Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Eighteen
Sabrina
Before Sabrina started spending time with Dave, every time she thought of Kit in Tokyo, she got a bitter taste in her mouth.
For most of her life, she’d looked on as Kit traveled abroad, to places she only saw through her friend’s posts on social media.
Sabrina had left Philadelphia only a handful of times.
In January of her senior year, she went to Connecticut with her mother so Lee Lee could collect her used car and license.
Pennsylvania State wouldn’t issue a license to Lee Lee, who was undocumented, but Connecticut would.
It was a short trip, and Sabrina tasted the small joy of having a parent who could drive her places finally, just like her friends.
One summer in eighth grade, Mr. and Mrs. Herzog had invited her to join them at Disneyland in California.
She had begged her mother for weeks to let her go.
Sabrina had offered to take on every chore she could think of, but her mother wouldn’t budge.
So Sabrina watched as Kit invited Casey to join her instead.
It was weeks into the first semester of ninth grade before they would stop talking about the malls in California, the surfing on the beach, the rides at Disneyland, and how they stayed up late every night eating Twizzlers and Milk Duds.
Sabrina knew that Casey stepping in as her replacement gave Sally and Terry Herzog some relief.
During the elementary school years, they refused to acknowledge Sabrina and Kit’s friendship; their fear of the friendship was visceral.
Sabrina never forgot Sally Herzog’s wide-open eyes, mouth ajar when she arrived to collect Kit after the first day of second grade.
Her eyes fell on Sabrina and Kit holding hands as they skipped out of class.
It’s totally fascinating how they were just drawn together. They must feel comfort, you know? Ms. Cuthbert had said to Sally, smiling at the two girls.
I think they see themselves as the same.
I really do , Ms. Cuthbert continued, as Kit jumped up and down in front of Sally, asking if Sabrina could come to play.
Another time, sweetheart. We’re busy today, remember.
Once, Kit pressed on. Her mom won’t mind; she’s never back until late because she works.
Let’s bring Rina home, we can do a carpet picnic, pleeeease, Mommy.
We can even work on our homework. We won’t even make a mess, Mommy.
Sally widened her eyes and looked at Kit, begging her to stop.
But Kit wouldn’t. That was the thing about Kit in those days at elementary school; she always took it too far.
Sweetheart, I think Sabrina is probably busy in the afternoons with her chores and homework.
We’ll get her to come another time. Sally had said this to nobody in particular, least of all Kit, her face a twisted expression of sympathy and pain.
Since that afternoon, Sabrina noticed that she was never invited to Kit’s house after school.
Meanwhile, Casey Steinham, Avery Thompson, and Kaitlyn Jones always went over for playdates.
She watched the huddle of mothers standing in front of the school’s front doors, their light hair glinting in the afternoon sunshine, their long cashmere camel coats wrapped tightly around them, in a closed circle.
She walked past them to the school bus and watched as Kit ran with Casey to her mother’s car, holding hands.
They would all be home before Sabrina had even left Germantown Avenue.
She always imagined them drinking hot cocoa in front of a roaring fireplace, the mothers laughing and playing with their girls.
Sabrina would walk down the uneven pavement of Roxborough Avenue to her house on Dexter Street.
The house was cold, except when summer arrived—and then it became airless and stifling with heat.
She walked up the stairs, too high for her short legs.
She threw her bag down on the floor, reminding herself to pick it up before her mama returned.
Kit had probably unpacked hers already, or maybe Mrs. Herzog had done it for her and hung it up in a boot room.
She searched the fridge for leftovers, something she could heat up from the miscellaneous boxes that held dumplings, noodles, or rice.
And then, in the dark, she spooned the food into her mouth and watched The Simpsons .
She always got home in time for The Simpsons .
Kit wasn’t allowed to watch that show. And sometimes, when they were at school, the older kids would joke and shout Eat my shorts!
Sabrina would smile slyly and join in with her encyclopedic knowledge of Homer, Bart, and Lisa.
It gave her instant popularity points, and Kit looked on as though they were speaking in a different language.
But none of these victories lasted more than a few minutes.
Sabrina had almost forgotten about the way Sally Herzog winced every time Kit would beg her to invite Sabrina over.
Those memories of feeling displaced around Kit and her family during the early years of the friendship had almost completely faded until she saw Mrs. Harrison in the parking lot of the country club dropping Dave off for a tennis game.
Mrs. Harrison had that same frown and wince that Mrs. Herzog had worn all those years ago, as Dave’s mother looked at her and tried to work out what the relationship was between her son and this girl in the staff polo shirt.
She looked at Dave, who was watching a group of country club campers passing in their matching shorts and T-shirts, dirty from the day’s activities.
“Oh Sabrina, it’s you again. David, honey, you didn’t say you were meeting Sabrina .”
“Hi there, Mrs. Harrison,” she replied.
“How are you, dear?” she asked, not waiting for a response. “David, I’ll see you home sometime later, okay? Remember I have my book club tonight.”
“Sure, Mom.” He started walking away, toward the club; Sabrina felt unsure what to do, to follow him or stay.
Maybe Dave didn’t hear his mother reminding him of her plans that night because he had walked too far ahead.
Maybe he was looking out to see if anyone would see him hanging out with Sabrina.
Maybe he didn’t notice the strain in his mother’s voice.
Maybe she always sounded that way. Maybe he didn’t notice any of it, because he had the bluest eyes and golden hair, kissed by the sun, and nobody ever questioned Dave Harrison.
“You know, Sabrina, you should come over anytime. Dave, you should ask her more.” She called out to her son who lingered by the road now.
“We have this wonderful girl who works for us,” Mrs. Harrison explained, using her hands; her nails were painted crimson, and her gold charm bracelet jangled.
“I’d love you to tell me what you think of her cooking. ”
Sabrina imagined for a moment how Mrs. Harrison must see her, standing before her, dust on her sneakers, her polo shirt crumpled, with the faded print of her country club uniform logo.
Her hair was frizzy, and her nose was too small to hold up her glasses, designed for high-bridged American noses.
And then she thought about what Eva Kim would make of this situation.
The sniffy white woman from Society Hill, telling the smart Ivy League college–bound (or so she hoped) Asian girl to talk to the housekeeper about cooking.
She could almost hear Eva’s voice rising to supersonic levels in her dismay.
But Sabrina said nothing; she remembered Eva’s words about the power of silence.
Sabrina understood now that her silence and tight smile could make Mrs. Harrison uncomfortable.
There was power in that. It might not make her question what she said today, but it planted a small seed of doubt about herself in her mind.
Sabrina glanced at Dave, who was looking at his phone and, Sabrina realized, waiting for her before he headed into the club.
She wondered if Mrs. Harrison could smell the garlic Lee Lee used in her cooking the night before.
She had sprayed Sea Breeze all over her skin before leaving the club in case she bumped into Dave.
Sabrina said nothing, and nodded, and wished she had the gumption of Eva Kim. But Sabrina wasn’t ready to fight. She would be one day, but not yet. Instead, she smiled weakly at Mrs. Harrison.
What did Sabrina Chen know about cooking? She had barely even left Pennsylvania.