I head out to the front of the shop and tell my mom to go back and eat. My parents eat all of their meals at the store, except dinner on Sunday, when we close early. They expect me to come to the store every day because it’s important for the family to eat together. Usually, Mom and Dad start dinner together in the corner room, while I mind the counter. Dad hurries through his meal, and then I head back and Mom sits and watches me eat. Mom gets up super early every morning and packs all the food for the day. The little room in the back is equipped with a microwave, toaster oven and a tiny plug-in stove.
Two months ago, the owner of the convenience store next to the dry cleaners was stabbed in the thigh with a screwdriver while being robbed. Just over a year ago, the diner at the end of our strip of stores was robbed at gunpoint. We try to have at least two people at the cleaners if it’s possible. I doubt having two of us here would make a difference if we were robbed. But my parents think it’s somehow a deterrent. They practically live in this place. I do work alone for a few hours early in the day every Saturday and Sunday so they can have a break. They use the time to go grocery shopping and do house work. I’m worried about what they’re going to do when I go away for school next year.
Mom mumbles about not having an appetite and that Dad will refuse to eat. I sigh. There’s no point in arguing.
I open a textbook, hoping I don’t have to talk to her.
About ten minutes later, there are a couple of customers in the store. My mom is counting the shirts a man is dropping off for cleaning. One of our regulars is waiting, and she asks me what I’m studying.
“Grade twelve physics.” I have an assignment due tomorrow.
She smiles and says, “I didn’t do science beyond grade ten.” Joyce is in her late twenties and comes in about twice a month. She’s one of a handful of Chinese customers that Dad can actually talk to. My parents don’t charge Mandarin-speaking people the tax on their cleaning. Plus they’ll do small mending jobs, like fixing loose buttons, for free — just because the customer is Chinese.
I’m about to ask her what she studied in university when my dad emerges from the back. He tells me to go and eat.
“I’m not hungry,” I answer. I never have an appetite when I’m in trouble. You’d think he’d know this about me.
“I didn’t ask you. You need to eat. Go now.”
Joyce says hi to Dad. My father gives her a curt greeting. The other customer is done and leaves the store. Mom calls Joyce up to the counter and in the same breath tells me to do what Dad says. I close my textbook. “You two eat, and I’ll look after the customer,” I say to my mom. I move to take over for her. I’m really not hungry and I’m trying to be helpful.
“Go quickly,” she insists.
Before I can respond, Dad grabs my sweatshirt at the shoulder and drags me to the back. He pushes me. I stumble and recover just before slamming into a machine.
“It is bad enough that you are unreliable. Do not disobey me in front of others.” He storms off to the front, not giving me a chance to say anything. Mom rushes back and slaps me on the shoulder.
“Your father has had a rough day. Why do you choose to aggravate him?”
“Aggravate him? I was trying to be nice . . .” And what about the day I’ve had?
“You should know better.” She’s right. I should’ve known that he’d react that way. Still, I’m seething. And he’s worried about what Joyce might think about the way I treated him. What about her seeing how I was treated? I shake my head. This is my family.
***
We get home shortly after nine. I head straight for the basement. My bedroom is on the second floor. It’s right next to my parents’ room and they have no issues barging into mine whenever they feel like it. The main floor of our townhouse has a kitchen, a small dining room and a tiny living room. My parents set up the TV, a big comfortable couch and a card table down here and call it the family room, but they never come down. It’s where I spend all my time when I’m at home.
Losing my cell is a big deal. It took me forever to convince my parents to buy it for me. “What does a sixteen-year-old need with a smartphone?” they asked. Never mind that every one of my friends had one. They also wouldn’t let me get a part-time job so that I could buy one for myself. “At this age, you should be studying, not wasting time working,” they said. Never mind that they expect me to help at the store. It’s no surprise my parents didn’t want to buy me a phone. Our family car was bought second-hand, and they still wear all the same clothes they brought with them from China twelve years ago. They share a cell between the two of them — it’s a freaking flip phone.
Last year they finally gave in and got me my phone. They will lose their minds when they find out I’ve lost it. How can I get out of this? I wrack my brain but I’ve got nothing. I’ve already looked everywhere. I have enough money saved to replace it. There’s about $820 in my bank account. It’s money I’ve saved over the years — gifts from aunts and uncles and money I’ve earned tutoring through a school program. I’d started saving because I always figured one day I’d run away from home. But the thought of dishing out a whack of cash for a phone when mine was perfectly fine hurts my head. Doesn’t matter though — the plan’s under Dad’s name. I couldn’t replace it without them finding out.
I notice my backpack out of the corner of my eye. I have a unit test in math tomorrow. There’s no way I can study right now. I didn’t finish that physics assignment either. I turn on my laptop and put on my headphones.