When You Trap a Tiger, page 11
But Halmoni says to me, “You mother move boxes yesterday. I tell her no good. I tell her spirits no like. But of course, she don’t listen.”
I dig my nails into my palms and nod, even though I feel like there’s a giant sign above my head that says, IT WAS ME.
“Anyway,” Mom says through a gritted smile, “that’s not why. I just thought it would be nice because Halmoni was saying how good she felt today.”
Now that Mom mentions it, Halmoni does look good. She’s curled her hair, and she’s even wearing a pop of pink lipstick, which she hasn’t done in a while.
But that only makes me want to bake now, before she needs to rest again.
Sam shrugs. “Can we go to lunch at that Asian restaurant, on the corner of Willow and Vine?”
I turn to give Sam the stink-eye. Somehow, she’s only interested in doing stuff as a family when it conflicts with my plans.
Mom frowns. “Uh, really? Why?”
“I’m in the mood,” Sam says.
“That place is just a little…” Mom makes a face like she’s smelling rotten garlic but trying to be polite about it. “Well, it’s not authentic.”
“Yeah,” I chime in. “So we should stay—”
Sam interrupts, “Mom, I’m just saying. I’m just suggesting. I’m just trying to spend time with my family.”
Mom sighs. “Okay, fine. As long as Halmoni’s okay with it.”
I get this sudden balloon-pop urge to cry, but Halmoni claps her hands and smiles. “Yes, good! They have the best sweet-sour. My favorite.”
So I’m outnumbered, and we all get ready to go.
But as we pile into the car, Halmoni turns to me. “Later I teach you rice cakes,” she whispers. “I promise.”
* * *
The restaurant sign says DRAGON THYME! in red curlicue letters, and two stone lions sit by the doors, guarding the entrance.
“I haven’t been here in ages,” Mom says as she ushers us inside.
“They have good sweet-sour,” Halmoni reminds us, and Mom sighs.
Inside, the walls are lined with shoji screens painted with pink cherry blossoms. Red paper lanterns hang from the ceiling, and a gold cat statue sits in the corner, waving Hello! Hello!
But I’m fixated on the painting right above the hostess stand. It’s a classic Korean painting of a tiger, with eyes as big and round as rice cakes. It looks like it’s laughing.
Suddenly I feel sweaty. It’s too hot in here.
“Sam,” Mom hisses, “what are you doing?”
I glance over at my sister, who’s nervously scanning the entire restaurant, all jittery in her skin, like she’s looking for something—only I can’t tell if she wants to find it or she’s afraid to.
“Nothing,” Sam snaps, turning as red as the lanterns.
For a second I wonder if she’s looking for the tiger, but no. I don’t let myself hope.
A girl, probably around Sam’s age, walks over to us. She’s got chopsticks stuck in her blond hair and big, round, chocolate-chip-cookie eyes. “Hi! I’m Olivia and I’ll be taking care of you today! This way to your table!”
When she leads us through the restaurant, I catch disappointment on Sam’s face, but it flits away fast.
Olivia sits us down and hands out menus, and Halmoni orders sweet-and-sour pork, sweet-and-sour shrimp, and sweet-and-sour beef. Just to start.
As soon as Olivia’s out of earshot, Sam says, “It’s like an Asian stereotype vomited all over this place.”
Then she looks at Halmoni. And swallows. And studies her menu very hard.
I think of Halmoni throwing up on the road and study my own menu, even though I’m not reading any of the sashimi options.
“I haven’t been here since the nineties, and it hasn’t gotten much better,” Mom says. “But, man, this brings back memories.”
I ask, Are you happy that you left? Do you regret leaving? Do you regret coming back?
But only silently, in my head.
Halmoni laughs and wags her finger. “Oh, you mother in the nineties.”
Mom raises her eyebrows at Halmoni. “Excuse me?”
Halmoni giggles. “So troublemaker.”
Mom tries to look annoyed but ends up smiling. “Okay, whatever you say.”
