Chapter Thirty-Three
I wake up before Mom on Friday. Even though we agreed not to set an alarm, the sun shines through our window. It teams up with my internal clock, coaxing my eyes open on my normal weekday schedule.
Mom’s soft, measured breaths tell me she’s still asleep. Now would be a good time to follow Tamar’s advice and text Hayden. I reach for my phone—
—and totally chicken out.
Not ready yet. Nope.
There are plenty of other messages to respond to. Tamar’s texts flood my front screen, full of emojis. I skim through them and reply back.
Faith also texted me a couple of days ago, asking if I was okay after Mom told Mrs. Park to leave for the rink without me. I didn’t know what to say then. Explaining myself feels simpler now, even if I’m not ready to share all the details.
Her replies arrive fast.
6:29 a.m.: If you ever want to talk, I’ll listen.
6:29 a.m.: (I promise not to tell people at the rink.)
Mom would totally approve of her properly punctuated sentences.
6:30 a.m.: Thanks. I hated my free program and finally told my mom, that’s all.
6:30 a.m.: Now I have to figure out what to do with my new costume because I don’t like skating in dresses!
Her next texts pop up right after mine.
6:31 a.m.: And I’d rather choreograph & cut music than skate to it. What a combo. 
6:31 a.m.: I might have an idea about your costume, but I have to get dressed. Text you later!
That brings me back to having to figure out what to say to Hayden. It’s been days since we’ve talked or texted. For the last two months, we’ve sent each other a steady stream of texts, most silly, a couple serious. Now I can’t find the right words. It’s like I’m at center ice, waiting for the music to start without having a clue what my first steps are.
I type out a long message, then copy and send each line individually.
6:36 a.m.: I’m really (really, really) sorry I didn’t tell you my real name.
6:36 a.m.: Or warn you about the posters.
6:37 a.m.: Do you know what nonbinary means?
6:37 a.m.: Actually, can we talk before your class next week? I’ll explain everything.
I hit send as fast as possible. Hayden probably isn’t awake, unless Mattie got him up early again. I shut off my phone anyway. I’m finally trying to make things right, but that doesn’t mean I want to read an angry response if Hayden decides to tell me off.
Carefully, I climb down the ladder. Mom shifts as I step onto a creaky rung but doesn’t open her eyes. The lines on her forehead are smooth.
Today is supposed to be about us, but I want this morning to be all about Mom. She works so hard to pay for everything. She makes sure I keep up with my homework and prepares meals for me, even when she’s exhausted. Now I want to do something for her.
Opening a cabinet, I scan each shelf. Special occasions call for special meals. My thoughts move immediately to pancakes.
I don’t want to make just any pancakes. I love the fluffy, syrupy kind, but Mom’s favorite comes from a traditional recipe Grandma Goldie taught her when she was my age.
I stack ingredients into my arms. Soy, salt, oil, and flour all get placed gently on the counter.
Chopsticks and a mixing bowl come next before I stop dead in front of the refrigerator. We usually go grocery shopping on the weekend. I open the door and scan the shelves, but it’s just as I suspected. No chives or eggs.
I stare at the items on the counter. They’re useless without the main ingredients.
I sulk to the bathroom and wash my hands, still trying to think up a solution. The mattress squeaks as Mom sits up in her bed. I scurry back out.
She rubs her eyes, then looks from the kitchen counter to me. “What is all this?”
“I was going to make breakfast so you could sleep in. Chive pancakes.” I purse my lips. “But I didn’t have all the ingredients I needed.”
Realization washes across her face. Mom heads to the window. Sun streams into the room as she draws back the curtain.
“How would you feel about a trip to the beach instead? We can get food on the way to take with us, then stop at the grocery store when we head back.”
It takes me a second to remember the last time we went to the beach. We bought samosas from a food truck with Tamar and her family, watching bursts of glittering fireworks as we perched on a concrete ledge that separated the sidewalk from the sand.
That was over a year ago. There hasn’t been time to go back between my training and Mom’s work, even though she loves the beach. It reminds her of Hawaii.
I look up at Mom and nod. “Okay.”
She gestures toward the counter. “Let’s put this away together and get dressed. We’ll make the most of this nice weather while we have it.”
The underground train takes us from our home to a forested, foggy neighborhood behind Mount Sutro. We board a bus at street level that rolls through more neighborhoods on the western side of San Francisco.
A few blocks from the beach, Mom nods to me and I pull the stop cord above my head.
We stop at a deli, then a bakery. At both shops, I pull out my hongbao, refusing to let Mom pay. Surprise passes across her face as I order us sandwiches from the deli, handing over Grandma Goldie’s Chinese New Year money. By the time I order some bao at the bakery, she’s smiling.
The sun rises like a hazy disk through the fog in this part of town. Only swimmers willing to brave the icy Pacific Ocean venture past the shoreline and into the water. This may remind Mom of Hawaii, but it’s definitely not as warm.
I shiver and zip my coat up to my neck. At first, Mom and I eat our sandwiches in silence. A whoosh of salty wind tickles my face as seagulls screech overhead, searching for crumbs.
