“You look…”
Like a bride. Ma looks like a bride.
My throat catches when I try uttering the words. I scrunch my hair tie between my fingers, willing all my real thoughts to stay secret. Just say that Ma looks good, that the dress fits well—hell, even complimenting how good her calves look is better than standing in silence.You can handle holding things in and being supportive for Ma right now.
Yet the very thought of her marrying someone else, of our family moving on and everything changing… all of that makes me want to crawl out of my skin.
Shut it down, Nika. Shut your emotions down!
“Nika?” Achi prompts, and I can feel my eyes start to well up. This whole room with veils and dresses is all too loud and overwhelming.
“Sorry,” I tell my family, and give some lame excuse that my stomach was hurting before bolting right out of there.
16
The stomach is really an amazing gift to humankind.
If you ever need an excuse or an alibi, just say that you have stomach problems. Highly recommend!
People actually leave me alone when I say my stomach is feeling weird. When Ma came by the bathroom to check on me, I said my stomach was feeling funny. She then gave me space, and that’s the proper thing to do when someone hints that they have diarrhea. On the other hand, my sister, who’s apparently unfamiliar with common courtesy, kept hammering on the door. I turned on the shower and blasted music until I heard her footsteps finally walk away from the bathroom.
Using the funny stomach excuse also worked wonderfully with Kayla. Instead of asking me how I’m handling seeing Ma in a wedding gown, she’s messaging me with links on how to diagnose my stomach issues. Annoyingly, Seph has been trying to check up on me too.
He sends me a video on how Apple will create a teleportation device worth $29 million.
Seph: if you forgive me, i’ll donate to your teleportation fund
I don’t reply and ignore all his messages.
You’d think that my body would be at its limit from being upset at Dr. Derrick, Achi, and Ma—but it turns out I still have space in my heart to stay pissed at Seph too.
Thankfully, it seems like I have the bathroom all to myself— my safe corner of the world where I can pretend everything’s okay in peaceful ignorant bliss.
And then I see a pale detached hand pass through the door and wave at me.
“Can I come in?” I hear Pa’s voice from outside.
The hand holds out a thumbs-up and seconds later, a thumbs-down.
I wipe my eyes with one of the hand towels before I mutter, “Come in.” Pa’s body proceeds to pass through the bathroom door and slides next to my position sitting against the foot of the tub.
“How’re you doing, Superstar?”
“Great,” I lie, and blow my nose.
“I always found listening to the best heartbreak song of all time cathartic too.”
Pa sways and hums along when Mariah continues playing through the bathroom speakers. When it loops back to “We Belong Together,” Pa mimics playing the piano riff in the beginning. I can’t help but laugh when he joins in the final chorus, his voice croaking when he attempts once again to belt it out with Mariah. I remember that this is how he used to cheer me up too. He would play music (often songs by singers with operatic vocal talents) and try to reach the notes until his vocal cords sounded like they were going to give out. He only stopped singing once he saw me laughing.
He’s out of breath by the time the song finishes.
“You would think ghosts wouldn’t really need oxygen,” he jokes.
“… How do you do that?” I ask him.
“Lots of vocal training, those breathing exercises I used to teach you—”
“Not the singing,” I cut him off, and consider how to word my question. “You saw Ma in the wedding dress. You must know that she’s… she’s…”
