I eased the car into the parking lot, twisting halfway to look at my child. Really looked at her in a way only a mother could. She sat with her hair tied back into a tight, high ponytail. Her posture was rigid, her toes pointing upward as if straining to reach the sky. Hands locked around her backpack straps, she looked as well as any kid could who was about to enter sixth grade at a new school that spoke a foreign language. What her body conveyed, however, did not reflect on that set face. A surge of pride coursed through my body and I smiled. 

“Good luck!” I said in English, throwing every ounce of enthusiasm into those two words. I prayed that I would retain the bit of English literature I’d studied at Guangdong’s state university back in the late eighties, but I was too busy making sure I filled my stomach every night to care about my educational progress. If I had known that our very survival would now depend upon it, I might’ve tried harder.

Adeline returned her attempt at a smile and wordlessly detached from the car. We’d only been in our new apartment for three days, but I’d already made myself look more like a fool than I’d done my whole life. This morning, a handful of strangers--foreigners--bore witness, lips curled, as I made the cashier repeat not once, not twice, but five times how much the change was. It wasn’t until she snatched a piece of paper from under the desk, wrote two large numbers in a red marker, and dangled it in front of my face that I sprang into action, paid, and fled the store. 

I felt my face heat instinctively once more, and quickly retreated from that part of my mind. Pressing a palm to my forehead, I shut my eyes. I need a break. The Bahamas sounds like a mighty good idea… then I drifted into a blissful nothingness.

***

“今天怎么样? How was the first day?” I asked in both Chinese and English.

She mumbled something under her breath.

“什么? What?” I queried again. Am I losing my mind? First the cashier, now Adeline… 

“Fine,” she said, louder this time. 

“OK.” I nodded, mirroring her one-word styled response, too relieved that she responded in English to critique the noncommittal reply. 

Hauling up my slumped body, I ignited the car and drove us home. Though there were a thousand questions warring to break free from my sealed lips, we remained silent. When I could take it no longer, I heaved a breath as I glanced at the reflection of Adeline in the rearview mirror, and started “Adeline…” 

My eyes narrowed. They zeroed in on a rectangular, sharp-edged object tugged against her chest. 

“那是什么? What is that?” I demanded.

“A book,” she murmured, tightening her arms. 

I blinked. 

It’s the first day of school, and already she wants to read an English book? In college, our readings consisted solely of children’s books–The Cat in the Hat was my particular favorite. I shook my head. This is too good to be true. 

I focused on Adeline in the rearview mirror again. She was peeking at me from under lowered lashes, most likely waiting for my reaction. 

My lips parted, and a wide grin broke across my face.

Her hunched shoulders visibly relaxed. She really had nothing to fear… quite the contrary. Never mind about the Bahamas. I knew, deep down, that neither the softest sand nor the bluest ocean could extinguish the undiluted fear that my sweet Adeline would refuse to give our new surroundings a chance before shutting down. Just the sight of her in such close proximity with an English book made my head swim with relief. I could hardly keep to my lane as I finally pulled into the garage.

Unbuckling the seatbelt and twisting around, I started: “Adeline–”

She was already out the door and bolting for the house. 

My eyes dimmed a bit. It’s fine, I decided, she brought a book with her. An English one. That was all the motivation I needed to sleep soundly that night. 

***

The following week passed in a similar fashion. Adeline would go to school, clutch a new book to her chest upon return, and bolt up to her room as soon as I unlocked the car door. The only times she left her cell were to satiate her grumbling stomach at 6. I stayed silent, of course. I’d rather not risk breaking whatever magic held her enthralled by those books. My attempts at conversation failed anyway; any queries I made in Chinese were promptly ignored, and any I attempted in English were met with hardly better outcomes. It’s difficult to keep a conversation going when all you get are one-word grunts. 

It was yet another Friday when I banged thrice on Adeline’s bedroom door, gathering every last bit of motherly authority to demand that she join me for dinner. Silence greeted me. Stomping and huffing in frustration, I returned to the dining table and dove into the food. Let her get lost in her books. 

Another half an hour passed before I finally heard the opening click of a door. I whipped my head around as Adeline floated down the stairs, and, with unusual grace, sauntered over to her seat across from mine. I studied her. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, as if her corporeal and spiritual forms were in two different places. The latter, I surmised, resided in all the pages she was flipping through. She glanced down at the food, blinked, then frowned. 

I was getting a little unnerved. “What?” I asked.

She blinked again, confusion flashing for a split second before her pupils cleared completely. “Nothing,” she said quietly, and picked up the chopsticks. Conversation over. 

I kept staring at her, feeling as if I were peeling away an intangible mask that had been weaved, deliberate and careful. It was… foreign for her to maintain such silence. I hadn’t let it bother me the past few days, but now… Why is she acting like this? My mind started to reel — Is she closing in on herself? Has she given up? — each question more unsettling than the last as I scrambled to dissipate the eerie atmosphere. 

