Free Bitter Melon by Cara Chow

into her. “Who cares how she got home? The important thing is she’s here! See what a good daughter she is? She risked her own life to return home and make sure you were okay!”
    “Theresa is the true hero,” Mom says. “Not only did she figure out how to get us all together, she helped sweep the floor of allthe broken dishes and bowls. Right now my kitchen is littered with broken things. We better head home soon to clean up.”
    “No!” Nellie holds out both arms as if stopping an oncoming bus. “Stay with us tonight. You can go home tomorrow.”
    “I can’t be a burden,” Mom says.
    “You’re not a burden. We need you too. Daddy’s in Hong Kong and Ben is at MIT, so we need the company.” By “Daddy” Nellie means Theresa’s dad, her husband.

    That night we eat cold leftover
chow mein
and
chow fun
from Nellie’s fridge. Mom and Nellie are stuffing themselves past the point of fullness. Even a dangerous crisis cannot erase their aversion to wasting food. Theresa warns everyone not to overuse the flashlight.
    After dinner, Mom gets the guest bedroom and I get to sleep in Theresa’s room. Minus the lack of street lighting, everything in Theresa’s room looks the same. Her giant New Kids on the Block poster still hangs on the back of her door. Her rainbow comforter still drapes her full-size bed, and her stuffed Hello Kitty and Care Bears still sit on her pillows, like magic animals on clouds.
    As Theresa and I get ready for bed, Theresa is quiet and does not look at me at all. She turns her back to me as she changes into her long white cotton nightgown. I change into Nellie’s orange polyester pajamas with dark pink flowers. Her waistband sags around my hips. I wonder if Theresa is mad atme, but I lack the courage to find out for sure. All I can think is
mm ho yee see
. I don’t know if there is a perfect English translation. It’s what people say when they feel embarrassed about imposing, or when someone does them a big favor and they can’t reciprocate.
    Theresa crawls into bed and flips her rainbow comforter over her. I hesitate, unsure if she wants me near her. But Theresa stays on one side of the bed and says, “Aren’t you getting in?” Relieved, I crawl in next to her.
    As I look out the window, I expect to see the streetlights filter through the blinds, painting streaks on Theresa’s white walls. Instead, all I see is pitch-black. I realize then that in the city, it’s never really perfectly dark. We think it’s black when, in fact, we can see our hands in front of our faces, and the shadows of light gray cast upon darker gray. In this cloak of darkness, I muster what little courage I have and turn to face Theresa. “Thanks,” I say.
    “It’s okay,” she replies.
    “Sorry,” I add. I choke back the urge to cry.
    “It’s okay,” Theresa says. I immerse myself in the luxury of her forgiveness.
    “This upcoming competition,” Theresa says, “maybe you should think about quitting after that one. Or tell Auntie Gracie that you’re competing in speech and sell her on it. I don’t think I can take this anymore.”
    I wonder if that was why Theresa continued our lie, not so much to protect me but to protect my mother from heartbreak.

Chapter Five

    The following day, Mom and I finally go back to our apartment. In the living room, our fifteen-inch television has tumbled facedown onto the floor, its glass splintered in every direction. The white Gwun Yum statue has also fallen and has broken in two. Now that it is broken, I can see that it is hollow inside. Popo’s photo has also fallen facedown. There is shattered glass everywhere. Mom runs to the picture and picks it up. There is a big harsh diagonal scratch across Popo’s face. The scratch pains me. It looks as if a knife has slashed her face. Mom is crouched over and kneeling as she clutches the photo, oblivious to the broken glass all around her.
    “How do we remedy this, Fei Ting?” she says. “This is my only picture