Page 7 of Never Thought I'd End Up Here
Her voice grows louder now, sharper, until eavesdropping becomes unnecessary. It would be hardernotto hear her speaking. My name comes up again, spat out.
“She says …” Cyrus hesitates.
“Tell me,” I say through gritted teeth. “Just tell me.”
He clears his throat. “She says … your mother should be ashamed of herself for raising such an ignorant foreigner.”
An ignorant foreigner.I try to hold the words out at a safe, painless distance, like when you have to grab something hot from the oven, careful not to let it burn any exposed skin. But my mental grip slips, and it burns me anyway, searing my face and my chest. I twist my head toward the wall so Cyrus can’t see my expression.
“Leah,” he begins, in a tone that sounds suspiciously like sympathy. “I think—”
“I don’t care what you think,” I cut in. It’s almost a relief to find a target, to distract myself from the minor fact that I’ve most certainly just gotten myself blacklisted from every single future family function and made my mom lose face in front of the only person she feels insecure around. “What are you even still doing here?”
“Waiting,” he says.
I blink. “For what? The wedding’s over.”
“Forwho,” he corrects me. “Do you know how busy Dr. Linda Shen is? And she must receive hundreds of emails begging her for a letter of recommendation every day, so of course I had to—”
“Hang on. You’re here to see … my aunt?” I demand incredulously. “Fora letter of recommendation? Oh my god. Were you even invited to this wedding?”
“I have an invitation to the wedding.”
I don’t miss the subtle distinction. My brows rise.
“Okay, fine, a friend of a friend was invited by your cousin’s husband,” he admits, straightening the cuff of his sleeve. “They weren’t planning on coming, so I asked them to give their invitation to me.”
I addopportunistto the long list of names I’ve saved for Cyrus in my head. It’s probably the most flattering one on there. I tossinsensitive assholein too for good measure, because when the doors swing open and my aunt steps out, Cyrus practically launches himself off the wall in her direction.
“Dr. Linda Shen,” he says, and Iswearhe just made his voice deeper. “I know you’re busy, but if you have a second, I wanted to—”
My aunt walks right past him as if he doesn’t exist. On any ordinary day, this would be incredible to witness, but any spark of petty glee I feel is quickly stamped out by the fact that my aunt seems determined to ignore my existence too.
Then my mom emerges, and the look on her face makes everything in my body turn cold.
“In the car,” she grits out. “Now.”
My mom is still fuming when she slams the car door behind her.
I shrivel in my seat, my shoulder pressed to the window for support. “I’m sorry,” I say, even though the words sound too weak, too superficial to my own ears, like trying to fill a gaping hole in a dam with nothing but napkins. “I’m really so extremely sorry. I didn’t mean to curse my cousin or … or ruin the wedding. I just—I forgot the right words—and I feel awful.”
My mom turns on the ignition and grips the steering wheel. “No,I’msorry,” she tells me.
I blink.
This is new.
“I should have done something ages ago,” she continues. “I knew you were forgetting your Mandarin. They all warned me this would happen. They told me I should encourage you to read more books about Chinese history and culture and converse in Mandarin at home whenever possible.” She heaves out a long, heavy sigh. “It’s my fault my English is so good. If I weren’t perfectly bilingual, things might not have turned out this way.”
“Your English is phenomenal,” my dad offers from the passenger seat.
“Yes, I know,” Mom says. She finally starts easing the car out of the parking lot.
The constant lurching motion doesn’t help the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s not just that I feel guilty for ruining things—it’s also humiliating. I’ve always made it my goal to move through life as gracefully as possible, to only do the things I already excel at, to only participate in games I’m confident I’ll win. This was a major defeat, and Cyrus just had to be around to witness it.
Then again, maybe it isn’t a coincidence that Cyrus is involved in two of the very worst days of my life so far. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if in a past life, I accidentally ran him over with a horse carriage or something, and his whole purpose in this life is to bring me misery. He’s definitely succeeding.
“But what’s the point of speaking great English if our daughter can’t speak her own mother tongue?” my mom says. “She can’t even speak to her own grandparents.”
