Lisa Ko - The Leavers

They passed stands selling jewelry, watches, baseball caps. “Let’s see,” Kay said. “What would an eleven-year-old boy wear?” She stopped in front of Hollister, Abercrombie & Fitch. “Do you like these stores?”

“I don’t know,” Deming said. Inside Abercrombie & Fitch were life-sized cardboard teenagers romping on a beach, girls with sun-streaked hair laughing in bikinis and boys holding surfboards against their muscled torsos. His mother had bought his clothes on Fordham Road, he and Michael getting two of the same shirt in different sizes and colors.

“Look.” Kay pointed to the cardboard cutouts. “It must hurt to smile like that.” She bared her teeth and struck the same pose as one of the bikinied girls, thighs lunging, arms raised. Deming watched her, not sure if he was supposed to laugh.

Cargo Pants. Boys’ Shorts. Classic Tees. Chinos, Polos, Hoodies. Kay held up clothing and Deming said, “Okay.” In the dressing room he removed his green shorts and gray T-shirt, took off the Yankees cap Leon had given him. Michael had the same pair of shorts in blue and a striped version of the gray shirt. Did Michael miss him, or was he was glad to have the bed to himself? Leon might have called from China. If Vivian moved, his mother would have no way of getting in touch with her, to let him know where she was.

Heart pounding, he zipped on Cargo Pants. He looked in the mirror and felt weird, misshaped.

“Can you come out here and show me?”

Kay gave him a brief once-over. “Do you like them? Do they fit?”

“Yeah.”

“So, do you want them? And these shirts here, I guess, too?”

“Okay.”

Kay handed the cashier a piece of paper and said she had a clothing voucher for foster children.

“We don’t take these,” the woman said. “Try Walmart or Target.”

“Oh.” Kay laughed. “It’s okay.” She put the paper back in her purse and took out her credit card. After signing the receipt, the shirts and pants folded inside a bag, she asked Deming, “Do you need anything else?”

Deming was puzzled at the enormity of the question. “What about sneakers?” he finally said.

Kay’s hand flew to her forehead. “Come on, Kay, get it together. Shoes, how could I forget about shoes? Can’t go to school barefoot, Principal Chester would not approve.”

At the Athlete’s Foot, Deming picked the most expensive pair of Nikes on the shelf, with puffy tongues and red and black stripes. Kay handed over her credit card and signed. What else could she buy him — a motorcycle, a computer? They wandered upstairs to the food court. Kay held the clothing bags, Deming the box with his new sneakers, and they shared a plate of cheese fries. He licked the hot yellow sauce from between the ridges of each fry. Crinkle-cut, they were called.

“Did you go to malls in New York City?” Kay’s skin had become pinker, perhaps from the heat of the fries. Deming looked at families eating at other tables, old couples walking arm-in-arm, teenagers counting change and pouring sodas.

“Why am I here?”

Kay picked up a fry. “Because — we have room for a child in our family. And you needed a family to stay with.” She grew even pinker. “Are you nervous about school?”

“Not really.”

At a nearby table sat a mother with two boys around his age, all of them soft and oversized — even their teeth were big — doing diligent damage to a pizza. He accidentally made eye contact with one of the boys, who glanced at his brother and snickered. Their mother stared at Kay and Deming as if they were standing on the street with their butts exposed.

He grabbed more fries and tried to ignore the family at the other table. He wanted to like Kay’s laughter, its bursting crescendo, and the easy way she bought him things.

She kept talking. “I know it’s scary, being the new kid. My family moved once when I was in the seventh grade, just two towns over, but it was a new school and I thought it was the end of the world, literally, that my world was going to end. It wasn’t that I liked my old school so much, not at all, but I was scared it would be worse. But you know what, I ended up making friends. Which was a miracle in itself. I mean, I was such a nerdy kid, a bespectacled bookworm. I loved reading so much I’d stay up all night with books and fall asleep in class the next day. I’d even stay inside during recess to read. As you can imagine, that didn’t win me any popularity awards. But you’re going to be okay, Daniel. You’re going to be fine.”

On the first day of fifth grade at P.S. 33, Mama and Vivian had walked Deming and Michael out the door of their building. All along the block were kids streaming out of their own buildings, big kids, little kids, sisters and brothers, and at the light was a crossing guard, a Puerto Rican lady who always said, “Good morning, sweethearts” in a sugary alto. Ridgeborough Middle School seemed miles away from Kay and Peter’s house.

HE HEARD THEM TALKING on the other side of his bedroom wall.

“It sounds horrible, but maybe a younger child would’ve been easier,” Kay said. “More of a blank slate.”

“We waited years for a younger child,” Peter said. “Even when we were still thinking about China.”

“I know. But I can’t figure out how to act around him sometimes.”

“Be yourself. Aren’t children supposed to know if you’re not being natural?”

“You’re at school all day. Are you sure you can’t work here at least part of the time? We have a study, you can write there.”

“Let’s not go through all this again,” Peter said. “You know this is an important semester for me.”

“It’s not like they’re going to decide to not make you department chair because you come home early once in a while. Work-life balance. You’ve been there forever, they know you and your work. That’s not about to change.”

“Not with Valerie in the running. She has no kids to worry about and one more book than I do. I have to work more right now, not less.”

“Honey. Really.”

“There’s no work-life balance when it comes to academia. You of all people should know that. But it could be different for women. There aren’t the same expectations, the same drive.”

“Right.” Kay laughed. “We don’t have drive! We’re expected to do all of the childcare and all of the cooking and go to work and teach and do research and write our own books. We’re expected to support our husbands, make sure they’re taken care of so they can do their very important work. And lucky me, I get to be an adjunct forever.”

“Well, you wanted this. And now you have it.”

“Oh, that is not fair. You wanted it, too.”

It was quiet. If Kay left Peter for another man, would Deming have to go back to the city?

“You did want it,” Kay said. “Right?”

“Of course.”

“Do you think we’re going to be okay at this?”

“Of course,” Peter said. “That’s the advantage of fostering. We can try it on for size, see what happens.”

“I’m afraid to get too attached. The aunt or the mother, they could come back for him anytime.”

“We’ll take it day by day.”

“And not that I think that success in parenting is biological, but it’s hard. It doesn’t come naturally, though I hate to use such an essentialist term.”

“It takes time. It’ll be better once he goes to school. He’ll make friends. You’ll see.”

“I want him to open up to me. Tell me about his mother or the city or anything.”

“He’s been through a lot. Don’t push it.”

There was another silence, and Deming was backing away from the wall when he heard Peter say, “Maybe it’s cultural, why he’s more reserved?”

“Maybe. Maybe. Oh, are we crazy? Having him live in a town with no other Asian kids? I wouldn’t blame him if he hated us.”