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“Harvest Moon.”
His lips spread into a big smile. “Oh, I love that song. Keep going.”
He rested his bald head against the back of the seat. Then he closed his yellow-stained eyes and drifted into that space where he wasn’t on dialysis for the next few hours. I went to that world too, the one we lived in together a few years back. It was a world where he didn’t have to sell the Crescent Moon Bakery, and his body hadn’t rejected the kidney his brother, Jan, gave him. Mom didn’t have to work extra shifts at the hospital to help make ends meet. It was where our craftsmen’s house on East Van Norman Avenue hadn’t been mortgaged to cover hospital bills. My parents weren’t in danger of losing it. Dad would still have the job he loved, and Mom could give up her second job at Wholesale Warehouse. But life didn’t care too much about plans.
“Nadia!” my mom called. She appeared in her pastel-printed scrubs and hot pink Crocs. Her blonde and gray hair was up in a bright butterfly hair clip.
My heart jumped with joy. I absently dropped everything to rush over for a hug.
When Mom laughed, her gray eyes crinkled at the corners, and she waved her hands like I made too much of a fuss. But I knew my enthusiastic greeting made her happy.“Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”
“No, my schedule changed,” I stammered as I bent to collect the knitting I dropped when I hugged her. My fingers hesitated on the needle. I averted my eyes before climbing to my feet. Lying wasn’t something I did to my parents. However, I didn’t have the heart to tell them that I dropped out of community college this semester and used my school loans to pay the heating bill, which had a collection. Next semester, I would take the coding classifthe school gave me another loan.My phone was full of messages from the accounting office asking me to return the money.
“We know you dropped out,” Mom said.
My face went warm as she rubbed my back.
“I know why, too. You don’t have to save us. We’ll manage. Besides, you’re no coder. You’re a designer. Show her, Honey.”
Dad reached inside the pocket of his khaki pants and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Mom was a great gerontology nurse, but she doubled as a detective. I didn’t need to ask what was on the paper because I recognized it from my trash can. It was an acceptance letter from the New York School of Design. It’d been a long shot sending my portfolio with my friend Xander, who had big-city dreams and a talent for designing hats.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Dad asked, and I agonized at the disappointment in his voice.
“It’s too far away. Xander and I text occasionally. But we’ve lost touch—”
“You’ll make new friends.”
“It’s too expensive.”
Mom covered her hand to hide the flush on her skin. That’s when I realized my mistake. She was embarrassed that they had to use my college fund on medical bills, even though I was wholeheartedly behind it.
“Your uncle Jan’s still here. Aunt Olivia and the kids are around. You’re twenty-two, and we don’t want you to end up full of regrets. Besides, you’ll make it big.” Dad winked at me.
There was never regret when it came to my parents. They gave me love, kindness, and stability. In truth, they saved my life.
“Let’s talk about it later, okay, Mom?”
She hugged me to her side. “You can come back. But you need to experience life on your own. Maybe meet someone and go on a date. You’re too beautiful to be alone.”
I rolled my eyes. The last thing I needed was to get caught up in a relationship.
Mom laughed. “I have to go. But this isn’t the end of it.”
I went back to humming “Harvest Moon” with Dad, but my mind kept returning to the New York School of Design—nearly thirty thousand a semester in one of the most expensive cities in the world with fierce competition.And I had been accepted.But the odds of being able to pay the fees and live there were against me. My parents had given me everything, but this was something they simply couldn’t provide.
But how I wished I could go.
Ten Months Later
Bang.
The door hit what appeared to be my dresser propped up against the back of it.
“Sophie, open up!” I yelled.
“Give us a minute,” her voice sang out. I heard the familiar rustling of clothes and furniture. The door finally opened to Ricardo, who flashed a sheepish grin before strolling past me. Sophie was leaning by the open window vaping in her bra, a boho floral robe, and skinny jeans. Her red hair brushed the top of her thin shoulders in a blunt precision cut. Sophie was an ex-model turned clothing designer. She was tall, willowy, with large eyes and defined cheekbones that the cameras loved. Her side-hustle as a college art model didn’t pay well, though she never seemed to need money.
She squinted at me and smirked. “What’s with you?”
