“Um. Pa?”
“Just a few more minutes, Superstar,” he says, squeezing his arms around me.
Ever since Pa could hold physical objects again, he’s been hugging me nonstop. I didn’t want to sleep last night because I had this fear that I wouldn’t get to hug Pa anymore in the morning. Thankfully, the sun rose and Pa’s hugs still stayed. I just wish I were better at multitasking since it gets tricky when I need my hands for other things too.
Since Pa still doesn’t let go, I use my hip to bump the elevator button for the basement floor. I don’t remember the last time I visited our condo’s storage area. It must’ve been around the same time I gave up piano.
His eyes and his same dorky smile light up his face when he sees his old keyboard.
“You kept it?” he asks.
“Thought you’d want to try playing again.”
Pa’s old keyboard takes up most of the storage space with Ma’s boxes stacked around it. Achi was the one who suggested moving things to storage. She gave some excuse about how clutter was bad feng shui, but we both know she was doing it for Ma’s benefit. Ma cried every time she saw something in the condo that reminded her of Pa.
He takes a seat on the bench and pats the space next to him. “How about a jam session?”
Pa and I always played the piano together—I would be onthe right playing the high notes and he would be on the left playing the low notes.
“I wanna hear your solo first,” I say. He hesitates but doesn’t try to convince me to join him. I wonder if Pa already sensed that I don’t play anymore. Maybe a gifted piano player could detect when a person abandons the instrument.
He shuts his eyes as he runs his fingers along the keys. “It’s like gaining my superpowers again.”
“Technically, your invisibility is wearing off, so it’s more like you’relosingyour superpowers.”
Pa responds by stretching his arms and cracking his knuckles. “Ready to be amazed?” He rolls his shoulders, takes a deep breath, then plays the most exaggerated rendition of “Chopsticks.”
I laugh when Pa restarts punching the same keys and singing made-up lyrics to the “Chopsticks” notes.
“This is how I proposed to your mother.”
I turn to Pa to make sure he’s serious. “By playing ‘Chopsticks’?”
“Your mother said yes,” he reminds me.
“But you could’ve at least picked a more romantic song.”
Pa chuckles and sighs. “We were so young then, but I already knew I wanted to marry Beth,” he shares. “She was worried that we weren’t ready, that we were so far from reaching our dreams.
“Then I played her a song.” His fingers start a softer, quieter melody. “That’s the way I got your mom to relax—by playing her favorite music. We would be sitting next to each other by the piano like this, and she’d tell me about her dreams of owning her own bakery,” he says with a smile. “I told her that after we got married, I’d help her put up bakeries around the country.
“I told her that no matter what happened to us, I’d make thedreams of my family come true. Protect her from the things she worries about.”
The piano falls silent after he breathes out that last line.
“Sorry I didn’t get to do that for you, Superstar,” he says, his eyes lingering on the keys. “Wish I could tell your sister that too.” His head is bowed, his shoulders drop lower like there’s another force weighing on his back.
“Pa, you don’t have to—”
But he cuts me off, swiftly changing the subject. I almost tell him that my head feels dizzy every time he takes a detour in our conversations.
“Did you save what I kept inside the bench?” Pa motions for me to stand and props open the lid. He takes out a binder tucked below piles of sheet music and songbooks.
He smiles when he peeks inside. “They’re still here.”
It’s a stack of envelopes, cards, and papers tied together by a rubber band. Pa tells me to check the first one on top and it’s a birthday card that has yellow and pink stamps covering every inch of the page. I remember working on a joint birthday card for Pa with Achi and arguing with her that she hogged all the space with her yellow stamps (so I naturally retaliated with my pink stamps).
“Are these all from us?” I ask, scanning the stack.
