Page 11 of You Had Me at Hello World
I nodded.
My father’s next visit was scheduled for around Christmas. It was hard for him to get away from Huawei.
Every day after school, I would complete as many problems as I could. I daydreamed about how proud he’d be when he sawhow far I had gotten. Maybe it would even make him want to stay in America for longer.
The day before he was supposed to fly in, my mother sat me down. “Your father won’t be able to come tomorrow. He got busy at work.” She had this horrible, creepy wrinkle in her lips. I think she was trying to smile.
“When can he come?”
“I don’t know yet.” Which was not a satisfying answer to a six-year-old.
So every night, for maybe a week, I asked her the same question. And every night my mother would toss out the same nonanswer.
Finally one evening, she snapped. “Stop asking, Char! Stop. He isn’t coming. He has a new family now. He has a new daughter. Understand?”
I started crying because her voice was so harsh and mean. I couldn’t even process her words. I didn’t get what it meant to “have a new family” or how Dad could have a new daughter if my mother hadn’t been pregnant.
Mom’s face softened. “Oh,baobei. We will be fine without him.”
She held me as I dissolved into tears. Later, she boiled a bag of frozen dumplings (chives and pork, my favorite) and we watchedJourney to the West, the nineties animated series about the monkey king Sun Wukong. I think she assumed those things would make me feel better, but after that night, theywere forever stained by the memory of Dad abandoning us.
And week after week, for years, I kept going back to the Art of Problem Solving. He said he’d be watching the leaderboards. He’d said that right before he left. Maybe he’d notice my rising score.
It’s so stupid. It’s so cringe. But deep down, I believed that if I got good enough, maybe he’d come back.
Chapter Six
Three weeks after I apply for Alpha Fellows, Lola and I catch a dine-and-dasher at my mom’s restaurant.
When tourists stop by the Lucky Panda, they’re expecting Chinatown in microcosm: red and gold banners dripping from the ceiling, ink paintings of bamboo and plum blossoms pinned on every wall. Oil-glistened platters of duck and rabbit gliding through the air.
As some Yelp reviewers so helpfully point out, the real Lucky Panda is not that glamorous. The table surfaces are wood-grain laminate. There’s always at least one burned-out bulb among the ceiling lights. Peeling off-white paint on the walls, the forever scent of peanut oil clinging to the carpet.
Today, Lola and I do homework in an empty booth, munching on pot stickers while my mother prepares for the evening shift. Or rather, I’m wrapping up my final report onThe Great Gatsbywhile Lola scrolls through Shein’s prom dress collection, even though she doesn’t have the money to buy anything new.
Prom is early May, and only seniors and their plus-ones gettickets. Lola’s situationship Rachel invited her. Apparently it’s to make Rachel’s ex-girlfriend Meredith jealous, but Meredith is going with some sophomore named Esperanza who used to have a crush on Choir Kelly (not to be confused with Stoner Kelly) whom Rachel hooked up with behind the bleachers during homecoming last year. Unless Meredith is actually going with Choir Kelly? Honestly, I had some trouble following the saga, although I was still riveted while Lola spilled all the tea. Cue that Marie Kondo screencap:I love mess.
“Do you think I can pull off a sweetheart neckline?” my best friend says. “Do I have the boobs for it?”
“Your boobs are fine,” I say without looking up.
“I don’t want fine. I want spectacular. Scrumptious. Succulent.”
“Please don’t describe your boobs as succulent.” The English language was a mistake, truly.
“I want, like, Sydney Sweeney cleavage.”
How did I end up in this conversation and how can I get out of it? “YOUR BOOBS ARE FANTASTIC, LO.” I say this too loud, and my mom looks over from the table she’s setting. Wonderful, now she’s walking in this direction.
Lola tilts back in her chair. “Quinn! Love the new earrings.”
My mom gingerly touches the hoops swinging from her earlobes. “Present from Michael.” What she doesn’t mention is that Michael won them in a poker game from this recent divorcée. “How is your mama?”
“Mari’s been wearing this cold cap to prevent hair loss fromchemo. Wanna see? She’s the only person I know who can pull it off.” Lola unlocks her phone and shows us a photo of her mom, who’s wearing a navy blue helmet with a matching sweater. Somehow, she still looks like a J.Crew model.
“Mari always pretty,” my mom says.
“Quinn, I’m not paying you to chitchat,” the restaurant manager calls, and my mom stiffens.
