“So, what are we doing for your last supper?” Chi asks. Last supper sounds a bit dramatic, but I’m leaving late tonight for Vermont, so she’s not wrong.
“Bachan is making dinner,” I say. Our mom’s mom lives in a carriage house on our property. When we were kids, she lived with us because she was the one who filled in as the surrogate parent while our parents worked or traveled. But when we moved to this bigger property, my dad “suggested” that Bachan needed her own place. My tiny grandmother is one of the few people who can go toe-to-toe with legendary bad-ass Gary Goodwin. Instead of arguing, her methods are polite resistance or the silent treatment. Neither of my parents can last more than 24 hours against her powers.
I wish I could take a page from my grandmother’s playbook. Since we got back from Montreal, my father has alternated between arguing with me and ignoring me. I’m not sure which treatment I prefer, and my stomach is constantly knotted. This summer has been brutal, and I can hardly wait to leave.
Ocean waves crash onto the shore outside our dining room window. Chi sets the table with chopsticks and napkins. I can hear Bachan in the kitchen talking to Stella, our housekeeper. My father is bothered by the fact that we have help, yet Bachan insists on doing the cooking. Not every night, but whenever she decides we need Japanese comfort food. Like if we get bad marks, lose a big hockey tourney, or break up with someone. And of course, Bachan is not going to stick to my father’s dietary restrictions. Once we became teenagers, my father put us all on the same lean protein, complex carbohydrates, sugar-free diet that keeps him in game shape. My grandmother argues that the Japanese diet is very healthy, and it’s important that we keep our culture. Their biggest fight was over white rice—if you can call it a fight. It was mainly my father trotting out facts and my grandmother smiling and ignoring him.
Anyway, my grandmother has excellent emotional antennae, and she’s been feeding me comfort food whenever my father’s not around. Tonight’s dinner is yakisoba, a fried noodle dish that Bachan used to make when I came home starved after hockey practice.
“I guess it’s a cheat day,” Chi mutters. She loves these dinners too, but her metabolism isn’t as fast as mine.
The three of us sit down to dinner. My mother is on a business trip, and my father has taken Adam to see a specialist in Seattle about a lingering knee strain. My dad’s doing everything to ensure that Adam can make the NHL on his first try.
The meal is delicious, and I tell my grandmother so. Thanks to her, I will always associate carbs with love. Chi and I slurp down noodles noisily as we have done ever since my late grandfather claimed that loud eating showed an appreciation for the food. For a few minutes, I feel like a carefree kid again.
My grandmother shakes her head at our antics, but she’s smiling.
“I wonder if there is good Japanese food in Burlington,” she asks.
Chi nods. “I think there’s Japanese food everywhere these days.”
“But is it prepared by Japanese chefs?” That’s my grandmother’s benchmark. From cars to appliances to restaurants, she believes that Japanese is best.
After dinner, Chi asks me what I want to do.
“I have to finish packing,” I say.
“Do you want help?” she asks.
“No.”
Chi’s help will consist of ruling on which of my clothes are out of style. She trails me to my room anyway and drapes herself over an armchair.
“I hope you ditch all the negativity when you meet your new team,” she says.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ve been such a grouch all summer,” she says.
“Can you blame me? I’ve been battling Dad about Moo U.”
“You’re too sensitive. It’s weird because everyone thinks you’re so tough and stoic, but you’re the softest of all of us.” Unfortunately, she’s right. Chi is a pragmatist, and Adam is oblivious to emotional tensions. I hate fighting with people I love, and it shows.
Chi continues, “Remember that time you threw up when Mom and Dad were arguing in the car?”
“Jesus. I was seven. Can we not go through my top ten humiliations right now?”
“Well, it worked. They stopped fighting.” Chi finds the bright side as usual. She scrolls through her phone, and there’s a few minutes of blessed silence. “What are you and Lauren doing now that you’re moving to Vermont?”
“We broke up.”
My girlfriend has been a freaking saint all summer. I have no money, no car, and as Chi just pointed out, a negative attitude, but Lauren never complained. However, she’s the one who suggested that a coast-to-coast relationship would be too hard.
“Oh, sorry. Are you upset about that too?” Chi asks, like I have a long list of things bothering me.
To be honest, I feel relieved. Not being able to take Lauren out in our usual way made me feel guilty. She was great about staying in and watching movies in our home theatre, but it wasn’t the same as going out. And having so much unstructured time to talk made me realize that we didn’t have as much in common as I thought.
Besides, Lauren took my decision to transfer personally. She thought going to Vermont meant I wanted to get away from her. But telling her that I never even considered her in my decision would have been worse. I can’t explain how I made one spontaneous decision and it’s snowballed into this huge deal.
“It’s fine,” I say.
Chi accepts this and moves on. She points to a stack of clothes with her toe. “Seriously, you don’t need that many pairs of shorts. It’s probably going to be snowing when you land.”
“Funny.” While it’s true that I grew up in California and then went to school in the desert, I know winter. My other grandparents live in Denver, and I’ve been to hockey tournaments. True, I’ve never lived anywhere with a real winter.
