Hwen de hao. Well mixed.
Once, in front of one of her mixed friends, Grace’s dad had told Barbra that it was too bad that the girl was hwen de chou. Mixed ugly. “Like maybe she have the Down syndrome.” The girl had cried, Grace had flamed with embarrassment, Charles had sworn that he forgot he was speaking English and got his secretary to send the girl an enormous box of cosmetics the next day, which made her totally stop talking to Grace at all. But it was what Barbra said that Grace remembered most. In the midst of the commotion, she’d just shrugged, and said, in an effort to stop Grace’s protesting, “Daddy was only telling the truth. There’s nothing wrong with being ugly if that’s what you are.”
And now Ama and Kathy understood her, too, of course, but they didn’t say anything, just held on to each other’s hands for a minute and headed into the spaceship house.
Conversation savers. That was another good reason to have kids around. Whenever there was a pause in the grown-ups’ talk, before it got unbearable, one of the adults would look over at Nico or Naia, who were setting up a store with stray personal items charmed from their visitors, and make some comment about their cuteness. Everyone enthusiastically agreed, and then the conversation could resume again. Phew. After a while, Grace slid off the scratchy plaid couch and scooched across the linoleum floor.
“Want me to be your customer?” she asked.
Nico, the older one, beamed at Grace and nodded, holding out a leather key fob unhooked from Barbra’s purse.
“You could have it,” he said. “Except that you have to put it in your pocket.”
She tucked it into her jeans as Naia crouched close to the ground and examined Grace’s shoes.
“Why do you have holes in your shoes?” she asked.
How do you explain fashion to a little kid?
“Don’t you think they’re cool-looking?”
Naia looked up, all serious, and shook her head. “Is it because you couldn’t buy the other parts?” Grace cocked her head and locked eyes with Naia. This couldn’t be part of it. These kids were too . . . kidlike to be a test.
Nico turned to Grace. “Guess what we’re having for dinner? Guess!” Grace shrugged and pretended to look very mystified. “Hot dogs! Hot dogs! Hot dogs!”
Hot dogs? Cow lips and tails and ears and vaginas, probably. Or udders. Mushed udders. In a tube. Tube steak. Gross.
“Ai-ya, ni je me xing zuo hot dog ne? Shei yao chi zhe gou? Jen shi de!” Ama hissed disapproval at her daughter while Grace tried to avoid her father’s and Barbra’s looks.
Kathy shrugged. “What’s wrong with hot dogs? Did you think I was going to make a banquet?” Shouldering the kids, she headed into the kitchen, leaving Ama to splutter after her, “Shei shuo bi yao ge banquet? Nu er tai chou la!”
Ten minutes later, Kathy came out with a platter of boiled hot dogs nestled in soft white buns and then brought out an armful of brand-new condiments: A big forty-ounce Heinz ketchup bottle, a bright yellow bottle of French’s mustard that was half as big, and a tiny squeeze bottle of Vlasic sweet relish.
Bleh. Hot dogs were just as gross as Grace remembered. It was like they were all gathered around the living room eating skinny penises on buns—seriously, hot dogs were basically the same thing.
Barbra had drawn two thin lines on hers, one of ketchup and one of mustard, and was now taking neat bites of it, not smudging the lines. Her dad’s was piled with relish and he opened his mouth for a giant bite. Kathy was cutting Nico’s into pieces and popping them in his mouth while Naia had hers gripped in both hands and inserted halfway in her mouth. She slipped it out again and grinned at Grace. “It’s like a ketchup lollipop!” she said.
Ama’s plain hot dog rested in her lap, her hands folded on top of it. She watched Kathy for a long moment before she turned to Grace’s dad, and said, quietly, bowing her head, “Jen shi dwei bu qi.”
“Hmm?” he asked, focusing on the last, mustard-streaked bite of his hot dog.
“Wang jia dwei wo ne me hao, wo xian zai je me xing zhi gei ni men hot dogs lai chi?”
Grace watched the bulge of chewed-up hot dog go down his throat as he swallowed before answering. “Ama, qing ni bu yao ne yang zi xiang la.” He turned to Grace. “Gracie, you like hot dog, right? Say to Ama that there is nothing to apologize.” Grace wanted to leave, to get up and run out on this moment, on huffy Kathy who must feel completely betrayed by her mom, on this test that was feeling less and less like a game, even on the kids who were getting sticky with ketchup.
“They’re great,” she said. “It’s like we’re at a carnival! There’s the kids, and the bouncy castle, and the hot dogs!”