I look back and forth between them. Halmoni said that before, but I still can’t picture it. Mom loves rules. “What did she do?” I ask. “How did she get into trouble?”
Mom laughs. “Halmoni is being overdramatic, as usual.”
I sneak a look at my sister, and it’s a coin-flip moment: Are we on the same side or different?
Sam leans forward. “Come on, Halmoni, tell us Mom Stories.” Then she flashes a small smile at me, and my heart fills up.
I think the tiger was wrong about consequences, because this is the happiest my family has been since we moved here.
Halmoni whispers to Sam and me, “So many boyfriends.”
“Mom had a lot of boyfriends?” I ask.
Mom pffts. “No, I did not.”
Halmoni tsks. “So many. Always sneaking out to see them.”
Sam makes a choking noise, and for the first time, I wonder about Sam dating. I’ve never thought of her having boyfriends.
Mom clears her throat. “First of all, that’s not true. And Halmoni was the troublemaker. You know, she made your poor father eat mud.”
“What?” Sam asks. Normally, when someone mentions Dad, Sam turns shadowy, but right now she just looks surprised. Interested. Like telling stories about Dad is something fun, instead of something terrible.
“Mud good for him,” Halmoni says. Her eyes are happy and sad at the same time, in the missing-him way. “He always talking story—so much talking, but no thinking, aii-yah. Mud help to keep him grounded, think before he speak.”
Mom snorts. “It was horrible.”
“I make a milkshake for him,” Halmoni says. “A milkshake with little bit mud mixed in. But he take you mom away. That is bad. Little bit mud? Not that bad.”
Sam raises an eyebrow at me like, Can you believe? And I furrow mine back like, Halmoni is wild.
“What happened?” I ask. “Could he taste it? Did he know?”
Ignoring my question, Mom turns to Halmoni. “He didn’t take me away. I went to college.”
Halmoni leans forward and whispers loudly, laying on the guilt. “She suppose to come back after, but he take her. She leave poor little Halmoni for a white man. But you mother too little to know better.”
Mom’s jaw ripples. “Nobody took me away,” she repeats. “I left on my own. I wanted to leave.” As soon as she says it, she swallows, like she wants to rewind her words. But she can’t. No take-backs.
The happy family moment evaporates. I look at Sam, but she’s busy rubbing her chopsticks together like she’s going to start a fire and burn everything down.
Olivia arrives with our sweet-and-sour dishes. “Here’s your starters!” she chirps. “Are you ready to order entrees?”
“We’ll need another minute,” Mom says with her classic fake smile.
Olivia bobble-head-nods and leaves.
We stare at the food for a few long seconds, until Mom says, “Might as well eat,” and leans forward, scooping some shrimp to serve us.
“No, no!” Halmoni shouts. Too loud. The couple at the table next to us look over and then look away.
Halmoni puts her hand on Mom’s and forces her to set down the serving spoon. “We wait for spirits.”
Mom’s smile tightens. “Not here, all right? We’re at a restaurant.”
“You listen,” Halmoni says to Mom. Then, to me, “Lily, you set table.”
My palms sweat. It’s really, really hot in here. “What do you mean?”
“We have to finish kosa. Where Andy? He come help us.”
Sam chews on her fingernail. “Dad’s not—” she starts, but Mom interrupts.
“He’s at work. He’ll be home soon,” she says.
Halmoni looks around, but she’s not really seeing. Her eyes shine like glass. She says something in Korean, something none of us can understand.
“Mom,” I whisper. “What’s happening?”
“Remember, we talked about this,” Mom says quietly. “Sometimes Halmoni slips into the wrong place or the wrong time.”
If Halmoni is seeing things that aren’t there—if she’s not here—then it’s almost like she’s not really Halmoni anymore.
She stands and walks over to the table next to us, singing a Korean lullaby as she picks up the man’s plate. He sets his chopsticks on the table, making a startled sound.
Mom jumps up. “Mom, no, no. We don’t need to do that.” She takes the plate from Halmoni and returns it to the man, apologizing.
