His presence was starting to grow roots, trickling in and settling down. Moni always had breakfast waiting for him, an extra plate automatically slid out like another card being dealt. He would politely eat before we hurried out to the bus stop.
On mornings he was not there, I felt a slight disappointment in my stomach. As if I had missed breakfast because he had.
After school, we would throw our backpacks in the kitchen chairs and slide onto our bellies in front of the television like seals.
“No TV. Snack and homework first,” Moni would scold us.
But she would put bowls of mixed nuts and a few of those shrimp chips from the Asian market in front of us, muttering in Korean that we watched too much television in America.
“What Power Ranger do you think I would be?” Sawyer asked one afternoon, as he popped a shrimp chip into his mouth.
“Red. And I would be Pink, obviously.”
“Nah. You’d be Green.”
“What?”
“Green and Red are buddies!”
I rolled my eyes. “Pink.”
“And me?” Marlow asked as she lay flat on the couch.
“You’re too young.”
Her nose scrunched in protest. “I’m not that much younger. I’ll be eight in a few months!”
As she did not have an official birth record, Mom and Dad had decided to give her a birthday. Rather than give her an arbitrary date, they decided on January 1st. It was all she could talk about, her birthday, despite it still being two months away.
“You don’t even like Power Rangers,” I pointed out.
“Maybe I do. Maybe that’s what I want for my birthday.”
I chewed on some peanuts and pointed to the television screen. Green and Red Ranger had teamed up against Rita Repulsa.
“See? Buddies!” Sawyer said and then rolled onto his back.
The next afternoon, Mom took Marlow and me to the mall. Mall of America had opened to big fanfare a few years back, but she avoided it whenever she could.
“It’s honestly too big. I can never get anything done,” she often complained.
Despite our pleading, she took us to the more manageable Rosedale Mall.
“Marlow needs new sneakers,” she stated right before we went inside, a mission for us to understand. The smells of hot pretzels, sweat, and rubber all assaulted us as we entered.
“Oooh, can we get an Orange Julius?” I asked, my eyes lasering in on the brightly lit Dairy Queen sign.
“Shoes,” said Mom, holding my hand tighter.
I looked up at her. Her golden hair that used to shine and cascade in loose waves down to her shoulders looked ashen. She hadn’t taken the time to get it cut in a while, and the ends splayed limply by her breasts.
“Mary Janes? Or red slippers?” Marlow inquired hopefully.
“You need comfortable ones, Marlow. The sneakers you have are too small.”
“I don’t need sneakers. You can’t twirl in sneakers.”
“I think you could if you tried.”
She let go of Mom’s hand as soon as we approached the children’s shoe store and ran straight for glittery purple Mary Janes.
“Now these . . . these are shoes worth wearing.” She held the pair up in the light.
“No, Marlow.” Mom shook her head with slight frustration. “Go look in that corner. See how comfortable those look.”
“I will. But these first.”
Mom sighed. “Marlow. What did I just say?”
She continued to ignore her. She slipped the Mary Janes on easily and stood in the full-length mirror, admiring them. Her hands went behind her neck and pushed her hair up onto the crown of her head.
“Look. Look, Mom!” She turned to her expectantly, pointing one foot outward like a ballet dancer.
Mom turned her head. Her eyes widened briefly, and then the rest of her face tumbled. It was like watching a curtain rise and fall—all within a second.
“Mom.”
She didn’t respond, transfixed by Marlow’s reflection in the mirror.