Bachan enters the room with my clean laundry. She eyes the pile of T-shirts. “You need warmer clothes. My friend lives in New Jersey. She’s always telling me how cold it is up there.”
“That’s what I told him,” Chi says.
I know they mean well, but I wish they would stop. I’m having enough second thoughts without knowing Mother Nature’s going to be kicking my ass. But maybe I should appreciate their concern. Nobody else cares. And Adam is so busy now, I never get to see him. I’m not sure whose side my mom is really on, but my parents present a unified front, so she won’t break ranks. She did slip me some cash before she left, so I know she’s worried about my finances.
“I still don’t understand how you managed to charm your way into living rent-free,” says Chi.
“I’m supposed to do work on the farm in exchange for room and board,” I explain.
“What kind of farm work?” Chi asks.
“I’m not sure. Denise Meyers said it’s a hobby farm. They have goats, pigs, chickens, and a big garden. But in the winter, there’s less garden stuff, of course.”
Bachan sucks in a breath. “You’ve never done any gardening or housework here. How can you do farm work?”
“How hard could it be?” I ask.
Both Bachan and Chi laugh in response.
I stretch once I get off the plane in Burlington. My flights were brutal. I took the red eye from L.A. to Charlotte, then after a two-hour layover, flew here. It’s the early afternoon, but I feel completely out of sync. I could use another eight hours of sleep—this time stretched out in a real bed. Denise Meyers offered to pick me up at the airport, and now I realize I don’t know what she looks like. But the terminal turns out to be so tiny, I’m sure I’ll be able to find her. I walk over to the lone baggage carousel to wait.
“Hey, are you Noah Goodwin?” a cheery voice says.
I turn around. She’s my age, tall with dirty blonde hair and a smile so wide it looks fake. Why is she so happy?
“Yes,” I say.
My acknowledgement is like a starting gun. She holds out her hand. “Welcome to Burlington. I’m Zoe Meyers. You’ve been corresponding with my mom, but she had to work today, so I’m here to pick you up. I hope your flight was okay, oh, I mean flights because I know you came all the way from L.A., so you must have had three or four transfers, right? Anyway, once your bags get here, I’ll drive you home, but first I thought we’d do a tour of Burlington. I can show you the campus and the town. Or have you already toured the area?”
I look at her in awe. How does someone talk that much without taking a breath? Maybe she’s a swimmer or scuba diver because she looks athletic enough. Then I remember she asked me a question.
“No. I’ve never even been here before.”
“Oh really? That’s wild. I mean, you’re moving here to a completely new place, a new school, and a new hockey team. That’s pretty ballsy. I wish I was as courageous as you. It’s like we’re polar opposites. I’m still living at home and going to a school that’s only fifteen minutes from the farm. But we’re not really opposites because we have hockey in common. I play for Moo U too. Obviously on the women’s team. But I play defense, same as you.”
She pauses again. Concentrating on her word vomit is giving me a headache. “Is there a Starbucks in the terminal?” I ask.
“No. There’s only a Skinny Pancake. But we can get you a coffee on the way home. There are some amazing coffee places in Burlington that source their beans from small tropical farms and then roast them right here. The Green Bean is the coffee bar of choice on campus. If that doesn’t suit you, then we could go to Scout or Uncommon instead. I’m not sure if you’ve had lunch or not. If you’re hungry, we could go home, and I’ll make you a snack. Or pizza, if you like pizza. But who doesn’t like pizza?”
Whatever a Skinny Pancake is. I rub my temple. She’s like a chipmunk on crack, and I’m not sure how much more I can take.
“Do you have an off-switch?” I ask.
There’s a brief flash of something across Zoe’s face, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far. But then that huge smile returns in full wattage. “I’m sorry. I’m talking too much. Does that ever happen to you? I mean, you hear yourself talking too much, yet you can’t stop. It’s kind of a nervous thing, I guess.”
She keeps going but I tune out. I can see my suitcase snaking its way towards us, and I lean towards Zoe so I can snag it. As I brush against her arm, she jumps back in shock. I’m seriously wondering if she’s on something, but she looks too innocent to even know what drugs are. She’s the Hollywood stereotype of someone raised on a farm: healthy, fresh-faced, and strong. She would actually be cute if she would chill.
I pull my suitcase off. “Just need my hockey bag now.”
“Oh, that will arrive at the special handling kiosk. Let’s go over there.” We walk all of twenty feet and find my hockey and stick bags neatly stacked beside a golf bag and some cardboard boxes.
“Let me take something for you,” Zoe offers, but I wave her off. Even if she looks strong enough to tuck a cow under each arm, I’m not letting her carry my luggage. We make our way to the parking lot, with Zoe pointing out all the highlights of the world’s smallest terminal. The Skinny Pancake turns out to be a café, and I sniff the caffeine longingly, but I’m doomed to drink coffee wherever Zoe deems Burlington’s best coffee to be.
