Becoming Who We Are Ch. 03

"So how are you doing?" he asked, shifting into second to round a corner.

"Okay. I think my parents liked you, by the way."

"I hope so. They seemed nice."

"They're not bad, as parents go. I think I'll keep them."

"Good decision. You're used to them and they're used to you. Trading them in now would mean having to learn a whole new set of rules and regulations and figuring out what they really mean by the things they say."

Melina pondered that for a moment.

"My parents usually mean what they say. Don't yours?"

"Yeah, but what I mean is being able to tell things like when "No" means 'Try again later, when I'm in a better mood,' or "Give me a reason to say yes, and I will,' or just plain no. Do you see what I mean?"

"I never thought about it that way."

"In my psych class, we're reading about hidden meanings in what people say. It's really interesting."

"You mean like body language and that kind of thing?"

"A little, but it's mostly about conversation. A lot of it is about the differences between what men mean and what women mean when they say the same thing."

"Like what?"

"Let me think." Pete stared at the road, hoping a good example would come to him. "Okay, like after a bad date, some guys tell girls 'I'll call you." Maybe one guy in twenty means it, while the other nineteen say it because they don't want to hurt the other person's feelings by saying they never want to see her again. Guys know it's a meaningless phrase, up there with 'See you later.' Girls don't. They take it literally, then get upset when the guy doesn't call like her said he would."

"But if a guy knows it'll hurt a girl's feelings when he doesn't call, why does he say he will?"

"Because it seems kinder at the time -- plus, they know they won't be around when the girl catches on and gets mad."

"That stinks!"

"What can I say? Guys are pigs."

He pulled into a parking lot and drove to one end before turning down a row. Melina saw a large sign that said "Lucky Garden" and something in Chinese. Underneath that sign hung a "Grand Opening" banner. Pete parked the car. Inside, a woman at the cash register gave them a smile that barely engaged her lips and asked how many were in their group.

"Just us," Pete said, lightly draping an arm around Melina's shoulders. He felt her muscles stiffen and slid his hand to her shoulder blade and off her back as if he had meant to from the start. The woman picked up two menus from a stack and gestured for them to follow her.

Melina saw very few empty tables as they picked their way through the dining room. Either the food was good, or people here didn't know the difference, but liked new sensations.

The woman stopped in front of a booth and waved a hand at it.

"Is this all right?"

"It's fine," Pete said, sliding into one seat as Melina scooted into the other. The woman placed the menus on the table.

"Your waiter will be right with you," she said and left.

"I don't know about you, but I'm starved," Pete said, flipping open his menu.

"Me too," she agreed, scanning the lists of dishes. They had a nice selection here; much better than the only other Chinese restaurant she had been to since they had moved. Living in so many places had given her an appreciation for good food, and this restaurant appeared to have possibilities. She quickly settled on her favorite basic dish, Kung Pao chicken. The first time she visited a new Chinese restaurant, she ordered that. If a place couldn't get Kung Pao chicken right, she felt it unlikely it could do anything else well.

"So what looks good to you?" Pete asked.

"I'm going with Kung Pao chicken. How about you?"

"Beef with broccoli."

"Good choice. I like that one too. Do we have enough time for an appetizer?"

Pete checked his watch and grimaced.

"Probably not."

"Good evening. May I take your order?"

The two looked up at their waiter.

"Mark?" Melina, said, astonished to find him here.

"Melina?" he said, equally stunned. This could not be happening. The girl he had a crush on could not possibly be sitting here with another guy.

"Mark! I didn't know you worked here," Pete said, oblivious to the tension between his date and their waiter.

"It's my parents' restaurant. We just opened a few weeks ago."

"Really? That's great. Why didn't you tell us your family had a restaurant?"

"It didn't seem important."

Mark sighed, and put his pen to the order pad.

"I really don't have time to talk. We're pretty busy tonight. So what would you like?"

"Kung Pao chicken," Melina said, focusing on his forehead so she wouldn't have to meet his eyes.

"Good choice," he said. "Always a safe bet for a new restaurant."

Melina stared at him in surprise. How had he known? He smiled at her.

"I always pick something like that when I go to a new place too. If they screw it up, I don't go back. How about you, Pete?"

"Beef with broccoli."

Mark scrawled a couple of characters on the pad.

"All right. What would you like to drink?"

