Fish out of Water Page 4

  I sip my tea, trying not to look freaked out. Jenny sounds messed up if she’d actually do that. “But Betty needs to get out of here. Like now.”

  My dad’s eyes soften when he looks at me. I told them about the naked situation yesterday, and they both felt bad for putting me through that. “I know, sweetie, but I can’t do that until I find out what it’ll cost or who diagnosed her.” He leans back in his seat, resigned. “I’ll have to take time off work. She obviously can’t be left alone.”

  Mom sighs. “I’ll find a way to tell the director. I can handle finalizing the grant preparations on my own. Your mother? Not so much.”

  Dad doesn’t seem happy about what Mom said, but he doesn’t reply. It feels like there’s residual anger left from their fight yesterday, and I won’t be the one to bring that up again. I grab my messenger bag. “I gotta get to work. Good luck, Dad.”

  He nods. “Thanks.”

  The morning is warmer than usual as I pedal my way to AnimalZone. It is technically summer, so I hope it’s a sign of some sunnier days to come. If my life is so complicated, at least the weather should be agreeable. It makes me wish it were Saturday, then I could hang out with Shreya at the beach instead of facing Dylan again.

  By a stroke of luck, he’s nowhere to be seen when I get there. I don’t dare ask Clark where he is, favoring to do my job instead. The fish make me happy. As I feed them and clean their tanks, I feel like everything is normal for a second. There’s one goldfish in particular—one with giant telescope eyes—that I keep going back to. The moment I bring one home, I always find another at work to get attached to.

  When I take my morning break, I discover Dylan has been shoved into the inventory room, where he’s stacking a new shipment of dog food. It makes me happy to see him doing grunt work. Clark must be punishing him for something.

  “Excuse me,” an older man says. It’s about noon, and he’s the first customer all day to make eye contact with me. I don’t bother asking the browsers if they need help—they usually get tense and uncomfortable, like I’m hoping to sell them something.

  “How can I help you?” I ask.

  “I’m having problems with my goldfish. I thought he was dead this morning because he was upside down, but when I went to scoop him out he flicked back around and scared the living daylights out of me.” He puts his hand over his heart. “Does that mean he’ll die soon?”

  I shake my head, smiling. “He probably has swim bladder. Feed him a couple shelled peas every week, and he’ll be fine.”

  He looks surprised. “It’s okay to feed them people food?”

  “Not all food, but goldfish are omnivores. They like a variety of things—peas, carrots, oats, worms, shrimp, even raspberries. It’s good to give them treats, helps them digest better.”

  “I didn’t know that. Thank you, you’ve been very helpful.”

  “You’re welcome. Do you need anything else?” This customer is just what I needed. He asks me to point him to a better food for his fish and even buys a bigger tank at my recommendation. His fish is a lucky one. Most people hardly care or notice when theirs start acting out of character.

  I wonder if anyone noticed when Betty first started acting strange. Jenny doesn’t sound like the kind of person who would worry about her mom’s health. Something drastic, like yesterday, must have happened before Betty even went to the doctor.

  After I help the man to the register, I turn to find Dylan back at my Aquatics island. Urgh.

  “Sure had that guy eating out of your hands,” he says.

  I roll my eyes. “It’s called being polite. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

  He smirks. “Maybe. But seriously, what’s with you and fish? I’ve never heard someone go on about them like that, let alone a person my age.”

  His voice is the least venomous I’ve heard it, and it takes me off guard. For a second I consider not answering, but if this means he’s trying to be nice I’ll encourage it. My life would be much easier if he wasn’t such a jerk. “My parents are marine biologists—I’ve been around fish my whole life. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t like fish.”

  “So … you like them because your parents like them? I don’t buy that.”

  “It’s not just that,” I say, sounding way more defensive than I like. “Have you ever heard the legend of koi?”

  He shakes his head.

  “It was my favorite story growing up. My mom would tell it to me before bed, how the koi would swim up the Yellow River but were met with a great waterfall at its source. Most of the koi would give up at that point, but some kept on trying to scale the waterfall. They tried and tried for one hundred years, and finally one koi reached the top of the falls—when it did, the gods turned it into a dragon.”