Zoe is driving an ancient Ford Explorer, and we stow my gear in the back. We drive along with Zoe narrating everything, as if I can’t read the words Doubletree Inn by myself. Burlington looks pretty though, with trees neatly planted along a grassy median. In no time, we’re on campus.
She stops in front of an arena that looks like the outside of every other arena.
“Would you like to go in? Maybe get your bearings before your first practice on Monday. I could give you a full tour of the facilities.”
I’m torn. While I like being prepared, I prefer to go in the arena with a purpose. And I’m pretty sure that a tour with Cracky the Chipmunk will include her telling me the amount of water needed to flood the rink and the win/loss record of every Moo U team since 1989.
“It’s okay.” I add a hopeful, “Maybe that coffee now?”
She puts the car back into drive. “Right. Sorry, I haven’t forgotten about your coffee, but I’ve been considering all the best places. I think we’ll go to downtown Burlington. I’d really like to show you the Church Street Marketplace. It’s at its best in the summertime when all the outdoor activities are on. But don’t worry, the fall is great too.”
Since I spend most of my school days at the rink, the gym, and the library, I can’t imagine I’ll be lounging around town. Besides, I have zero money, which means I’m not going anywhere.
She’s pointing out more campus features, but I let her words buzz over me like the noise of a fly.
“This is a wild guess, but do you work in tourism?” I ask.
“Holy doodle. I can’t believe you knew that. My first job was at the Shelburne Museum—you know Shelburne, that’s the town where we live—but this summer I worked for Hello Burlington. And I’m in the tourism program at Moo U. I can’t believe you guessed without my telling you.”
“Every word out of your mouth sounds like a guidebook,” I point out. Every single word delivered at a hundred miles an hour.
“Well, there you go. Some people have to pay to get tours, but you’re getting one for free.”
If I had money, I would be tempted to offer her some not to talk anymore. Instead I close my eyes and rub my forehead. Unfortunately, we’ve reached downtown Burlington already, so the restaurant tour begins.
“I’m sure you’re familiar with Ben & Jerry’s, but did you know they began right here in Burlington? You can even tour their facilities. Oh, look over there. That’s a nice casual place for lunch: really good sandwiches, and they stock local beers and ciders.”
I know she’s not deliberately taunting me, but as someone who is used to eating out a lot, I wonder how this year will work. As Bachan pointed out, I can’t cook. And while my meals are included at the farm, what about lunch?
“And that ramen place is supposed to be really good.” She looks at me sideways. “You know, if you miss Japanese food.”
“I was born in L.A. Both my parents are American. But thanks for othering me.”
Even Little Miss Sunshine doesn’t miss my tone. “Othering you? Oh, I’m so, so sorry. I mean, obviously I know you’re American, but your background is Japanese too, so I thought you might be worried that you couldn’t find Japanese food here.”
One of the problems with having famous parents is that strangers know things about you before it comes out in the normal course of conversation. Of course, the Meyers family had to research me before letting a potential serial killer into their home. But it still bugs me. If I’m being fair, I do like to eat Japanese food and I was worried there wouldn’t be any here. Right now, I’m not being fair though. All I want is coffee and silence.
But the silence only lasts for about a minute. Then Zoe points out some restaurant she’s really excited about. “That’s The Squash Flower. It’s won James Beard dining awards. The best Vermont restaurants are known for their farm-to-table philosophy and dedication to local suppliers. This restaurant is a good example of the world-class dining experiences that—”
“Wait.” I interrupt her. “World class? Have you eaten all over the world?”
Zoe flushes. “Well, no. I haven’t even eaten here. But I know all about the restaurants from my work. It’s my job to recommend the best places.”
“Because to me, world-class dining means people come here just to eat. I must have missed the private jet runway back at the airport.”
“People come from New York City to eat here. And we do get tourists from everywhere. There’s no need to make fun of me.” Apparently Cracky does have a dark side because she’s finally standing up to me.
“Look, I came here to go to school and play hockey. I don’t need much else. What’s the population here, forty thou? It’s not going to be L.A. or even Phoenix. All I expect from Burlington is a college town with a few places to drink and party.”
I glance over at Zoe. Her cheeks are red, and that huge smile is gone. She jerks the wheel, and the car screeches to a stop. She leans over me and opens the passenger side door.
“Get out,” she hisses.
“What?”
“I’ve had enough of your arrogance and superiority. If Burlington is such a tiny hick town, I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding your way home.”
She shoves me out before I even finish unbuckling my seat belt. And she’s pretty strong. I half-stumble out and land on the sidewalk. She takes off before I’ve even righted myself.
Then the Explorer stops. Has Cracky come to her senses? The passenger side door opens again, and I lurch towards the car. My backpack sails out and lands on the sidewalk. The door closes, and she peels out in a cloud of exhaust.
I brush myself off and pick up my backpack, avoiding the curious looks of every person on this block.
Well, shit. The only good news is that she’s kicked me out in front of a coffee place. I go inside to get a coffee and ask about buses.