Deming pierced the plastic wrapping with his fingernail. The plastic clung to the cardboard, then slowly unfurled. He opened the box, lifted the lid of the computer, and plugged it in, wishing that Michael could be there so they could watch videos together, wanting to show it all to Michael: the laptop, the records, the tapes, the Discman, the town full of white people. Where was Michael, why wasn’t he here? It was Roland he invited to his birthday dinner with Peter and Kay, at Casa Margarita in the strip mall on the highway, where they ate fajitas and drank virgin margaritas with paper umbrellas tucked in the slush. The waiters led the room in singing and Deming blew out the candles on his ice cream cake. When Roland saw the laptop, he whispered, with a reverence that made Deming proud: “Your parents are cool.”
As long as he didn’t think about his mother, Deming was not that unhappy in Ridgeborough. Yet there was always this nagging, icy swipe of fear, a reminder that he needed to stay alert. At times the fear was so far in retreat he forgot its existence; at other times it was so strong he could barely stop himself from shrieking. These people were strangers. He couldn’t trust them. Like when a Chinese maid had appeared on a TV show, a woman in a tight dress with garish eye makeup speaking a botched version of Mandarin, and Kay had stopped talking, the silence in the room was so loud it formed a dark red curtain, and Kay had flushed and quickly changed the channel, blabbing about winter and skiing as the TV played a commercial with a blonde lady putting a plate of fish sticks in a microwave. If Leon or Mama or Vivian had been there they would have all laughed at the Chinese maid together, made a joke about what province she was from, how could they get a job like that. Or the time Kay asked him to run into Food Lion and pick up a gallon of milk while she waited in the car, and Deming swore he’d heard someone make a noise like they did in kung-fu movies: hi-ya! When he told Kay about the sound, she had said, “Maybe you misheard? Maybe they were singing a song, or telling a friend about a movie?” Or eating shitty Chinese takeout at Roland’s house, gloppy chicken in nuclear red sauce, and Roland had poked at the meat lumps and asked what it was and his mother joked that it was cat or dog, was that a tail they saw there, and Deming felt chilled, implicated. Be careful. They’re not on your side. It’s important to be strong.
“Next year, can I get a guitar?” They were driving home after dinner at Casa Margarita, after dropping Roland off. If he had a guitar, he and Roland could have a real band.
“Let’s not carried away,” Peter said. “Music is fine to listen to as a hobby, but you need to focus on school.”
“But what if my grades get better?”
“You need to be more responsible, Daniel. Don’t ask for more when you can’t even be thankful for what you already have.”
“I am thankful.”
Kay turned around. “Enjoy your laptop first. Live in the moment.”
THEY WERE TALKING IN bed again. “He’s getting C’s and D’s,” Peter said. “We should look into a tutor. A student from Carlough.”
“That’s a good idea,” Kay said.
“He needs to work harder.”
“Oh, God, sometimes I look at him and think, what are we doing with this twelve-year-old Chinese boy? In Ridgeborough? Jim and Elaine, at least they’re in New York City. How could we have considered bringing a child from China here? The other day, Daniel told me he’d heard something, I don’t know, racist at the Food Lion. I was horrified. And now, whenever we go out, I’m suspicious. Are people looking at us because I have blonde hair and he has black hair? Or is it more nefarious? It’s making me paranoid.”
“We’re learning, we’re learning.”
“I mean, should we cook Chinese food? Or start Mandarin lessons again? I don’t want to be this, you know, this white lady—”
“You’re not doing anything wrong. It’s not easy, caring for a foster child. This has been a big change for us, a big adjustment.”
“Tell me about it. Some days I want to do one of those marathon writing days like I used to, but then there’s this boy here who needs us, and I need to make him meals and buy him clothes and make sure I’m loving and caring and patient so I don’t mess him up more than he already is. I’m afraid I’m too old to learn how to be the kind of mother who gives everything up to mom. Even foster mom. I’m using mom as a verb here, in case you can’t tell.”
“Well, if you’re too old, then I’m too old, too,” Peter said. “You know, at a meeting the other day, Will Panov said Daniel was lucky to have us and we were brave to take in an older boy. I told him, we’re the ones who are lucky that he’s staying with us.”
Kay sighed. “I know you’re trying to be nice, but it’s different for men. All those books and articles I read about the whole unrealistic American expectation regarding motherhood, the martyr-like aspect of it, the reality is so much worse than I’d even expected. You get to work all you want, but you never feel bad about it. You weren’t brought up that way.”
“No? I think I know a little about familial expectations.”
There was a lengthy silence.
Peter finally said, “This might sound callous, but honestly, whatever we do is going to be better than what he experienced before. You remember what the agency said, how the mother and stepfather both went back to China. We’re the first stable home he’s ever had.”
“I know, but I feel like I’m holding my breath. The aunt could still come back. I’ll feel so much better when it’s all finalized, one way or the other.”
“We’ll know more next month at the hearing.”
“I want to treat him like he’s my own son, not just a foster kid, but there’s this chance it won’t work out.”
“Remember, Jamie said it’s unlikely there will be an appeal since there hasn’t been any communication from his family. And after six months we can start proceedings.”
Back to China? Proceedings? Who were Jim and Elaine? If his mother had gone anywhere, it was Florida, not China. In his bedroom, in the dark, Deming held his breath, wondering if they would say more about her, if they knew things about her that he didn’t. They were hiding things from him. He’d been right not to trust them.
“Did you read that article in the paper today?” Kay said. “An abandoned baby in a bus station in Buffalo? I’m sure his mother had her reasons, whatever they were, mental health, financial hardship.”
“All that matters is that we’re taking care of Daniel right now,” Peter said. “Not whether we’re Asian or Chinese or whatever.”
“But do you think we didn’t prepare enough? Even if we’d been planning for years.”
“Oh, we could have read every single book out there and it still wouldn’t have prepared us.”
“I think of his mother constantly, though I probably shouldn’t,” Kay said. “What did she look like? What was her name? It’s not like I can ask Daniel about her. He doesn’t say a peep. Sure, I know it’s cultural, but it’s also like he’s scared of us.”
“He won’t always be.”
“I hope so. We’ll love him so much we’ll make it all better.”
“Killing them with kindness, that sort of thing?”
“But no actual killing,” Kay said. “I’m a pacifist.”
Deming waited for them to say more, but they had stopped talking.