into the room and asked her to come and see her dollhouse.
“Do you want to borrow anything for tonight?” Sally called after her as she disappeared into the hallway. Sally didn't want to say anything to her, but she thought she'd look a little silly at the barbecue in her kimono. And she said as much to her mother when she went downstairs a little later. Reiko was busy making mashed potatoes for their dinner.
“Give her a chance,” Reiko said understandingly. “She just got here. She's probably never worn anything but kimonos. You can't expect her to jump into saddle shoes and a pleated skirt in the first five minutes.”
“No, but won't people think she looks weird if she goes around in kimonos all the time?” Sally said persistently.
“Of course not. She's a beautiful girl, and she's from Japan. Why don't you give her a chance, Sally. Let her get used to us before you expect her to give up all her old ways for new ones.”
“Oh, boy,” Ken said, walking in on them and hearing the last of their conversation. “What do you want from her, Sal? Pin curls in her hair, and a jitterbugging contest tomorrow night? Give the kid a chance. She just got here.”
“That's what I was just saying to your sister.” Ken made himself a peanut butter sandwich as he listened to his mother and sister.
“I just think she'll look weird tonight at the barbecue in a kimono,” Sally said again. To Sally, at fourteen, fitting in was important.
“She won't look as weird as you would, goofball.” Ken grinned at her, and poured himself a glass of milk to eat with his sandwich. And then he looked at his mother with an air of concern. He had just thought about their dinner. Food was important to him, mostly in large quantities, and usually covered in ketchup. “You're not making anything Japanese tonight, are you, Mom?” He looked genuinely worried as she laughed at him.
“I don't think I'd remember how,” she admitted ruefully. “Your grandma's been gone for eighteen years. I never really did know how to make it.”
“Good. I hate that stuff. Yuk. All that raw fish and stuff that wiggles.”
“What wiggles?” Tak had come in from the backyard to get the charcoal for the barbecue that night, and was intrigued by their conversation. “Anyone we know?” he asked with interest, as Reiko smiled at him and raised an eyebrow. They were a happy pair. She was still very pretty at thirty-eight, and he was a very handsome man at fifty.
“We were talking about raw fish,” Reiko explained to her husband. “Ken was afraid I was going to cook some Japanese dishes for Hiroko.”
“Not a chance,” his father said, opening a cupboard and pulling out a bag of charcoal. “She's the worst Japanese cook I know. Stick to hamburgers and pot roast, and she's the greatest.” He leaned over and kissed his wife, as Ken finished his second sandwich, and Tami and Hiroko came upstairs from the basement playroom. Tami had been showing Hiroko the dollhouse her father had made for her. And Reiko had hand crocheted all the carpets and made all the curtains. They had even used tiny bits of wallpaper. And Tak had made tiny little paintings, and they'd ordered an exquisite little chandelier, which worked, from England.
“It is so beautiful,” Hiroko exclaimed, watching them all go about their tasks in the comfortable kitchen. It was a very handsome house, and provided enough room for all of them. And the playroom downstairs was enormous. “I have never seen a dollhouse like yours. It is fine enough for a museum,” Hiroko said. Ken offered her the other half of his last sandwich, and she was obviously afraid to take it.
“Peanut butter,” he explained, “with grape jelly.”
“I have never eaten this before,” she said cautiously, and Tami told her in no uncertain terms that she should really try it. But when she did, she made a polite, but startled, face. It was clearly not what she had expected.
“Good, huh?” Tami asked, as
“Do you want to borrow anything for tonight?” Sally called after her as she disappeared into the hallway. Sally didn't want to say anything to her, but she thought she'd look a little silly at the barbecue in her kimono. And she said as much to her mother when she went downstairs a little later. Reiko was busy making mashed potatoes for their dinner.
“Give her a chance,” Reiko said understandingly. “She just got here. She's probably never worn anything but kimonos. You can't expect her to jump into saddle shoes and a pleated skirt in the first five minutes.”
“No, but won't people think she looks weird if she goes around in kimonos all the time?” Sally said persistently.
“Of course not. She's a beautiful girl, and she's from Japan. Why don't you give her a chance, Sally. Let her get used to us before you expect her to give up all her old ways for new ones.”
“Oh, boy,” Ken said, walking in on them and hearing the last of their conversation. “What do you want from her, Sal? Pin curls in her hair, and a jitterbugging contest tomorrow night? Give the kid a chance. She just got here.”
“That's what I was just saying to your sister.” Ken made himself a peanut butter sandwich as he listened to his mother and sister.
“I just think she'll look weird tonight at the barbecue in a kimono,” Sally said again. To Sally, at fourteen, fitting in was important.
“She won't look as weird as you would, goofball.” Ken grinned at her, and poured himself a glass of milk to eat with his sandwich. And then he looked at his mother with an air of concern. He had just thought about their dinner. Food was important to him, mostly in large quantities, and usually covered in ketchup. “You're not making anything Japanese tonight, are you, Mom?” He looked genuinely worried as she laughed at him.
“I don't think I'd remember how,” she admitted ruefully. “Your grandma's been gone for eighteen years. I never really did know how to make it.”
“Good. I hate that stuff. Yuk. All that raw fish and stuff that wiggles.”
“What wiggles?” Tak had come in from the backyard to get the charcoal for the barbecue that night, and was intrigued by their conversation. “Anyone we know?” he asked with interest, as Reiko smiled at him and raised an eyebrow. They were a happy pair. She was still very pretty at thirty-eight, and he was a very handsome man at fifty.
“We were talking about raw fish,” Reiko explained to her husband. “Ken was afraid I was going to cook some Japanese dishes for Hiroko.”
“Not a chance,” his father said, opening a cupboard and pulling out a bag of charcoal. “She's the worst Japanese cook I know. Stick to hamburgers and pot roast, and she's the greatest.” He leaned over and kissed his wife, as Ken finished his second sandwich, and Tami and Hiroko came upstairs from the basement playroom. Tami had been showing Hiroko the dollhouse her father had made for her. And Reiko had hand crocheted all the carpets and made all the curtains. They had even used tiny bits of wallpaper. And Tak had made tiny little paintings, and they'd ordered an exquisite little chandelier, which worked, from England.
“It is so beautiful,” Hiroko exclaimed, watching them all go about their tasks in the comfortable kitchen. It was a very handsome house, and provided enough room for all of them. And the playroom downstairs was enormous. “I have never seen a dollhouse like yours. It is fine enough for a museum,” Hiroko said. Ken offered her the other half of his last sandwich, and she was obviously afraid to take it.
“Peanut butter,” he explained, “with grape jelly.”
“I have never eaten this before,” she said cautiously, and Tami told her in no uncertain terms that she should really try it. But when she did, she made a polite, but startled, face. It was clearly not what she had expected.
“Good, huh?” Tami asked, as
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