“I don’t know if that has anything to do with this. Maybe it does. But you have to stop expecting me to be the same as you.”
Priscilla rolls her eyes. “Trust me. I don’t expect that.”
“Then why are you always judging me and pressuring me to change? Why can’t you accept me the way I am?”
“That’s not how family works,” she says through her teeth. ?
??I get to judge you and pressure you because I want what’s best for you.”
“What’s best for me right now would be an apology from you.” I need her to love me enough to acknowledge when she’s hurt me and try not to do it again. I need her to attempt to understand me. I need her to accept my differences. Hiding and masking, trying to please other people, trying to please her, has been destroying me, and I can’t live that way anymore.
Her lips thin and curl. “I can’t apologize when I didn’t. Do. Anything. Wrong. You were the one who did.”
“You don’t care why?” I ask, feeling like I’m crumbling and sinking into the ground.
“I don’t want your excuses, Anna,” she says in exasperation.
I want to correct her and tell her they’re reasons, not excuses, but I don’t. There’s no point in continuing with this. I see that now.
I have to choose. I can spend my time trying to make her accept me, either through bending to her will or bending her to mine, or I can accept myself and focus on other things. How do I want to spend my life?
I turn away from her and catch Quan watching my sister with his jaw clenched and his hands fisted at his sides. He’s outraged, but when he switches his attention to me, sadness lines his face. She doesn’t understand. But he does.
Taking his hand, I head away from the room. Out in the hallway, he looks at me and whispers, “Proud of you.”
Before I can reply, my mom appears with Priscilla’s violin case in her arms. “Give Je je time,” she says.
I don’t want to argue with her, but I don’t want to make promises that I won’t keep either, so I say nothing.
Her gaze lands on Quan, on our joined hands, and I think she’s going to comment on us being together. I think she’s going to voice her displeasure and ask where Julian is. But she doesn’t. Instead, she hands Quan the violin case.
“Hers broke. She’s too stubborn to take this, but you keep it in case she wants to play, okay?” she asks him.
“I will.” Quan smiles at her, his beautiful smile that brightens his eyes and transforms his face, and I think my mom sees it then—why I love him. There’s such genuine caring and kindness in him.
“Are you okay, Ma?” I ask.
She looks exhausted, but she nods. “We knew this was coming. Except for maybe Priscilla. She’s blaming herself for not doing enough.”
My mom’s words give me pause. I don’t like the idea of Priscilla blaming herself when she did all that she could, all that anyone could, really. But I guess that’s how it must be when someone’s standards are so impossibly high and their capacity for empathy so limited. They are cruel to others, and cruelest to themself.
An unexpected realization washes over me: I’m glad I’m not Priscilla.
“Do you need help with anything?” Quan asks, looking about my mom’s immaculate house for something that might need his attention.
“No, no,” my mom says, but she gives him a small tired smile. “There’s the funeral, but I need to plan that. It’s better if you two go home. Priscilla is . . .” She can’t seem to find the right words, so she shakes her head. To me, she adds, “It would be appropriate if you played at the ceremony.”
Hot tears well in my eyes. Not this again. “Ma, I don’t think I—”
“Just think about it. That’s all,” she says quickly as she herds us toward the front door. “Go home. Rest. Eat. You’re looking skinny. I’ll let you know our plans.”
As I’m leaving, she pulls me aside and surprises me by hugging me. She doesn’t admonish me. She doesn’t ask anything of me. She doesn’t say anything at all. She just lets me know she cares.
That is all I’ve ever wanted.
THIRTY-NINE
Anna