deliberate grace into the central chair at the table. “I could not eat another bite.”
Helena stared at me a moment. Then she continued setting out the food as Willem helped her. Lukas gave me a half smile. He understood exactly what I was doing, and poured me a glass of Spa red, bubbly mineral water with lemon. No ice, of course, unheard of in Dutch homes.
Helena said, “You go ahead upstairs to unpack and relax, Sylvie.”
“I have no haste.” I leaned back in my chair while they filled their plates, playing with my scarf between my fingers. Lukas kept glancing at me and hardly ate any of his own food. I could see he felt terrible, which I regretted, but I enjoyed making Helena aware of every bit of her rudeness to me. She had ensured that even the fried rice had shrimp in it. Despite my hunger, I smiled throughout the meal, so every time they passed the food or took a bite of fish, they could sense how un-Chinese this behavior was, to treat a guest in this way. Willem’s forehead held a ruddy glow and even Helena knocked her chopsticks onto the floor in an uncharacteristically clumsy move.
The home care nurse arrived midway through the meal, a sturdy young woman named Isa with red hair, a nose ring, and two large disc earrings that created one-centimeter holes in her lobes. She had a wide friendly smile and made up a plate for Grandma, which she then took upstairs.
“Make sure you take some for yourself too, Isa,” Helena said. This too I remembered, how everyone else thought she was so kind, lovely, and polite. In some ways, that warmth was real. I was the only one she disliked. What was it about me that brought out the worst in people? When Isa hesitated, Helena pressed a full plate into her hands and gave her a heaping scoop of fried prawn rolls to top it off.
After the awkward meal, Lukas carried my suitcase to the attic, which had been his room when we were little. Grandma’s door was shut and we heard Isa chatting away inside. We passed my old room too, so tiny that it had been turned into a closet, filled with odds and ends. We had always spent our time in Lukas’s room anyway. All of his things were gone but the lines of the rafters, the red checkered curtains by the small circular window were the same, as were the dormer windows that extended the length of the room. I could have navigated the space blindfolded.
“Do you remember how often we bumped our heads against the ceiling?” I asked.
“That was because you never looked when you launched yourself off the bed,” he said, grinning.
Suddenly, it was too much for me—the air in this house, so still and contained, smelling of Helena’s perfume and Grandma’s medicines. I felt like an animal caught in a trap. I tossed my suitcase on the desk and said, “I can unpack later. Show me where you are living now.”
L ukas took me to the large separate garage. He had converted it into a living space with a second story built above the original area. The old garage door had been removed and now a neat red door sat in its place, beside wide curtained windows. As Lukas fumbled with the key, a little orange cat bolted into the garden and then skidded on her hind legs. She scampered back to his feet and batted at the shoelaces of his dusty hiking boots.
“Who is this?” I cried, scooping the cat into my arms.
Lukas shook his head. “She is incorrigible. Her name is Couscous. I found her half-starved in Turkey a while ago. I could not leave her there so I brought her home. She will get dirt all over your shirt.”
“Who cares about a stupid shirt when there is an incorrigible Couscous? You little heart-thief,” I crooned. The cat blinked at me with her amber eyes. The tip of her creamy snout was light apricot brown, as if she had been caught drinking chocolate milk. She was alternately white and orange like a candy cane and when I cradled her, she began to purr, her fur so dense and soft. “You have good taste to come here instead of the
Helena stared at me a moment. Then she continued setting out the food as Willem helped her. Lukas gave me a half smile. He understood exactly what I was doing, and poured me a glass of Spa red, bubbly mineral water with lemon. No ice, of course, unheard of in Dutch homes.
Helena said, “You go ahead upstairs to unpack and relax, Sylvie.”
“I have no haste.” I leaned back in my chair while they filled their plates, playing with my scarf between my fingers. Lukas kept glancing at me and hardly ate any of his own food. I could see he felt terrible, which I regretted, but I enjoyed making Helena aware of every bit of her rudeness to me. She had ensured that even the fried rice had shrimp in it. Despite my hunger, I smiled throughout the meal, so every time they passed the food or took a bite of fish, they could sense how un-Chinese this behavior was, to treat a guest in this way. Willem’s forehead held a ruddy glow and even Helena knocked her chopsticks onto the floor in an uncharacteristically clumsy move.
The home care nurse arrived midway through the meal, a sturdy young woman named Isa with red hair, a nose ring, and two large disc earrings that created one-centimeter holes in her lobes. She had a wide friendly smile and made up a plate for Grandma, which she then took upstairs.
“Make sure you take some for yourself too, Isa,” Helena said. This too I remembered, how everyone else thought she was so kind, lovely, and polite. In some ways, that warmth was real. I was the only one she disliked. What was it about me that brought out the worst in people? When Isa hesitated, Helena pressed a full plate into her hands and gave her a heaping scoop of fried prawn rolls to top it off.
After the awkward meal, Lukas carried my suitcase to the attic, which had been his room when we were little. Grandma’s door was shut and we heard Isa chatting away inside. We passed my old room too, so tiny that it had been turned into a closet, filled with odds and ends. We had always spent our time in Lukas’s room anyway. All of his things were gone but the lines of the rafters, the red checkered curtains by the small circular window were the same, as were the dormer windows that extended the length of the room. I could have navigated the space blindfolded.
“Do you remember how often we bumped our heads against the ceiling?” I asked.
“That was because you never looked when you launched yourself off the bed,” he said, grinning.
Suddenly, it was too much for me—the air in this house, so still and contained, smelling of Helena’s perfume and Grandma’s medicines. I felt like an animal caught in a trap. I tossed my suitcase on the desk and said, “I can unpack later. Show me where you are living now.”
L ukas took me to the large separate garage. He had converted it into a living space with a second story built above the original area. The old garage door had been removed and now a neat red door sat in its place, beside wide curtained windows. As Lukas fumbled with the key, a little orange cat bolted into the garden and then skidded on her hind legs. She scampered back to his feet and batted at the shoelaces of his dusty hiking boots.
“Who is this?” I cried, scooping the cat into my arms.
Lukas shook his head. “She is incorrigible. Her name is Couscous. I found her half-starved in Turkey a while ago. I could not leave her there so I brought her home. She will get dirt all over your shirt.”
“Who cares about a stupid shirt when there is an incorrigible Couscous? You little heart-thief,” I crooned. The cat blinked at me with her amber eyes. The tip of her creamy snout was light apricot brown, as if she had been caught drinking chocolate milk. She was alternately white and orange like a candy cane and when I cradled her, she began to purr, her fur so dense and soft. “You have good taste to come here instead of the
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