Eight
Nadine sat on the couch nursing a cup of tea and listening to her grandmother and mother chat as they finished preparing lunch. Or as Pohpoh finished, because she took over the cooking whenever she came to visit. Her father passed by with a stack of plates to set the kitchen table since the larger one in the dining room was covered with her brother’s latest school project, which seemed to involve a lot of wires.
“Hey, sis.” Noah poked his head into the room.
She checked out the contraption he was wearing. “Are those welding goggles for that bomb you’re constructing?”
“Funny. It’s a VR headset. Wanna try?”
She shuddered. “No thanks. Those make me nauseous.”
Noah nodded, sandy hair bouncing over the top of the headset. “Motion sickness happens in about a quarter of users, and women are generally more susceptible.”
“And why is that, brother dearest?”
He looked astonished. “Gender bias in engineering, of course. Like most things, VR tech is designed with a man’s perspectives, experiences, and measurements in mind.”
She toasted him with her mug. “Tell Preeti I love her.” Noah’s girlfriend of a decade—they met in eighth grade, and Nadine didn’t know if it was weird or sweet that they’d been together for so long—was brilliant, ambitious, and kind. Nadine loved her.
Noah made a face. “I found that out for myself doing a project on accessible design, thanks.”
Nadine raised her eyebrows. “Preeti had nothing to do with it?”
“Preeti suggested the topic,” he admitted.
She went into the kitchen. Her grandmother gave Nadine a critical look. “Good thing you came for lunch,” she said. “Too skinny. You need to eat more.”
“I eat, Pohpoh.” She leaned over to give her grandmother a hug, which was tolerated for less than a second. Pohpoh showed her love in only two ways: food provision and criticism. She accepted affection fleetingly and rarely. Her grandmother handed her a bowl of chopped green onions, and Nadine knew without asking that she was to add them to every dish.
She began to sprinkle as she watched her mother and grandmother argue about whether to mince more garlic. Having lost the garlic fight, her mother took away Nadine’s green onion bowl and peered into her face. “Your cheeks are gaunt. It’s that job, isn’t it?” she said. “It’s too much for you.”
Her dad came in to join the party. “Listen to your mom, pumpkin. You know she’s always right.”
This had been the soundtrack of Nadine’s life, along with its B-side, You should ask your father for advice . “I’m fine.”
Her mother’s face creased with concern. “There was that awful man threatening you at your own home. We were terrified. You should move back with us. Your apartment isn’t safe.”
Nadine sighed, regretting that she’d told her parents about the threats. She couldn’t let them suspect this conversation upset her because it would devolve into having to reassure them. It also meant a frank discussion of the incident or how she felt about it was completely off the table, because they would take any of her concerns as more proof she wasn’t okay and should move home. She grabbed her chair. “It was dealt with, and nothing happened. Are we ready to eat?”
They crowded around the table, passing the food and casually dipping into dishes with forks and chopsticks. A platter of French fries shared space with the steamed fish, noodles, and fried rice because Pohpoh required meals to have the selection of a buffet to be acceptable. She’d also made what they called Chinese lasagna, layers of rice, greens, and hoisin chicken thighs cooked to tender perfection, topped with Nadine’s spring onions.
“At least you’ve changed that job of yours,” said her father as he served himself some noodles. “Obituaries are too morbid for a young woman.”
“Like a grim reaper,” added her mother. “I read one about some poor man’s business failures. What happened to not speaking ill of the dead?”
“Jerry Hill’s mismanagement wiped out the savings of thousands of vulnerable people and made him a multimillionaire.” Nadine traded her chopsticks for a spoon. “It’s as much a part of his legacy as anything else he did. Obits aren’t eulogies.”
“I can’t believe his family allowed it,” said her mother. “You need to leave people with their dignity.”
“We don’t ask permission.” Nadine spoke into her plate and tried to push aside her temper and her parents’ disappointment. “Those kinds of obituaries are in the public interest, and they should be fair and truthful.”
“It’s mean-spirited,” said her father stubbornly. “Not the kind of thing I thought you would want to be involved in. We raised you better. It’s not surprising things like that man would happen.”
She put down her spoon as Noah’s head shot up. “What do you mean?”
“Nadine, be serious,” said her mother, exchanging a look with her father. “I don’t want to say I told you so , but naturally people are going to respond negatively to your stories. Some of them aren’t very nice.”
“My job is to report accurately and keep people accountable,” said Nadine through gritted teeth. “Not to be nice.”
“All I’m saying is not everyone is going to agree. You should be like Rachel from golf’s daughter. She’s a physiotherapist,” said her mother hopefully. “That’s a good steady job.”
“You need to come home before something serious happens,” added her father. “Waste of money to rent these days anyway.”
“Complete waste,” her mother echoed. “At least you would have company here.”
Nadine thought about those late-night shadows. It might be nice to have people around. Maybe she would feel safer at home.
Her grandmother dropped a serving spoon and winced, rubbing a hand thick with arthritis.
That was enough for her mother to turn her attention from Nadine. “Mom, have you thought more about when you’re going to move into a retirement home?” she asked.
Pohpoh picked up the spoon again. “Yes. Never.”
Noah covered a laugh as their father glared at him. “Noah.”
“Sorry, Dad, but if Pohpoh likes to live on her own, she should. Like Nad.”
“Your grandmother needs someone to keep an eye on her,” said their mother. “What if something happens?”
Pohpoh waved her hand. “What if, what if. I can take care of myself.”
Nadine kicked Noah under the table before her mother could respond, and he coughed loudly. “Hey, did I tell you about the cool thing I’m working on?” He didn’t wait for a reply and started talking about his new VR project at length and past the point where any of them were interested.
