I don’t know if Mom tells Dad what we talked about that day at the hospital, but their relationship goes back to the way it’s always been. Which I guess is different from what I thought, because now I don’t see two people with an epic love story.
I see two people who love each other deeply, who work hard at loving each other, but relish their friendship over everything else.
And that’s okay. I want to believe it’s okay.
Because I want my parents to be happy as much as I want to be happy.
And I won’t judge them for the choices they make to find that happiness.
Hopefully they’ll treat me the same.
* * *
I’m sitting between my parents on the couch one evening watching a movie, the smell of the buttered popcorn in my lap dragging me deep into memories that still feel like wounds, when I realize I’ve been so concerned about trying to make pieces of me fit together that I failed to see how they already fit.
They fit here, with Mom and Dad.
I’m their daughter. I’m parts of Mom. Parts of Dad. Parts of neither, and both. Some parts belong to just me.
But I will always be home here.
My parents will always be home.
It doesn’t mean I have to stop searching for family, or another place in the world where I belong.
But it does mean that if I don’t find it—if life has other plans—that I will always, always be able to come home.
And maybe I’ve been so busy chasing this idea of belonging somewhere that I’ve been failing to see what’s right in front of me. I have parents who love me. It’s a privilege not everyone has.
And maybe belonging isn’t like arriving at a destination—it’s about cherishing and nurturing relationships over time.
Following my dreams isn’t how I’ll find my family. It isn’t how I’ll find my home.
Family comes from the love I put into the world around me.
And home is my parents, who forever live in my heart.
Which means home is always with me.
Six Months Later
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
I fall into the chair at my dressing table, my skin still tingling with the adrenaline of being onstage. I don’t even realize I’m beaming until I look in the mirror and see my own face. I hardly recognize myself with all the makeup and glitter, but I know I’m in there somewhere.
Mom’s here too, in the photograph I have taped to the glass. It’s her on the trapeze, all those years ago. Before she had me. Before she even knew she wanted me.
I have a bit of Popo here too, in the form of the hóngbāo she gave me for Chinese New Year—a bright red envelope with shiny gold writing on the front, and eight dollars inside.
It’s a present Popo has given me every year for as long as I can remember, but this year was different. This year the luck worked.
Because look where I am.
I still have dark days, even though my world is bursting in yellow, but I’m learning to manage them better. I’m getting better at sensing when they’re coming—like watching the tide roll in from a pier.
I don’t think they’ll ever go away, but I’m here and I’m trying my best and I think that matters more.
Tatya pokes her head around the corner. “I’m taking off. See you tomorrow at the gym?”
I smile. “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”
She disappears, and I turn back to the table, scouring the pile of stage makeup for face wipes. I know they’re here somewhere, because I just used them last—
The entire world spins when my eyes fall to the pot of flowers sitting on the edge of my table.
Bubblegum-pink orchids.
My heart pounds like it’s signaling the opening of an act.
A shadow moves behind me, filling the space in the mirror. I close my eyes, not sure I want to look.
I’m scared I might be wrong, and hope is already lifting me out of our atmosphere.
I breathe chocolate and trees, and every color in the world fills my soul.
My eyes flash open, and he’s there in the mirror, his green eyes filled with nervous joy, his beautiful honey-brown hair shoved to one side.
Vas.
“Hello.” I didn’t know I could miss a voice so much until just now.
“Hi,” I say, my own voice barely above a whisper. I turn around in my chair so I can see all of him—the real him.
“You were amazing out there,” he says, hands stuffed in his pockets.