“It’s okay,” he says, sympathy in his eyes. “We know Ae-Cha. If there’s anything we can do to help…”
But there’s nothing they can do, because Halmoni moves around the table, taking the woman’s plate and setting it on our table. “Danger is coming, so we make danger go ’way,” she explains. “Kosa.”
Only it’s not kosa. It’s consequences.
“Halmoni…,” Sam murmurs. Sam’s always burying her fear, trying so hard not to be a QAG. But now she’s afraid. Quiet.
Which makes everything worse.
Across the restaurant, a baby starts to cry, screaming its heart out. And I know I must have cried like that, but I can’t imagine being so loud about my feelings, screaming when I needed to say, My world is not right.
“Mom,” I whisper as Halmoni tries to take another plate. “We should go.”
Aside from the baby, the whole restaurant is silent as people watch, pretending this isn’t the worst moment of all time. Pretending this is okay.
Halmoni drops someone’s plate, and it shatters on the floor, spilling soy-sauce-and-something-goo all over her shoes. One of the busboys runs over and tries to help, but nobody really knows what to do.
And then Mom—Mom who is so good at acting normal, who is always fake smiling—is grabbing Sam and me, and shoving Halmoni out the door, herding all of us, saying, “Go-go-go,” all while Halmoni shouts about spirits and kosa and danger, and the gold cat statue waves Goodbye! Goodbye! and Sam keeps her head down, and I try to ignore that sweaty-hot-flashing-fainting feeling.
Then we’re outside.
In the parking lot, Mom fumbles with the car door handle before thunking her head against the window. “I forgot my purse inside,” she murmurs. “Will you girls get it? And leave a couple of twenties on the table for the bill.”
Sam stays right where she is, but I nod.
I swallow and walk back into that restaurant, because I have to. Even though it’s a too-hot bad place, and everyone is staring, and I don’t want to.
I keep my head down as I fast-walk past the diners, grab Mom’s purse, and throw money onto the table.
I pass the tiger painting, and I’m almost out the door when the waitress shouts, “Wait! Excuse me! Sorry! Wait!”
She runs up behind me, and I don’t want to cry but my throat feels very swollen, like I might.
I don’t know if I paid enough, or if she’s mad about the food Halmoni dropped, or if she wants to ban me from the restaurant forever.
“Here’s your food,” she says, holding out a bag of take-out containers with our sweet-and-sour dishes inside.
I murmur a thank-you, and she holds out her other hand, shoving something into my palm. It’s a pile of hard candies, the fruit ones that they give away at restaurants.
“Oh,” I say, staring at them. I feel everyone very carefully not looking at us. Very intentionally not listening. “Okay.”
“It’s not enough,” she says softly, “but my grandpa had Alzheimer’s. And I know how hard it is. He was always forgetting where he was, and who we were, and…I’m just really sorry it’s happening to you.”
I want to tell her this isn’t the same thing. Because Halmoni would never forget us. This is just a side effect of releasing the star story, but she’s going to get better, so it’s not like the waitress’s grandpa.
But it’s still nice, that this girl cares. “Thanks,” I say, and I hold the candies against my chest until it hurts a little less.
“Thanks for your help, girls,” Mom says as we drive home from the restaurant.
Sam sits in the passenger seat, and Halmoni sits in the back with me, sleeping with her head on my shoulder.
I stay very still so I don’t wake her.
Mom takes a breath. “At Halmoni’s last doctor’s appointment, the prognosis wasn’t good. She could have a couple of months, or maybe just a week. But that’s why I want to make the most of the good days. We just don’t know.”
Mom’s words hang in the air for a few seconds, sucking up the oxygen.
And then Sam explodes. “Are you kidding me? This is so unfair. We come all this way and now she’s just gonna die?”
Halmoni stirs next to me but doesn’t wake. “Sam, quiet,” I say. But my words feel flat. I can’t think straight.
“We’re here to spend time with her,” Mom says. “To make the most of what we have.”
“What if there’s another way?” I ask, careful to keep my voice low. “What if there’s something we can do?”
