“But Marigold’s bringing Kenji—” Rosie’s hand jumped to her mouth.
Too late. Philip’s voice went lethally soft. “Who is Kenji?”
“Her boyfriend,” my mother replied. “Iinvited him.”
Philip’s headache was forgotten. He clenched the car keys, the blue veins in his fist bulging. He turned to Rosie. “I want to talk to your sister.”
“She probably left already—”
“Call her. Now.”
Fingers trembling, Rosie dialed a number on the kitchen phone. Someone picked up, and in English Rosie asked for Marigold. “I’m sorry, Jeh,” she burst out. “I didn’t mean to—”
Philip snatched the phone. “Are you with that devil?”
I couldn’t hear Marigold’s response, but whatever it was, Philip only grew angrier.
“Don’t you take that tone with me, Mei Yoong,” he barked. “I don’t care how nice he is, you break it off right now and get to dinner. I don’t want to hear his name ever again.”
Philip practically threw the phone at me. “Helen, you talk to her.”
Pressure rose to my left ear, which began ringing painfully. I was already dreading what was about to come.Anyone else, your father would’ve accepted with enough time. But a Japanese boy? Oh, Marigold, why?
“Yut Ying.” My mother touched my arm. I knew her look.Have compassion.Take her side.
If only it were so simple.
“Rosie,” I told my youngest daughter, who was still shellshocked by Philip’s outburst. “Take the tarts and tell everyone we’re running late. Bring Po Po. Go!”
I picked up the phone. “Marigold, are you still there?”
She didn’t speak, but I knew she was listening.
“Don’t upset your father. You know his asthma is getting worse—”
“His asthma always flares up whenever things don’t go the wayhewants.”
Though Marigold’s voice trembled, it was steel and unyielding. No wonder Philip was furious.
I closed my eyes, unable to reason with her over the phone. Not when my ear felt like it was in a storm. “Your father and I have to go or we’ll be late to Po Po’s birthday party,” I said. “We’ll talk after dinner.”
I hung up.
It made me nervous whenever Philip drove angry.
He coughed, his grip on the steering wheel tense. “That boy better not be at dinner.”
“And if he is? Don’t you make a scene at my mother’s birthday.”
Another cough. Philip spat into a napkin. “Why aren’t you upset?”
“Of course I’m upset.” I opened the bottle of aspirin. “Here.”
Philip swallowed the tablet. “You don’t look angry. The Japanese murdered your neighbors. They looted your father’s ancestral home and would’ve stolen you away to become one of their comfort girls—”
“Yes, I remember.”
“We’ve been too soft on her. How many times have we told the girls: Date Chinese, marry Chinese. Never Japanese!”
