that offered him a scholarship.
Taro has always been smart, but he lacks motivation. He’s the person who aces all his tests but doesn’t turn in any homework. Maybe it has something to do with his armor—maybe the only way to protect his heart is to not care about anything.
“What are you going to do after you graduate?” Uncle Max asks.
“Probably get a job as a bartender and tell everyone how happy I am that I don’t have to clean people’s teeth for a living.” Taro snorts.
Mom ignores him. I could never get away with talking to her like that. She’d tell me how rude and ungrateful and jealous I was all at once. Maybe it’s because Taro has thicker skin than me. Maybe it’s too much effort for her to try to break through it. Maybe I’m an easier target.
“Well, I think Shoji is going to be my doctor. Aren’t you, Shoji?” Mom asks.
Shoji doesn’t look up from the manga he’s hiding under the table. I don’t blame him—his books are my paintings. They’re an escape.
And hiding the thing he loves most under a table works for him because he’s never cared about getting anyone’s approval. He doesn’t need to share his comics; he doesn’t need anyone to be interested in him. He has more raw confidence than I ever will.
I never learned how to hide my art from Mom. I’ve always wanted her to be a part of what makes me happy, and I don’t know how to turn that off.
Shoji does. Maybe that’s why he picked manga—because he knew the last thing Mom would ever want to do is look at Japanese comic books. His hobby was always his and his alone, and maybe it’s safer that way. Maybe knowing someone will never be interested is better than hoping one day they will be.
Uncle Max turns to me innocently. “What about you, Kiko? What are your plans?”
I shift in my chair, avoiding his eyes. I don’t want to talk to him about art. I don’t want to talk to him about anything.
“She wants to do something with her art,” Mom says without blinking. There’s a brief pause. “She went to go see the babies, you know.”
I have the sudden urge to stretch my spine, as if every part of my body feels cramped and constricted. I feel protective of my new sisters. I don’t want Mom to talk about them. Especially not to Uncle Max.
“I’ve seen a picture of them. They’re cute.” She raises her brow. “Except one of them does have your dad’s nose. Your grandma’s nose, I should say. Just like you.” Mom glances at me. It’s definitely not a compliment.
She’s talking about my wide, round Asian nose. The one she doesn’t have. The one that isn’t as pretty as hers.
Uncle Max laughs—like, really laughs—as if having my dad’s nose is the most hilarious thing he’s heard all day. “Don’t worry.” He winks. “They have surgery for that.” Suddenly Mom is laughing too.
Shoji shifts, turning his page roughly. He doesn’t make eye contact with me, but for some reason I get the feeling he’s worn out. Maybe from tae kwon do, or maybe from Mom. He never talks to me long enough to find out.
“You better eat some more steak before your brothers finish it all,” Mom warns me.
I blink at her. “I’m a vegetarian. I haven’t eaten meat in two years.”
“Why do you have to make everything so difficult?” Mom sighs like she’s tired. Like I make her tired. “I made this beautiful dinner, and you’re trying to ruin it with your negativity.”
Taro coughs loudly and stabs his fork in another piece of pink steak.
I breathe through my nose. Through my big, fat Asian nose that is good for dinner-table jokes.
“Did I tell you my girlfriend went to art school?” Uncle Max asks after another gulp of beer.
Mom jolts her head back like this is the most exciting information she’s ever heard for the fifth time. “We almost sent Kiko to an art school when she was little, but it was so expensive.”
My head snaps to her in surprise. “What?”
She hums like what she just said isn’t a big deal at all.
But it’s a huge deal to me because it’s the first I’ve heard of it.
“When were you going to send me to art school?” I ask.
Taro snickers into his plate. Uncle Max drinks more beer. Shoji pretends none of us exist.
Mom sniffs. “It was after your second-grade teacher sent her daughter to that place near the lake. Do you remember? Your dad and I did the research and everything. We talked about it.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me that? How long did you consider it for?” I’m not trying to be annoying—I’m actually weirdly excited. Because art is my life. Everyone knows this. Mom especially knows this. But she has a way of pretending she doesn’t. I never thought she cared enough to consider sending me to art school. I just want to know the details. Because this might be the nicest thing I’ve ever found out my mother secretly almost did for me.
“I don’t know, Kiko. We googled it, okay? It was too expensive.” The corner of her mouth twitches in anticipation of what’s going to happen next.
And then, very quickly, I see the truth flash across her eyes because I know my mother very well.
WHAT I WANT TO SAY:
“So you didn’t almost send me to art school. You asked Dad to look up on the Internet how much it costs, probably to find out how a second-grade teacher could afford to send her own kid. And now you’re bringing it up because you think it will make you look like a good parent who tried to do nice things but only couldn’t because of the money.”
WHAT I ACTUALLY SAY:
“Oh. Okay.”
“Becky is really talented. She even plays the piano,” Uncle Max continues.
“I was always a very good pianist when I was younger. Remember all those recitals I had?” Mom asks.
They go back and forth like it’s a competition.
I glue my eyes to my plate and think about my pending application with Prism until something Uncle Max says makes me feel ill.
“You guys will get to meet her soon, now that I’ll be staying here for a few months while I get back on my feet.”
I don’t say a word.
I look at Taro—he’s chewing and chewing and chewing and pretending he doesn’t know what’s going on.
I look at Shoji—his eyes flick up from his hidden book for a sliver of a moment. It’s short-lived sympathy.