Salesman.
Yeah, I’m not impressing this audience. Hopefully, my house can speak for itself. I have tried to make my home a comfortable space. Nothing like what I grew up in. I chose the furniture and decorations not because of their price tags, but more because they gave me a good feeling.
The whole place is one floor, and we need to cross through the living room to get to the guest bedroom. I’m pushing open the door when I realize I lost Charlie over by the coffee table. He reaches out a hand, sifting through the books I left sprawled across the surface. A collection of history books and memoirs, all holding facts and experiences related to a single country.
“Are you planning a trip to Taiwan?” Charlie glances toward me, fingers still resting on a title.
“Maybe. Someday. That’s where my grandparents are from,” I say, like it isn’t a big deal. Like I didn’t spend a chunk of my life wondering which country I drew my heritage from. Like I didn’t just learn a year ago when I finally tracked down my grandmother and she told me.
The books, with their stiff, barely touched pages, mock me.
I’m not a historian. None of my interests deal with memorizing facts from textbooks. But after my grandmother died, the authentic ways I could learn about my Taiwanese heritage shrank.
The problem is that I don’t want to have to learn the information.
I want to already know it.
The way I know how to hot-wire a car without setting off the alarm and how to climb out a second-story window, using a drainpipe.
The way the smell of fast-food fries and boxed mac and cheese reminds me of dinners as a kid.
The way I know which streets in New Orleans to avoid after dark.
Endless Lamont teachings I don’t remember learning. As if I always knew them.
I wish my Taiwanese heritage were the same. That the knowledge were an essential part of my DNA.
But it’s always going to be secondhand knowledge. Whatever I can pick up from studying or watching the news or taking a trip. I may look the part, but it’s not a true part of me.
One more reason to be pissed off at my mother.
“They moved to America soon after they got married and had my mom here. But I guess she didn’t get along with them. All I know is, she left when she got pregnant with me and my brother Leo. Cut off all contact. Changed her name and everything.”
Charlie straightens, keeping his earnest eyes on me. “But you reconnected with your grandma, right?”
I turn back to the bedroom, not sure what kind of emotions will show on my face. “Yeah, I knew her. I found her a year before she died. So, there’s that at least.”
But I could have had twenty-nine more years. I could have had her love and my history.
And I could have had more than just her.
“Too late to meet my grandfather though. He died in the ’90s.”
Wai Po showed me pictures of a stern-looking man. Would he have been cold with me? Or could I have gotten him to smile the way I got my grandmother to those last few visits?
“I’m sorry. That’s rough.”
Charlie appears next to me now, but despite his size, I don’t feel crowded. His presence comforts me.
“I missed out on a lot of time with my family.” Admitting that hurts, but Charlie needs to know how important this next year is for me. “I don’t want that to happen with Leo.”
“I understand.”
CHAPTER 19
CHARLIE
“You want me to what?” Luna gapes at me from across the pizza box.
