Free Mismatch by Lensey Namioka Page B

ray of hope was the sight of his father’s hand tightly clutching the painting.
    They drove home in total silence. As soon as they entered the house, Andy’s mother spoke. “I’ve always found you to be honest with us, Andy. I must say that I’m very disappointed with your underhanded behavior.”
    “Underhanded?” Andy turned in surprise. “What do you mean?”
    “Sneaking off to see a Chinese girl!” cried his father. “You knew perfectly well that we wouldn’t approve!”
    “I wasn’t exactly being
underhanded
about it,” protested Andy. “I never snuck off to see Sue. In fact, I really meant to bring Sue over and introduce her. I just . . . never got the chance.” Andy couldn’t bring himself to say that he was too afraid that his father might offend Sue.
    “You just never got the courage!” snapped his father.
    “It’s not totally a matter of courage,” Andy said, trying to be diplomatic. “I just . . . I didn’t want her feelings to be hurt.”
    His mother looked startled. “What do you mean? Do you think I’d insult her if she visited us?”
    “No,
you
wouldn’t,” said Andy quickly, looking nervously at his father. “But I didn’t want Sue to hear Dad talk about how dirty and backward the Chinese are, or how people spit in the streets.”
    There was silence. Andy’s father threw himself on the sofa in the living room and picked up the newspaper. He turned the front page so violently that it tore. He then threw the paper on the floor and glowered.
    Andy’s mother went into the kitchen and came back a few minutes later with cups of tea. As far back as Andy could remember, whenever there was a stormy scene at home, his mother served tea, the soothing drink that was supposed to calm tempers. This time its soothing effect didn’t work right away. Father and son both sat in stony silence, not meeting each other’s eye.
    Finally Andy’s mother broke the silence. “Andy, I don’t think you’re being quite fair to your father. If you brought a guest home, your father would never insult her to her face.
You’re
the one who is insulting. You insult your father if you believe that he would behave in such a manner.”
    “Well, he might not insult her on purpose,” said Andy, “but inside, he would still think of Sue as a backward, dirty Chinese. What if something slipped out and she found out how he really feels?”
Especially if Dad glowered at her like that
.
    “Don, I think you should take a wider view,” said his mother, turning to Andy’s father. “Instead of thinking about the man who spat on your shoe and yelled at you—”
    “That’s the trouble with you historians! You take such a wide view that you can’t see the nose in front of your face!”
    “What did I fail to see?” demanded Andy’s mother.
    “A little detail such as our son sneaking off to see a girl he knows we won’t approve of!” said his father.
    “Come on,” protested Andy. “I wasn’t sneaking off. I was just waiting for the right moment to introduce you to Sue.” After a moment, he added sadly, “But I see now that it’s hopeless.”
    Another silence. Then Andy’s mother sighed. “Andy, you have a low opinion of me if you don’t believe that I can change your father’s mind about the Chinese.”
    “Now wait a minute!” demanded Andy’s father. “Just what makes you think you can change my mind?”
    Andy looked at his mother and saw that she was smiling. “I can start by mentioning the painting you bought,” she said.
    His father looked embarrassed. “I . . . I was mistaken, that’s all. I thought the painting was Japanese.”
    “And what made you think the painting was Japanese?” asked Andy’s mother.
    “Well . . . the style . . . it’s black-and-white . . . the brushstrokes . . .”
    “I know, it’s in the literati style, the kind that you especially like, isn’t it?” continued his mother. “And where did the literati artists get their inspiration?”
    “All right, all