“How was your time off from practice?”
“Good.” I set what’s left of my sandwich on my lap. “I helped Mrs. Lee with some chores after I got back from Tamar’s house.” That gets me an approving nod. “And I’m still thinking about what to do with my free program. But I was wondering…” I hesitate as Mom looks at me. “I mean, I noticed that you haven’t been calling me by my name lately.”
I hold my breath, waiting for Mom’s response.
She sighs. A soft release of breath. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to call you that anymore.”
My chest gets hot. The heat creeps up my neck toward my face. “Because of what I said at the competition?”
Mom nods. “And because of my phone conversation with Mrs. Lubeck. She called you A instead of Ana-Marie.”
I look down. I never used to keep secrets. Not from anyone, but especially Mom. I have nothing left to hide, but guilt still twists tight, knowing she learned about my identity from someone else.
“I should’ve told you before you called.” I stare at the half-eaten sandwich in my lap.
“Perhaps,” Mom says. “Or I should’ve asked. Mrs. Lubeck only confirmed something I’d noticed much earlier.” This makes me look up. “You’ve always been a bit different from other children. Talented, of course, but there was something else. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, though. I wasn’t sure how to bring it up with you—your grandmother and I didn’t have the kind of relationship where we could talk about these things.”
“You didn’t?”
“No.” Mom shakes her head. “We didn’t see eye to eye often, and it only got worse when your father and I moved to San Francisco right after high school. The distance made it easier to hide things from each other. It was years before I told her I’d converted to Judaism. I even put off telling her it hadn’t worked out between your father and me until he’d already returned to Hawaii. I didn’t want to upset her, so it was simpler to avoid certain subjects.”
That last part sounds familiar. Tiptoeing around topics is something I got good at this summer. It’s the only time I’m dainty.
Mom looks me straight in the eye. “I don’t want that to be the same for us, but change can be scary. Even for adults. When you didn’t mention anything to me, I convinced myself I was imagining things.”
“I guess we both could’ve done stuff differently.”
“Yes.”
“I miss talking to you, like we used to after skating and school.” This isn’t something I’d planned to tell her, but I’m tired of keeping secrets. Even small ones. “I know you have lots of work to do, but it feels like we barely talk anymore.”
“That wasn’t my intention. Not at all.” Her voice catches, eyes shining like the sun’s reflections on waves.
I move my sandwich to a napkin and shift to my knees, wrapping my arms around Mom’s shoulders before she can say anything else. “I know.”
“I miss our chats, too.” Mom’s voice sounds muffled against my neck.
“Do you think maybe we can switch our schedule?” I ask. “Cook first on weeknights when you get home, then extra work projects after I go to bed? I’ll help with the dishes.”
She nods against me, hair swishing.
Mom wipes her eyes with one hand as I sit back and grab my phone. “Want me to add it to our calendar?”
“I think that’s a wonderful idea.” Her smile reaches all the way to her eyes. “Now, if it’s all right, I have a question for you.”
“Sure.”
Mom looks out toward the ocean for a second, and I reach down to take another bite of my sandwich.
“Is there anything you’d like to know about your father?”
“Um.” I frown and look down at my charm necklace, then back up at Mom. “I don’t know?”
“You seemed interested recently, during the competition last month. I don’t know much about his life anymore, but your grandma Goldie might since she sees him around town from time to time.”
I take the final bite of my sandwich and wonder what knowing more about my dad will accomplish. I’d like him to tell me why he left, why he doesn’t write or video-chat with us, even on holidays. I’d like to know if he’d accept me for who I am, even if I’m not the daughter he thought he had.
I guess there are things I want to know after all.
Eventually.
“I think I want to talk to him, to see what he’s like. Someday. Is it okay to wait until after I’ve figured out my program stuff?”
“Of course.” Mom reaches for her sandwich, tearing off a piece of baguette bread. “If you decide you want to get to know your father, I’ll reach out to him. I want you to feel comfortable coming to me in the future, no matter what.”
More talking, fewer secrets. I like that.
We finish the sandwiches, then grab our stuff. This feels like a perfect end to our day, but I still haven’t told her about the decision I’ve made.
“Mom?” I squint up at her, one hand over my eyes to block the sun. “I haven’t figured out if I want to try different pronouns yet, so you can keep using ‘she’ for now. And it’s okay to call me by my name. But just use Ana, please.”
For me, this is just like getting a new skating program. I learn the choreography, then practice it in segments, only putting it all together once every step feels right. I learned what nonbinary means, so asking to be called just Ana is my first segment. Pronouns will come later.
“Okay.” Mom nods as I hand over her purse. “I’ll do my best to honor that.”
The knot in my stomach loosens, evaporating like fog in the summer sun. My phone vibrates, and the knot threatens to return. As we wait for the streetlight to turn green, I take a quick peek at my phone.
I read Faith’s message and have to fight the urge to dance in the street.
“What is it, Ana?”
The light turns. “This isn’t for sure yet,” I tell Mom as we cross the street. “But I think I’ve figured out what to do about my free-skate costume.”