  I smile at the wall of goldfish beside me. “I still picture all these little fish as potential dragons, I guess. And it’s a good reminder not to give up, even when things get hard. Maybe someday I’ll reach the top of the falls, too, you know?”

  Dylan is quiet for a moment, his brow knit tightly over his eyes. “Question.”

  “Okay?”

  “If a koi was born at the top of the waterfall, in whatever spring was up there, would it turn into a dragon?”

  I tilt my head. “Huh?”

  “I’m just wondering—is it the trying to get to the top that makes a koi a dragon? Or is it being at the top?”

  I’m not sure why he wants to know, but it is an interesting question. Who knew he had it in him to get all deep and ponderous? “I think it’s the journey and effort the gods found favorable enough to merit dragonhood.”

  “But if that were so, what about all the others still banging their heads against the rocks? Don’t they deserve it, too?”

  “I … ” I search for something, but can’t put my thoughts into words.

  “Ahem.” I whirl around, finding Clark watching us. “How do you feel about me treating you guys to lunch? Mika deserves it, and I am currently obligated to feed Dylan.”

  “As long as it’s not cheap food, fine,” Dylan says, looking at the floor.

  “Fair enough.” Clark turns to me. “How ’bout it, Mika?”

  There’s something weird about the way he looks at us. “You’ve never treated any of us to lunch before. Why now?” I ask.

  Clark clears his throat. “Well, I just thought maybe you two would get along better if you learned more about each other. It’s to improve our work environment. Employee bonding and junk.”

  He’s totally lying. I get this sinking feeling in my stomach. Is he seriously trying to set us up? Oh, hell no. “Uhh, I actually need to run home and check on … stuff. Sorry, maybe next time.”

  Clark raises an eyebrow. “You can just say you don’t wanna go.”

  “No! Really.” I search for something to tell him, and then the image of my dad alone with Betty hits. “It’s family stuff. My dad’s home for the day, and I wanted to bring him lunch.”

  “Does it have to do with the cop thing?” Dylan asks.

  My eyes go wide. “No. There were no cops. Shut up.”

  Clark gives me a skeptical look. “Well, have a nice time with your dad. Hope everything is okay.”

  “Thanks.”

  Though I didn’t originally plan this, I go to my dad’s favorite Mexican place, Su Casa, and order enough enchiladas for the two of us. I’m not sure what to get Betty and end up picking a cheese quesadilla. As I park in front of our house, I’m afraid of what I’ll walk into. I just hope it’s not more yelling.

  Chapter 7

  When I open the door, I’m not on edge because of any fighting, but because it’s so quiet. The only sound is the TV, and when I round the corner there’s Betty watching as if she’s completely normal and nothing at all strange happened yesterday. Dad sits at the kitchen table, poring over his laptop. He looks up first. “Mi-chan, I didn’t know you were coming home for lunch. Didn’t you say you were covering for Tanya?”

  I hold up the bags. �
��Yeah, but I thought you might want to share?”

  He smiles—truly smiles, for the first time since his mom showed up—and that makes the trip worth it. “Did you really bring me enchiladas?”

  I nod.

  “C’mere.” He hugs me, and we pull open the boxes. The enchiladas kind of look like someone threw up in a tin platter, but they taste amazing—the sweet pork, the hot sauce and cilantro. I’m drooling already.

  There’s no reaction from Betty, and I can’t help but glance over at her. “Has she been like that all morning?”

  “It was a fight to feed her breakfast, but yeah, pretty much. I think she’s tired from all that digging she did yesterday, which she doesn’t remember, by the way.” He takes a huge bite of the cheesy mess, then shoves a spoonful of beans in along with it. “Mm, so good. I needed this.”

  “Thought you might.” I dig into my own, taking only slightly smaller bites. Mom hates how we eat, says we act like the food will vaporize if we don’t shovel it in. I lean in to whisper. “She makes me crave saag like nothing ever has.”