"I'd like a Coke," Melina said.

"Make that two Cokes."

"Kung Pao chicken, beef with broccoli and two Cokes. What about soup or an appetizer?"

"Not tonight," Pete said. "We're going to a concert after this."

"I'll go ahead and put your order in, then. I'll be right back with your Cokes."

He managed to get to the kitchen somehow and posted the order for the chef. No other orders were ready, so he walked back to the sinks, where Luke was up to his elbows in suds. He had to talk to someone and he didn't consider his parents the ideal candidates.

"You ever have a crush on a girl, Luke?" he asked.

"Huh?" Luke blinked at his brother.

"Girls, Luke," Mark said, exasperated. "Have you ever had a crush on one?"

"Of course," Luke said. "They never like me back, though."

Mark ignored the last remark.

"Well, the girl I have a crush on is sitting at one of my tables with another guy who happens to be a friend of mine."

Luke's face filled with sympathy. "That's terrible."

"It sucks," Mark said. "And I'm stuck with them until they leave. Why do these things happen?"

"I don't know," Luke said sadly, reflecting on his own problems. "I wish I did."

Their mother appeared in the kitchen doorway, scanning the room for evidence of employees slacking off. Her keen eyes spotted the talking boys, despite the steam in the air and the other waiters and cooks scuttling around.

"Back to work," she called, her angry voice piercing the din of chattering cooks, sizzling food and clanging woks. "This is the dinner rush, not the social hour. Mark! Take care of your tables!"

Mark patted his brother's shoulder.

"Solidarity, brother," he said, trudging to the soda dispenser to pour two Cokes for his unwanted customers.

The moment Mark disappeared into the kitchen, Pete leaned across the table.

"Did you know he worked here?" he asked, his face alive with curiosity.

Melina shook her head.

"I had no idea. I wonder why he's never said anything about it. It's weird."

"I know. I mean, if my parents had a place like this, I'd tell everyone."

"Yeah," she said, peering around the room, noting the ink prints and scrolls on the walls. "This is really nice. I don't get it."

She spotted a young girl standing at the cash register and nodded toward her.

"Do you suppose that's his sister?"

Pete squinted in that direction.

"Don't know. I can't tell from here."

A woman dressed in red said something to the girl and strode towards the kitchen.

"Maybe she is. She looks like that woman, and I bet she runs the place. Christ, she'd be good-looking if she weren't frowning like that."

Melina nodded. From what she could see, the woman had pretty features, but her furrowed brow and pinched mouth marred her looks. Melina wondered if she always wore that expression, or if she were simply having a bad night.

"She looks like she could be hell-woman, mistress of the underworld, if she wanted to," Pete said.

"She kind of reminds me of my dad's last commanding officer," Melina said thoughtfully. "His face had that same irritated look. My dad couldn't stand him. He used to tell us nothing was ever good enough for Colonel Schwartz, and that demoralized every person who worked for him."

"Really? I'd have figured your dad for the high expectations, high standards type."

"Oh, he is. He expects the best from his people and from me and my sister too. It gets kind of frustrating, because sometimes I want to slack off and drift, and Dad won't let me. But there's a big difference between people like my dad and people like Col. Schwartz," and her voice slowed as she grappled for the right words, "and that's that my dad doesn't expect the truly impossible. He understands different people have different strengths and weaknesses and he plays to those."

"What do you mean?"

"Like Julie, that's my sister, she's a terrific runner and she loves to compete. When she ran high school track, Dad expected her to give it everything she had, but he helped her a lot, too. He used to run with her and everything. When she won races, he'd tell her how proud he was of her. When she lost, he'd help her analyze what she could have done better, instead of yelling at her like some parents did when their kids lost.

"Now me, I hate competing, at least in sports, and I'm hopeless at track. But I like biking a lot. So he encourages me to ride and improve, and he doesn't make a big deal out of the fact that I don't want to be on a team or ride in races. He'd probably like it if I would compete, but he doesn't force it.

"But if some jerk like Col. Schwartz were my dad, he'd probably expect me to be like my sister, and he'd probably make demands I couldn't handle, then get mad at me for not being the person he wanted me to be."

She paused for a sip of water.

Pete gave her a respectful look.

"God, Melina, you sound like you're about fifty. After that, I'm embarrassed I mentioned my psych class. Why didn't you tell me you knew all about it?"

