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“Honestly, I totally loved the last video,” Citra called in Thai from the living room. We tended to speak our native tongue when with family for some reason, even though all of us spoke English quite well. I was making funny faces at Banyu, who was gurgling and drooling all over himself. “It was so different. And that country rock song was so good! I downloaded it to my Gladiators playlist.”
Gently lifting the pudgy boy in a bright yellow sleeper from his crib, I cradled him close, uncaring if he slobbered all over my long-sleeved tee.
“You have a Gladiators playlist?” I asked, carrying my nephew from his room into the large living room where Citra was unpacking boxes. Still. They’d been in Watkins Glen for two weeks and were still trying to get settled. It was hard as my brother-in-law, Joyo, had started his new job at Schaffer Salt the day after they had landed at the airport in Elmira. He still looked jetlagged. Citra had been left to do most of the unpacking, care for Banyu, and deal with my parents when they’d arrived for a week.
Not that my parents were a problem, but they were old school Asian at times even though we’d been in America for over twenty years. Mom didn’t quite understand Citra’s need to find a job. In her day, Mom would explain, a new mother would devote all of her time and energy to her baby, even to the exclusion of her husband. That was a bone of contention that my sister would not budge on.
My father loved Joyo as his own son but wondered why he had only applied for a mid-level job instead of something higher in the company. He didn’t quite grasp that the job market today was not at all like it had been when he had moved his family to the States so long ago. So now that my parents had gone back home, Citra could do as she wished, which she was going to do, anyway. Like take date nights when I was free to babysit.
Mom also had some trouble with married couples having a date night. Most of the wedded folks that I know back in Thailand take their kids with them when they go out anywhere. It’s a child-loving culture. Many of the eateries are big outdoor venues where kids run free and play with adults sometimes joining in. My parents rarely left us alone when we were young. My father simply did not grasp why a husband and wife would want time away from their offspring.
“Of course,” she said as she placed a photograph of herself, Joyo, and a newborn Banyu on the mantle over their fireplace. “I listen to it when I stream your games. It’s amazing to be able to watch you play now! Even Joyo watches and you know how he is about worshipping only Muay Thai boxers.”
“Hey, it’s good to broaden his horizons.” I smiled at Banyu, who was slapping at my face with a pudgy hand while sucking on my chin. “I think he’s hungry. If you have some milk expressed, I’d love to feed him.”
She turned from the mantle, a ribbon of lucky numbers in her hand—something that would be draped over the pictures she had just placed—and pouted. My people were big into lucky numbers. My aunts had all asked for the room number that Citra had been in while in labor and then demanded to know Banyu’s length, weight, and head measurements. Some Thai women even go to monks to find out the best dates for giving birth or other monumental life events.
“Sorry, I’ve been busy. Here, let me have him.” She smiled softly down at her son as I carefully passed him over. Citra was a pretty woman, still carrying a little baby weight in her face that I personally felt made her look even prettier. She was petite and wore her long black hair pulled into three ponytails. I nudged her toward the sofa so she could feed the hungry one and started placing her knickknacks on the mantle, back to mother and child.
“I’m so glad you guys are finally here,” I said as I unwrapped a small cloisonne duck that had been handed down to her by my paternal grandmother.
“We’re glad to be here. I wish there were more teaching openings locally. I might have to expand my searches for the bigger cities like Corning.” She sighed. “I also wish people would stop telling me how good my English is. I mean, hello. I was born in Thailand, yes, but I grew up in America.”
“Try not to let it get to you. I’m always the Asian goalie,” I replied in English and then adjusted the duck to face toward the sunny window. The warmth from the November sun was nice today, filling their living room with lots of brightness. Pity the sun was doing little to counter the cold that had settled over the Glen since Halloween.
“I know, mai bpen rai,” Citra replied in Thai. No worries. “Easier said than done.”
“It will all work out,” I told her, shifting my sight from the window back to the mantle. “I keep telling myself that.”
A long moment of silence filled the house, the only sound coming from my nephew, who was belching, then giggling, before returning to the boob buffet for his second course. The kid was a champion eater, which explains why he was such a chonk.
“Would you like to talk about what’s worrying you?” I peeked over my shoulder to see her burping Banyu as her brown gaze rested on me. She gave me her loving sister who knows it all smile. “You’ve been reserved for weeks now.”
I sighed. There was no point in arguing. She knew me better than anyone. Even my own parents didn’t have the insight into me that my sister had. I moved over to sit next to her. She placed Banyu in my arms. He waved his chubby arms and legs around as he graced me with a little coo that melted my heart.
“I met a guy,” I whispered as if the press and PR people were lurking behind the unpacked moving boxes.
“Baskoro, that is wonderful!” My sister was a gusher before she had gotten pregnant. Now that she was a mom, she gushed with even more gusto. “When can Joyo and I meet him? Oh, bring him to Thanksgiving dinner.”
The notion that we were doing Thanksgiving wasn’t a new one, but my sister was full on into making sure her son would know all the American holidays and be as accepted in his new culture as possible. Generally, as Thai-American kids, we had this wonky sort of Thanksgiving celebration where we ate a lot of Thai food, watched TV, and then went to bed just to try to fit in. My folks also did Christmas, but it was not a religious day for them as they were Buddhist. So again, we got presents, ate lots of Thai food, watched old Christmas movies like Home Alone on TV, and then went to bed.
I wasn’t sure Banyu would grasp a holiday meal at his age no matter if it was Easter or Songkran, but she was determined to roast a turkey and bake a pumpkin pie. Who was I to argue?
“I can’t. He’s doing his own meal with his aunt and daughter.” Banyu dozed off in my arms, his pink bow lips parted, his long dark lashes resting on his plump cheeks.
“Oh, a daughter. Tell him to bring them here. I have a twenty-five-pound turkey in the fridge that Joyo’s foreman gave him.” She slipped around to sit sidesaddle, her socked feet tucked under her backside. “I can make more stuffing.”
“I can’t invite him.” I kept my sight on my sleeping nephew.
“Baskoro, is he married?” Citra asked, her tone sharp.
My sight flew from the babe dozing in my arms to my sister. “What? No, of course not. Man, what do you think I am?”
“Sorry, sorry.” She exhaled deeply. “I know you better. So why can’t he come here? We have lots of room and food. Mom and Dad aren’t going to be here to interrogate him since they’re taking that cruise to the Bahamas with Uncle Niran and his new girlfriend.”
“He’s not…” I blew out a breath that tickled Banyu as he slept. His lashes fluttered once, then he blew a spit bubble that I dabbed up with my sleeve. “He’s on the Comets.” Citra blinked in confusion. “They’re a team we play against. He’s the goalie for them and we have this supposed big rivalry that isn’t really a rivalry now, even though it might have—”