  He laughs. “I know the feeling all too well.”

  “I bought her a cheese quesadilla, just in case. The first day she said she didn’t like anything spicy or ‘ethnic,’ though.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Whatever that means.”

  “I know, right?” I love my dad. He’s not the stereotypical strict kind. Of course he expects me to do my best, but he also seems to encourage me to question things and follow my own path to the answers. Maybe he does it because he didn’t get that, growing up.

  “I’ll give it to her after you leave,” he says through his food. “You’ve already had your share of her for the week.”

  “Okay.” I look at her, a strange pity-anger mix hitting. I can’t help but wish we didn’t have to deal with this, especially since my mom and I hardly know her. “Dad, can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did you have an aunt named Grace?”

  He pauses mid-bite, staring at me. “How … ?”

  “She asked me my middle name, and when I told her it was Grace she said you must have named me after her sister. I wasn’t sure if it was true or not.”

  He lets out a long sigh. “It’s true. Aunt Grace was … amazing. I don’t know much about my mom’s childhood, but they were very poor, as poor or poorer than I was growing up. Aunt Grace didn’t want to be that way forever, and she fought, Mika, just like me and your mom fought. She was a lawyer in Boston, and she encouraged me to do well in school and go to college. I owe everything to her.”

  I nod. “And she died?”

  “Right after I got into college. She was only forty-five.” He stares at his food, I think maybe to hide his expression. “Cancer. She left what she had to me, Greg, and Jenny for school, but it wasn’t much after all those medical bills and the funeral.”

  I know I’m already pushing it, but these stories from my dad’s past fascinate me. He seems like an entirely different person, and yet the same. “Did your father really just up and leave you guys?”

  “S-she told you that?”

  “She said it yesterday. She was telling me she didn’t know what to say to you guys.”

  “He did, but I don’t want to talk about it.” Dad won’t look at me after that, and it feels like he’s put up ten-foot walls. “I better get back to researching care facilities.”

  The idea makes me excited. “So she’s not staying here?”

  He shakes his head. “Not if I can help it. Thanks for lunch.”

  “No problem.” I get up, needing to get back to work anyway, and head for the door. But I take one glance at Betty and stop. She’s still staring at the TV, and I swear there are tears running down her face. Weird. It can’t be from the show—they are doing some cooking segment—and then I realize she heard everything my dad said.

  Did it hurt her?

  Everyone leaves me, she said.

  I look at my dad. I’ve always been proud of him, how hard he’s worked to get where he is. But I never really thought about who or what he left behind. Though if Betty felt so bad about it, why didn’t she ever try to fix it?

  “Mi-chan?” he says.

  I whirl around. “Hmm?”

  “Something wrong?”

  I shake my head. “See you in a few hours.”

  Chapter 8

  I always show up to the beach early, though I know Shreya is always late. But Lovers Point isn’t a very big place, and I have to stake out a good spot where the sand is perfect and close to the tide line. I roll out a few towels I brought to claim our place and sit to watch the sunrise. Yes, rise. Lovers Point curves into the bay, making it one of the few places on the West Coast where you can watch the sun come up over the ocean.

  This, of course, makes it a busy tourist spot, but that’s pretty much why Shreya and I pick this beach so often. We’re show-offs. When your art is as fleeting as sand sculpture, the goal is to have as many people as possible see it before it crumbles.

  The beach is still cold this early in the morning, so I pull my hoodie up and nestle deep into my favorite fleece blanket. Opening my current sketchbook, I draw out ideas for today’s piece in the slowly increasing sunlight. An opulent castle. An old man making sand angels. A dragon crawling up from a spring.

  Shreya will probably hate them all—she’s a much better artist, honestly—but I always sketch anyway. It’s nice to let my mind wander, to draw whatever shows up there.

  When I’m not sketching, I shamelessly people-watch. As the sun rises, they make their way down the cliff to the beach, walk along the park paths with their dogs, take pictures of the Victorian-style bed and breakfast places lined up across the street. I check my phone, wondering just how late Shreya will be. It tends to vary based on how busy the restaurant was Friday night.

