Language

Dr. Haseda has come to visit us again

with Baby Cake, who

has grown up so much since April.

Now she walks without lurching

and has lots more teeth.

I take her outside and blow bubbles

so Mama and her friend can visit alone.

Kate chases the bubbles and pops them

with her fingers and her face,

and laughs and screams

and falls down.

Timothy crosses the fence

and gives Kate pony rides on his back.

She grabs the neck of his T-shirt

and his ears

as he neighs and whinnies through the grass.

She wants to ride on Pattress, too,

who would let her,

but we say no,

and blow more bubbles.

Then Timothy has to leave,

and Kate and I go inside, where our mothers

are drinking tea with lemon and eating ginger cookies

that Dr. Haseda brought.

She gives one to her daughter.

And when she sets Kate on her lap,

Mama presses her hand over her heart

and looks at me.

“I am thinking of offering a class in the tea ceremony,” Dr. Haseda says to Mama

in Japanese.

Mama sets her teacup in the saucer. “Did you know

I am certified to teach osado?”

“My, my,” Dr. Haseda says. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in teaching my class.”

Mama looks at her teacup to hide her smile. “I might be.

I’ll need to talk to my husband first.”

This is Mama’s way of hiding her glee.

“Of course,” says Dr. Haseda,

who puts her teacup down and gathers her daughter.

She knows Mama’s answer will be yes.

I would not be able to explain to Timothy or Stacey

or anyone else in Hillsborough how

I understand the language

behind their words.