Of course Mom doesn’t understand what I mean. “There are a few treatments,” she explains, “but they have so many side effects, and it’s never a sure thing. Halmoni isn’t interested in that.”
Side effects. Consequences. Why does hope always come at a price?
Sam says, “Well, it’s worth it if she can live longer. Can’t you just make her do them?”
Mom grips the steering wheel tighter. “We have to respect Halmoni. This is her choice, not ours.”
“Yeah, but if there’s something we can do and you’re not doing it, you’re basically killing her.”
Sam’s words slice through me, but I don’t make any noise.
Mom says, “It’s not like that.”
Sam scoffs in disagreement.
“It’s in God’s hands now,” Mom says, even though her words tilt up at the end, as if it’s a question.
Outside, the world goes green, gray, green, gray, and I look for the tiger, but she’s not there.
For once, Sam’s words are soft. “What if I don’t believe in God?”
Silence rings in my ears, and then Mom says something that moms are never supposed to say. “I don’t know.”
I scoot closer to Halmoni and curl my fingers into hers. She’s fast asleep, but I imagine she’s tracing my life line with her thumb. I imagine she’s saying, Everything is not fine, but it will be.
Because I’ll make it be. Mom doesn’t see any other way. Sam doesn’t believe in anything.
But I do.
And if they can’t help Halmoni, I will.
* * *
After we get home, after we guide Halmoni up the outdoor steps and into her room, after Sam disappears into her headphones and cell phone, I tell Mom, “I need to make rice cakes.”
Mom runs her hand over my hair and kisses my forehead. “Not today, honey. I’m sorry. Maybe tomorrow.”
I shake my head. “It has to be today. I can’t wait. I have to.”
Mom steps back, unsure what to do about my sudden fierceness. “Tomorrow, all right? I promise. I just don’t want to do anything noisy or distracting for Halmoni. We need to keep the house quiet today, and we can’t do anything that might upset her.”
I don’t understand how making rice cakes would upset Halmoni, but Mom won’t budge.
So when she checks on Halmoni, I call Ricky.
“Hey,” I say when he answers. “Can I come over?”
It’s not hard to convince Mom.
As soon as I tell her I want to go to a friend’s house, she agrees to drive me over that evening. Anything to get me out of the house. Anything to distract us.
After confirming with Ricky’s dad, she says, “I’m so glad you’re connecting with your peers.” Which is an over-the-top way of saying I’m glad you have friends and is also the most Mom sentence of all time.
As we get closer to Ricky’s, the shape of the town starts to change. The houses get bigger and the paint fresher. This side of town seems to expand—like Halmoni’s side was a shrunken-down, forgotten version.
“Ricky Everett,” Mom murmurs, double-checking the address on her phone. “I know his family.”
“You know his dad?” I wonder if he was always scary or if he just got that way when he grew up, but I’m not sure how to ask that.
“Sort of. His dad’s a few years younger than me, so we went to high school at the same time but we weren’t really friends. His family owns the paper mill, though, where most of the business in town is. So everyone knew of them.”
I know it shouldn’t matter, but it still takes me a second to adjust: Ricky’s rich. I’m not sure how that changes my perception of him, but I feel like it does, just a little bit.
Our car putters into the long driveway, past bushes shaped like rabbits and cats. I’ve never seen anything like that, and I’m fascinated. They reshaped nature, just because they wanted to.
“This is…a lot,” Mom murmurs. “Isn’t it?”
I nod, gazing up at the house that is more of a mansion. There are two spiral stone columns framing the front door, and the big windows are covered with dark velvet curtains.
If Halmoni’s house is a witch at the top of the hill, this house is a stuffy lady who works in a fancy museum and says Shush and Don’t touch and Step back.
I can’t picture Ricky in this house at all.
Mom parks and then grabs my hand before I can get out. “Call me as soon as you’re ready to come home. If you’re feeling upset or anything. I don’t want you to feel guilty for being happy, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to be happy, either.”
