26. Miley
I don’t get to play the piano as much as I like these days since my time is usually consumed with putting people to sleep, but I still enjoy settling before the keys every now and then. Every time I sit down to play, I remember how much I have missed it. I have a keyboard in my small NYC apartment since space is at a premium. I may dream of having a grand piano one day, but that’s nowhere in the near future. I can’t even afford the cost of moving an upright piano into this apartment. So, a keyboard will have to do.
Rohit will be here soon, to take me to dim sum with my family. He again insisted on picking me up. I woke up a little early, so I have time to spare while waiting for him. Every second is an opportunity, so I decide to sit at the piano for some long-overdue practice.
I look through some of my sheet music and pick one of my favorites, Chopin’s Fantaisie-Impromptu Op. 66, and start playing. I have it somewhat memorized, but I still like looking at the sheet music; it’s like a crutch that I have no need to get rid of.
It starts off easy with just two notes, but then rapidly quickens. First, it’s only my left hand before my right hand joins. I am out of practice, so I make a few mistakes, but it feels so nice just to play and make beautiful music. The familiarity of the music calms me.
Playing piano as a relaxation tool started in college. Before that, I always enjoyed it, but there was also some expectation of perfection and progress that comes with doing any activity, especially the way I was raised. Once I was in college, though, I realized I could just play for my own joy.
Cornell has beautiful soundproof practice rooms. You can literally shut the world behind you with a click of the door and focus on the music. At first, I went there because I also knew there was no chance of running into Harrison in those music rooms. He couldn’t tell a cello from a trumpet. So I knew I could relax there. The added benefit of losing myself in the music was a plus.
It is how I got through those difficult times. Do I regret what I did? Not at all, but I do wish it wasn’t a decision I had to make. I don’t wish it upon anyone.
Once I finish Fantaisie-Impromptu, I move on to a cover of a popular song, which is one of my favorite things to practice on the piano. My fingers start playing the tune of Flowers by Miley Cyrus, because of course I love Miley Cyrus. Having someone famous who is my age, with my name, has always been interesting. The Hannah Montana days especially.
I am playing the chorus of the song when I hear a soft, tentative knock on the door.
“Come in!” I yell, not getting up from the keyboard.
I keep playing as the door swings open and Rohit comes in. He waves shyly and closes the door behind him quietly so as to not disturb me.
I sing quietly and wait for him to join me, then we’re both belting out the lyrics.
“I can buy myself flowers (oh)
Write my name in the sand (mm)
Talk to myself for hours (yeah)
Say things you don't understand (you never will)
I can take myself dancing, yeah
I can hold my own hand
Yeah, I can love me better than
Yeah, I can love me better than you can”
I have some déjà vu of the night in the bar, when we had so much fun screaming out lyrics. By the end of the song, I can feel Rohit’s eyes bore into me. My skin flushes against my better judgment, unable to hide my emerging feelings.
“You are breathtaking when you play,” Rohit breathes out. “Not that you’re not always breathtaking, but…”
I’m too embarrassed to let him finish the sentence, so I interrupt him with a “Thanks. Should we get going?"
Rohit gives me a smirk, like he knows I can’t take a compliment, but mercifully lets me be as he silently puts his shoes back on and leads me out of the apartment.
We make our way downtown to meet Ruby, Charlie, my parents, Aunt Sue, her husband Uncle Jin, her son Andrew, and his husband Carter for dim sum.
Carter is a Viking hunk of a man; tall, pale, blonde, but looks completely at ease with this group of chatty Asians who are, in comparison to him, quite short.
“I feel like I need to warn you so you know what you’re getting into. They are a group of hyenas and mice when they’re all together,” I say.
Rohit raises one eyebrow in question.
I give him a playful shove. “They’re a cackle of hyenas and a mischief of mice,” I explain.
Rohit laughs. “I know I know, it’s not funny when you have to explain it. Again. You know what? I’m going to learn every collective noun of every animal. That way, when you make that joke again, I’ll get it.”
“Please, no one, not even Dylan, has ever done that. Nobody wants to nerd out with me,” I say.
“You deserve someone that will fully nerd out with you, Miley,” Rohit responds.
Does he mean himself? Before I can think too much about it, we step out of the subway stop in Chinatown into the bright Saturday morning sun. We walk a few blocks to Golden Unicorn. I was just here with Dylan, but it’s a different experience when your party is ten people instead of two, because the family style ordering lets us try so many more dishes.
I’m always a little nervous about eating Chinese food with a non-Chinese person. I worry they will judge my food and say it’s disgusting. Sure, everyone loves mainstream Chinese takeout, but some of the more authentic foods are not always appreciated. I’m hoping that since Rohit is pretending to be my boyfriend, his charade will extend into a willingness to try new foods.
We step into the crowded restaurant and immediately hear calls of “Miley! Rohit! Over here!” We head to where everyone else is already seated at a large round table that can accommodate all ten of us. The cacophony of sound is loud around us, in many languages and dialects. Servers are shouting instructions at each other. Ladies with the dim sum carts are calling out what dishes they have.