  Finally, I see her on the cliff stairs. She has her usual equipment strapped to her back, and she waves when she spots me. I wave back, ready to do something normal after this crazy week.

  “Good spot,” she says when she gets close enough. “I have all day, so let’s try going bigger, okay?”

  “Hell yeah,” I say. “I brought lunch, no reason to leave.”

  “What did you draw this morning?” She snatches my book from me, looking at the latest stuff. “I like the dragon. I’m so in the mood for a dragon, but—”

  “You have a better idea?” I ask.

  She laughs. “Just some modifications! We’ll totally keep it an Asian dragon. Way cooler.”

  “Fair enough.”

  We get to work planning the dragon. Of course her ideas take my sketch to the next level. She wants to make it look like it’s just about to take flight, its front feet pushing up from the ground, its head lifted to the sky. “It’ll look awesome from the cliff, like it’s about to shoot up and take someone out.”

  “Totally.”

  We get to work mapping out the size and proportions in the sand—its giant head, the arch of its back in the center, the tail resting on the other side of the pond. I even run up to the cliff top to make sure it looks like a good size. Then it’s time for sand packing, which is the least fun part. But firmly packed sand is key to a sturdy sculpture, so we take our jackets off and begin.

  “This part never stops sucking,” Shreya says, huffing as we shovel sand into our five-gallon buckets. “Can’t sand weigh less? Stupid sand.”

  I laugh. “But hey, our arms are ripped.”

  She flexes her triceps, which are seriously cut, then her biceps. “I do look hot, don’t I?”

  “Totally hot.” I move on to my next bucket. “What we need is Olivia.”

  “Psh, she always whines.”

  “She has good stories, though, and it feels weird without her to entertain us.” When Olivia is not in Tahiti, she works at the Pebble Beach Spa with her mom, who’s a masseuse. Olivia’s basically a gofer for the rich ladies who hang out while their husbands play golf, and she constantly has some dramatic tale to
tell us about them.

  “True. Olivia is our creamy Oreo center.”

  “I miss her.” Olivia’s the one who doesn’t take life too seriously—Shreya and I have a tendency to be too “goal oriented,” as Olivia says.

  “Me too, but I will channel her. I want to hear more about Dylan,” Shreya says.

  I roll my eyes, though Olivia would ask me about him. “There’s nothing to tell. Still doesn’t do anything I tell him to do. Still acts like he’d rather have his nails ripped out than work there. You really need to get out if you’re desperate enough to talk about him.”

  She snorts. “I know I do! But that’s what my parents are worried about, even when I’ve told them I don’t want to date until college. Seems like the older I get the more they want to keep me at the restaurant. They have another thing coming if they think I’ll let them pick my husband, though.”

  Her face goes dark, and I frown. Shreya’s parents had an arranged marriage, but I didn’t think they’d do that to her. “Shrey, is that really what they’re planning?”

  She shrugs. “Not completely. Yet. I don’t know. My dad doesn’t want me to marry a non-Indian, though. We kinda had a huge fight about it last night. Not that I don’t want to marry an Indian guy—I’d just like to have a choice, you know?”

  I’m not sure what to say, because it seems weird that this still happens. I can’t help thinking about my parents, how being in love made so many problems with my dad’s family. I sigh. “We’re only seventeen. You have time to win them over.”

  She smiles, but it’s sad. “I’m not sure it works that way, Mika.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. It should be that simple, shouldn’t it?” She grabs a smaller bucket to fetch water.

  “Yes, it should be.”

  “But it isn’t.” She walks towards the waves, tugging at her ponytail. That means she’s upset. It makes my heart ache. Shreya is my best friend. She shouldn’t have to choose between love and her family. They should go hand in hand.

  Within a few hours, we’ve packed all the sand into giant mounds that will form the foundation of our dragon. It’s a simple enough design, though bigger than we usually go, so I figure it’ll take us well into the afternoon to finish. We stand next to each other, surveying our work.