She laughed.

"I don't know that much about psychology, just what I've picked up from my dad and moving around so much. When you go to new schools every couple of years, you have to learn to read people pretty well, because you don't have much time to get to know them. I guess Army brats grow up fast that way."

Mark reappeared with their sodas and smacked them onto the table.

"Here's your drinks. Your food's on its way."

He moved off before Pete or Melina could say anything.

"Guess he's busy tonight," Pete said. "But we don't need to worry about that. So tell me more about you and your sister. I didn't even know you had a sister."

Melina smiled.

"Yeah, Julie's about a year older than me. She just started college this year. She's going to George Mason, down in Virginia, near Washington. They have a pretty good track program there."

"Is she anything like you?"

"Yes and no. We look a lot alike, except she's a little shorter than I am and thinner too, on account of track. We like a lot of the same things, like chocolate and dogs. But she's probably more ... driven than I am, and definitely more outgoing. I'm the shy one."

"Shy? You? I hadn't noticed."

She chuckled.

"Actually, I've kind of surprised myself this year. I don't usually get to know people as fast as I have at this school."

"Maybe we're nicer here than the kids at your other schools."

She shrugged.

"Maybe you are."

She caught a glimpse of Mark balancing a tray and weaving through the tables toward them. He placed the tray on a stand nearby and transferred the steaming plates of food to the table.

"Kung Pao chicken," he announced, sliding the platter in front of her, "and beef with broccoli. Do either of you want chopsticks?"

"No," Pete said with a snort. "I have enough trouble with a knife and fork."

"Sure," Melina said.

Both boys looked at her in surprise.

"Well, we used to live in Asia. I learned how to use them there. I think Chinese food tastes better if you eat it the way Chinese people do."

She felt her face get hot as Mark handed her a pair of wooden chopsticks. She hoped she didn't sound too pretentious, rattling on about Asian culture. Sometimes she just didn't know to shut up about her experiences.

Both teens were hungry, so they ate in silence, enjoying the food and occasionally smiling at one another. The food definitely outclassed any she had eaten in the last six months. The chicken had a nice gingery taste, complemented by the scallions and peanuts. The beef tasted slightly sweet, with other flavors she couldn't quite identify. Melina used chopsticks with precision, and easily kept pace with Pete.

"Wow," Mark said, reappearing. "You're very good with those, Melina. Is your food okay?"

Their mouths full, the two nodded and smiled. Mark gave them a half-smile and moved to another table.

Both Pete and Melina slowed by the end, and when Melina had eaten the final peanut, she leaned back and sighed with contentment.

"That was heavenly," she said.

"God, yes. I can't remember having better food."

The woman in the red suit approached their table.

"Good evening. I am Mrs. Tang, and my husband and I own this restaurant. How was your dinner?"

"Oh, excellent," Melina said sincerely.

Mrs. Tang gave them the same half smile they had just seen on her son.

"You are very good with the chopsticks. Do you have Chinese friends?"

"Um, actually, I learned to use chopsticks when my dad was stationed in Japan, but I am friends with a Chinese boy. You may know him. Mark Tang."

The woman smiled again.

"How do you know my son?"

"We're in band together," Pete answered.

"Oh. Do you play the saxophone too?"

"No, we're both trumpet players," Pete said. "But the three of us usually sit together at the games, and walk home after practice."

"Well," Mrs. Tang said, "I'm glad Mark has found such nice friends. Please come back and visit us any time."

"Thank you," Melina said politely.

"Thank you for coming," Mrs. Tang said formally. She moved to another table to repeat the ritual. People liked to meet restaurant owners; it made them feel important if they knew by name the people who owned the places they liked to go. Mrs. Tang didn't particularly enjoy wandering about and introducing herself, but she did it because it was good business. That meant more money, and money meant everything to her.

Pete looked at his watch.

"It's seven-thirty. We need to get going."

She reached into her pocket for the twenty dollars her father had given her, "in case you need it for cab fare," he had said. Pete saw the motion and waved a hand dismissively.

"It's my treat. You can buy another time. Now where's Mark?"

As if on cue, Mark appeared.

"Do you want the check?"

"Please."

Mark wrote down a couple of figures and placed the slip on the table.

"Thanks for coming. You can pay at the register."