There are two empty seats at the table and we take them. I introduce Rohit as my boyfriend, everyone beams, and I cringe inwardly. Lying to everyone like this makes me want to crawl under the table and hide from my web of deceit.
Once we get comfortable, Rohit puts his arm around me and leans over to kiss me on the top of my head. “I love your family, they are so full of life,” he whispers in my ear, too soft for anyone else to hear. “Even if they are hyena-like.”
“You don’t have to pretend when no one else can hear you, Rohit,” I say.
“Miley,” he says and turns to look at me. “That’s not pretend. I love spending time with you, and your family is part of who you are.” He lazily rubs his hand over my shoulder, sending shivers down my spine.
Before I can respond, Aunt Sue interrupts. “Rohit, what do you like to eat?”
“Everything!” Rohit says good humoredly.
“Be careful what you wish for,” Carter says. “I did not know what I was getting into marrying a Chinese man, but he has introduced me to so many different foods.”
Rohit says, “I look forward to the lesson. Let’s get started.” He rubs his hands together in anticipation.
Aunt Sue chortles. “You asked for it.”
She flags down a passing lady and looks into her cart. This one looks pretty tame. She orders two orders each of cha shao bao— BBQ pork buns—and taro puffs, which are these delicious savory taro pastries with pork inside.
My mom places one of each on Rohit’s plate. “Eat up,” she says. Usually, my mother serves me first, but today I have been replaced with a new favorite person and I smile to myself.
I whisper to Rohit, “She must like you. A Chinese mother shows her love with food. Specifically, by feeding you to death.”
Rohit laughs. “I take your Chinese mother and raise you an Indian mother. Eating with an Indian family is an Olympic sport.”
I smirk, because I don’t know which one of us would win that argument, so instead of responding, I watch carefully as Rohit examines the food, takes one bite of the BBQ pork bun, and then within seconds inhales the rest. “Oh my god,” he exclaims. “Where can I get more of that?” He moans appreciatively.
“Pace yourself!” I chide. “There is so much more food coming. The beauty of eating with ten people is you can have one of everything.”
“Mmmhmmm,” he mutters with a taro puff in his mouth.
He notices my parents smiling, and he turns on the charm. “I could eat like this for the rest of my life.”
My heart flutters, but it shouldn’t. I remind myself, over and over, that everything he is saying is a farce.
Aunt Sue isn’t going to let what Rohit said go unnoticed, though. “That sounds like a marriage proposal, Rohit!”
I blush furiously.
Before I can come up with a retort, Charlie leans over and says, “Dude, thanks again for playing tennis with me. How much money did the event end up raising?”
Rohit has to swallow his large bite of food before he can answer. “Almost eighty-thousand dollars, which is amazing! We’ll be able to resurface the courts, get some new equipment, and pay for many of the kids’ tournament registration fees. Thanks to sponsors like you.”
Rohit looks at Charlie with genuine gratitude, and that also makes my heart flutter. At this rate, I’m going to need to make an appointment with Quinn, the cardiologist.
The lady with the cart of food returns and places an order of chicken feet and beef tripe on the table. I grew up eating both, but I know it can gross some people out. Rohit doesn’t seem phased at all though.
“Can I try it?” he asks.
“Of course,” I say. He reaches his chopstick over and tries to grab a chicken foot, but it keeps sliding off. I reach over with my chopstick and help him. “Just be careful, there are bones in the chicken feet, and once you’ve eaten the meat off the bones, you have to spit the bones back out.”
He places the meaty part of the chicken foot into his mouth and takes a large bite. He chews and I watch him expectantly. “That’s actually quite delicious,” he comments, taking another bite, careful with the bones.
I’m impressed, but again, I can’t tell if he’s just really good at acting.
“I don’t like the tripe as much,” he says as he swallows it down. “I’m not used to the texture.”
I smile. “I don’t really like the tripe either, so I can’t fault you. Wait till you try my favorite.”
“I can’t wait,” he says, and he doesn’t have to wait long.
The cart with my favorite dish happens to pass by, and I wave the server down. I request a few orders of the shrimp rice rolls, since I know that everyone else loves them too. I can eat two whole orders by myself, so I make sure I get enough for the entire table without decreasing my personal allocation. If I ever needed to pick a last meal, it would be this rice noodle-wrapped shrimp, drenched in a savory, slightly sweet soy sauce mixture.
“Miley,” my sister says from across the table. “Are you excited for the U.S. Open Women’s Final?”
I cringe a little. I still know nothing about tennis. Maybe I should learn a little something before the match so it’s not a waste of a completely good ticket.
Rohit must see the uncertainty on my face. He leans in and says, “I’ll walk you through every bit of the match, don’t worry.” He kisses the top of my head again. I sigh because I like the affection way too much, but I know I shouldn’t get used to it.