Free The Memory Key by Liana Liu Page A

hadn’t asked my aunt: “What did she mean when she talked about the sacrifices she made? What sacrifices?”
    â€œGosh, I’ve no idea,” he says.
    â€œYou think it’s because she never got married and had kids?”
    â€œBut she has been married.”
    â€œWhat?” I fall forward in surprise, till my seat belt snaps me back.
    â€œShe’s been married,” he says again, louder this time.
    â€œI heard you. I just don’t believe you.”
    â€œIt’s true.”
    â€œThen how come I didn’t know about it?”
    â€œIt was a long time ago. Before you were born.”
    I scowl at him. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
    â€œI never think about it, so it never occurred to me. It really was such a long time ago,” my father says apologetically. Then he tells me what he can remember (Dad jokes: “My memory key is the same kind the dinosaurs used”).
    After law school, Aunt Austin got a job as a speechwriter for the governor. While working there, she met a young man named Jonnie. They had much in common: similar values and beliefs, similar lifestyles, and many of the same friends. They fell in love. Got married. But as time passed, Jonnie became disillusioned with the political system while my aunt rose through its ranks. They began fighting and eventually decided to separate.
    â€œYou think she regrets it?” I ask.
    â€œYour aunt is a mystery to me.” Dad pulls into our driveway and shuts off the engine. We sit in silence for a moment. Then he clears his throat.
    â€œLora, how about we go to a movie tonight? It’s been so long since we’ve been to the movies, and soon you’ll be gone, leaving your poor old father all alone,” he says. His tone is jolly, but it makes me feel no less bad.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I say. “I wish I could, but I have plans with a friend.”
    â€œWhich friend?”
    â€œBesides, I’m not leaving you all alone. Campus is so close and you’re there all the time. We’ll see each other every day,”I say. When I told my father I wanted to live in the dorms and not at home, he accepted it as though he expected it. However, that didn’t keep me from worrying I was abandoning him. That same worry pinches me now.
    Dad shrugs. “Yes, but who is this friend you have plans with tonight?”
    â€œYou don’t know him.” I open my car door and get out.
    â€œ Him? So it’s a date?” He opens his car door and gets out.
    â€œIt’s not. I don’t know. Maybe. Kind of.”
    â€œYes, indeed, it’s a date,” he says, chuckling. “Do we need to have the talk ?”
    â€œNo! Please, no!” I cover my ears and rush up to the house. When I was thirteen, my father attempted to have the talk with me. I hadn’t realized what was happening—I was only half listening because I thought he was philosophizing about humanity or something—until he mumbled the words “safe sex.” Then I looked up and saw his face was red, and my face started turning that same red. I interrupted to say they taught us this in school so he could stop right there. Nonetheless, he continued.
    I’ve managed to forget most of that conversation, and I’d prefer it to stay forgotten, so I brace myself against the memory like I did before, at the park. And it works like it did before—the memory remains distant.
    My father is not so compliant.
    â€œWhen two people are in love,” he says as he unlocks the front door.
    â€œNo! Stop it! Stop it!” I shout as I run inside, laughing, and he chases after me, talking. It’s moments like these I realize that despite it all, we did okay.
    Dad and I, we’re okay.

8.
    WHEN I GET TO THE COFFEE SHOP FOR MY MAYBE-KIND-OF DATE, I’m all wriggly nerves in my carefully selected, now regretted outfit—why did I ever think this green shirt was flattering? Plus