He vanished. Pete looked at the check.

"I guess a three-dollar tip is about right, but it seems weird to tip Mark."

"I know what you mean, but we should anyway. My sister's waited tables and she said practically all the money she earned came from tips."

Pete left three dollars and a quarter on the table and the two headed for the cash register. The girl there accepted Pete's cash with a much more genuine smile than her mother's.

"Are you Mark's sister?" Melina asked.

"Yes," the girl said, handing Pete his change. "I'm Mary. You know Mark?"

"Yeah. We're in band together."

"I hope he sounds better there than he does at home. Sometimes you could swear a flock of mutant geese has invaded the house when he plays."

Pete and Melina chuckled.

"I guess the sound of a tenor sax ripping through a Sousa march isn't the most pleasant sound in the world."

Mary made a face.

"I wish he'd take up the flute."

"Melina," Pete said urgently, "we need to go."

"Nice to meet you," she said over her shoulder, following him out the door.

From the kitchen door, Mark watched his friends leave. Thank God they're gone, he thought. It was pure torture to watch them talking and laughing together. He walked to the table and saw the tip. He frowned. He didn't want Pete's money. Then he got an idea. He grabbed the cash and dashed into the kitchen.

"Hey Luke," he said. "The guy and girl I was telling you about just left. I want you to have the tip they left."

"Don't want to take his money?" Luke asked perceptively.

"No, I don't. Do you want it?"

"Sure. I never get any tips back here, that's for sure. My hands are all wet, so just shove it in my pocket there."

Mark snaked his hands into his brother's shirt pocket, dropping the money into it.

"How much is it, anyway?"

"Three bucks and a quarter."

"Almost enough to buy something."

"Yeah, but not quite. As usual."

The boys grinned wryly at each other. The joke was an old one. Tips never amounted to as much as they hoped, especially since their mother insisted that half their earnings go into a bank account for college.

"After the rush, come back and tell me about her," Luke suggested.

"Sure. I'd better get out of here before Mom comes back and sees us."

"Yeah. This isn't the social hour, you know," Luke said with a grin.

**

The concert started nearly forty-five minutes late, so Pete and Melina arrived with plenty of time to spare. At quarter past eight, Pete's mother, clasping her violin and bow, announced to the restless audience that a traffic accident had delayed the violist and cellist. To fill the time, Mrs. Hess, dressed in flowing black, and the other violinist played duets. While their performance lacked polish to Pete's practiced ear, both played with zest and their pleasure in the music infected their listeners.

Once the other quartet members arrived, apologizing profusely for their tardiness, the music began in earnest. The quality of the performance sharpened enough that Melina could hear the difference. The melody and harmony lines switched among the instruments, weaving an intricate pattern unlike any Melina had ever encountered in band. Entranced, she leaned forward and drank in the sound, oblivious to the passage of time.

Afterward, they had only a few moments to say hello to Mrs. Hess before Pete had to drive Melina home.

"You played beautifully," the girl said, her eyes shining. "I've never heard anything quite like it."

"Thank you, darling," Mrs. Hess drawled. "I'm so glad you enjoyed it."

The child appeared quite starstruck, she thought with amusement. Well, perhaps her military background had left her with few opportunities to enjoy the cultural amenities of life.

"I'd love to chat with you when we've more time," the woman said. "Perhaps Peter can bring you by the house sometime when we're home."

"I'd like that."

Pete cut into the conversation. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but it's ten forty and I promised Mr. Taylor I'd have Melina home by eleven. Please excuse us, Mother."

"Certainly, darling," Mrs. Hess said graciously. "Nice to meet you, dear."

A loud "Valerie, darling, that was exquisite!" drowned out Melina's response. A slender man rushed forward to hug Mrs. Hess. Pete grabbed Melina's hand and led her from the auditorium.

"Come on. We have to go."

"You don't have to drag me," Melina said, twisting her hand out of his.

"Sorry, but I really don't want get your dad mad at me."

"We have plenty of time," she said firmly.

They said little on the ride home. He stopped in front of her house, parked, and turned to her.

"Thanks for a terrific night," she said.

"Thanks for coming. I had a really good time."

"Me too. Your mother's a marvelous musician. No wonder you're so good at trumpet. You have no choice, with a mother like that."

"I'll tell her you said so."

Both paused for along moment, looking at the other.