It left Nadine to stew about her parents’ attitude. Although they swore they only wanted her to be happy, they neglected to add, as long as it doesn’t upset us . Her parents needed the comfort and stability that came from the familiar. They’d lived in the same house since before Nadine was born and worked in the same companies as their first jobs. They’d had taco Tuesdays for over a decade straight. Her mother didn’t even like making left-hand turns in the car.
It had been hard for Nadine to go against their wishes to become a journalist instead of an accountant, but telling stories to make a difference was something she’d craved, and it had been worth it. Despite all the problems, it was worth it.
Not to mention she hated math.
After lunch, she and Noah chased out the rest of the family while they cleaned up, Noah tackling the pots in the sink while she filled the dishwasher. He glanced over. “It works better if you put the bowls—”
“Shut it, Noah.”
“—on the top. Otherwise, they stop the water from circulating,” he muttered to himself.
She put in another bowl and lowered her voice. “Why do Mom and Dad want to move Pohpoh? Is her health worse?”
Noah finished washing the pot before answering. “It’s not that. They’re worried about what might happen to her outside.”
“Like falling down?”
He shook his head. “A guy pushed Mrs. Lee coming out of the grocery store.”
Nadine gasped, feeling ill. “Mrs. Lee is eighty .”
Her brother glared at the dish in his hand. “You think someone like that is going to attack a person who can fight back? She had to go to the hospital and get stitches.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” she demanded.
“What are you going to do about it?” he asked. “It’s life. It sucks, but Pohpoh says she’d like to see some runt try it on her. I got her some pepper spray. It’s illegal, but if she needs to use it, that’s on them.” Her brother’s face was granite.
“That’s why Mom and Dad are upset.”
“Yeah, but Pohpoh doesn’t want to live in fear. Or to be monitored.”
They worked in silence for a bit, and when she looked over, Noah was frowning as he scrubbed. Nadine knew that face, which was the same one he wore when he was stumped by an algebra problem. “Hey,” she said. “Pohpoh’s tough, you know that. Remember when that guy tried to steal her purse and she broke his leg when she tripped him?”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.” He dropped a pot into the sink with a clatter. “Not all of it anyway. Are Mom and Dad right?”
“About what?”
“I’ve been reading a lot about the shit journalists get online, and I know it’s worse for women.” A deep line split his forehead. “Especially women who aren’t white. You should see what Preeti has to deal with in her engineering classes.”
“We’re white,” she said.
“I am. But you’re more whitish.”
Nadine understood what he was saying. Very few of Evelyn Tan’s features had filtered down to her grandchildren. Noah was a mini me of their father, with light hair and eyes that shifted from gray to blue to green depending on the color of his shirt and, more bizarrely, the weather. Nadine looked more like their mother, with her small nose and round eyes that narrowed at the corners, and like her, Nadine somehow didn’t look part Chinese but also didn’t not look it. It depended on her expression and how she wore her hair. However she looked, it was enough to get her voluntold into the Herald ’s diversity committee by Frank after her editor had come back from a managerial meeting.
“It’s like a twofer,” he’d said, tone making clear his belief that this entire diversity thing was another corporate trend that would soon fade. “A woman and some Asian. Think of it as good for your visibility.”
Nadine hadn’t wanted to join, the same way she hadn’t wanted to join the social committee or any of the other committees almost totally run by women to improve the quality of office life for everyone else. That was time she couldn’t do her actual job and for no extra pay, acknowledgment, or appreciable benefit. After all, she didn’t care if they had a holiday party, and the best way to build visibility was by breaking good stories. “I’m not Asian.”
“But—” Frank waved his hand at her face. Maybe she shouldn’t have done the cat’s-eye eyeliner that morning.
Nadine prepared for her standard Giving of the Genealogy. “My grandmother is Chinese. I’m a quarter, and it doesn’t really impact my life.” Despite her father urging her to say she was Asian to take advantage of what he apparently thought were the boatloads of perks available to diversity candidates, Nadine felt uncomfortable claiming a heritage she didn’t feel matched her or that she had a right to. If she looked like Pohpoh, it might be different, or if she’d been raised with more of a cultural consciousness than learning to eat with chopsticks. Also, her dad had no idea what he was talking about.
She turned back to her conversation with Noah. “I changed jobs anyway.”
“You lived for the politics beat,” he said. “Are you going back?”
“Of course I am,” she said with more confidence than she had. She loved providing insight on events as they were happening. The scrums. The rush when she knew a politician was lying, and she had the indisputable proof. The immediacy and the adrenaline had made it all worthwhile, until that one day when she simply couldn’t take it anymore.
She had known she was tense and burned out by the armchair critics who forgot they were aiming their insults at an actual person. Or perhaps that was what made them do it, as long as they could act without fear of retribution. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to tell Frank it was getting to be too much and she needed a break. The death threat had at least pushed her into action, which was the thinnest possible silver lining. She bit her lip, hand lingering on the cabinet.
Noah poked her. “Hey, earth to Nad. You okay?”
She shook off her fugue. “I’m good. Don’t worry about me.”
“Preeti says we need to care about the people we love when they can’t care for themselves.”
“Preeti is right.” She gave him an impulsive hug, and he tapped her awkwardly on the back with his fingertips. “Thanks, brobob.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Goober.”
“Stretch.”
It had been so long, neither of them remembered where the nicknames had come from or why they’d been annoying. Over the years, they’d transformed into almost endearments, a way to say I love you without the embarrassment of having to utter the words out loud.
Nadine put on a smile and said her goodbyes, then got in her car. Tapping Voline’s address into her GPS, she saw she had thirty-one minutes to put aside her parents’ concern and unease about her grandmother before she arrived.
In the end, it took twenty-four minutes for the anticipation to rise high enough to drown her other worries. Nothing, not her family or work or putting up with Wes, would ruin meeting Dot Voline for the first time.