“学校怎么样？How was school?” I asked in both English and Chinese, recalling how well she had once responded to Chinese only.

Her chopsticks halted in midair as her chewing slowed. I held my breath. After a few painful seconds, she mumbled “It was raining cats and dogs the whole day, so we didn’t play outside. But math class was…” and uttered a word that rang no bells. In fact, the whole sentence made little sense. 

My neurons worked furiously to decipher each word, but I quickly halted.

“It was raining cats and dogs?” I echoed. There’s no way those books are taking away her ability to speak sensibly, is there? 

“Oh, yes.” She nodded as if emphasizing some point. 

My expression must have turned wary, because Adeline snapped, “what?” 

I had the vague sense that I was treading on dangerous ground. I debated letting it go. Right now did not seem like a good time to go at each other’s throats. But my mouth betrayed me. 

“你能不能正常说话？” (Can you talk normally or not?) I put down my utensil and snapped right back. My smoldering gaze shot invisible daggers across the table. 

She just stared blankly back and cocked her head. That move set my blood boiling. She will not use feigned incomprehension to make me speak English. Not this time. So I stared right back, using the same tactic–silence. Two can play the game. 

Except Adeline refused to balk. I snorted. She maintained that spark of defiance, at least, however much of a book wh*re she has become. A wave of sudden relief washed over me so potent that I yielded. I translated, “Can you talk normally?” 

“I am,” came her reply.

I positively bristled, on edge all over again. Now it was her turn to assess my warily. Before I could strike with my tongue, she set her chopsticks down and pushed back her chair. Breezing past me, she retreated upstairs to her bedroom, where another world beckoned. 

I stared down at my plate, at the half-eaten meatball, and lost all appetite. 

***

We didn’t speak for the rest of the week. While Adeline was too lost in her books to care, I seethed. My glares were received with a swaggering indifference that only redoubled my temper. I can’t remember why I had ever been relieved at the sight of Adeline clutching a book to her chest like a lifeline; now I blamed it for the widening chasm between us.

Still brooding as I drove back from dropping her off at school, I sullenly remembered it was Monday–time to clear out the trash. Heaving a huge sigh, I stalked upstairs towards Adeline’s bedroom, already dreading what I would find. 

Indeed, books of all shapes and sizes were littered over the floor and atop every surface. My throat tightened. This has gone too far, a voice inside my head said. But isn’t this what you wanted? another countered coolly. Shaking my head, I permitted my eyes to stray no further as I made for the lone trashcan in the far corner, half-hidden under the bed. 

I reached forward, but something caught my eye. Among a sea of crumpled white paper, a sliver of pink stood out. It was no more than the size of a tennis ball, as if someone had crushed it with all their might. I cocked my head and carefully retrieved it, cringing as I stuck my hand inside the rubbish. Unfolding it, I smoothed over the crinkled edges just enough to make out “Parent Night, September 30th, 6-8pm” printed in gigantic black letters across the top. I inhaled sharply. That was two weeks ago. Why didn’t Adeline tell me? I fumed. This would’ve been a great opportunity to bond with our neighbors for the foreseeable future.

My hands curled into fists. When Adeline came back, she would have some things to answer for.

***

A tap on the window. 

I unlocked the car door and Adeline slid into the backseat, silent as always. I returned the courtesy today. If I parted my lips, I would’ve probably started shouting like the pounding in my blood. 

Once I drove into the garage and turned off the ignition, I just waited. Adeline’s hand pulled at the door handle in her usual attempt to flee to her room, but to no avail. 

“等一下,” (Wait) I commanded. “我有事情要跟你说.” (I need to talk to you.)

Perhaps it was my too-calm countenance, or my murderous expression, but Adeline wisely obeyed. She trailed after me into the living room as we entered the house together. 

I motioned for her to take a seat. She sat. They say brutality is efficiency, and I was done waiting. So, without a preamble, I took the pink flier from my jacket pocket and laid it on the table. 

Her eyes widened, and that was confirmation enough. She had known, and had not told me. 

“你为什么没有告诉我？” (Why didn't you tell me?) I voiced my most recent thought.

Adeline bit her lip. Buying herself some time to formulate a response, I gleaned. “I forgot,” she mumbled.

I snorted. The most pathetic excuse the world has ever known. She wanted to dance around the subject, but my patience was used up. So I said, loud and clear, in plain English–her preferred language–“If you don’t tell me the truth, I will take all your books.” 

The moment those words left my tongue, I knew I’d struck home. She fidgeted, nostrils flaring. Good. Desperation is one way to compel honesty. Not the most merciful way, but I was well past that. 

She snapped, “You wouldn’t have been helpful anyway, so what’s the point?”

I blinked. That was unexpected.

“What do you mean?” I demanded.

Adeline took a sharp breath, and plunged on. “I doubt you would have understood anything they said, so I didn’t feel the need to tell you about it.”

That earned another blink from me. The words rang in my ear but failed to sink in. She spoke way too fast. “什么？” (What?)

Adeline smirked as if I had just proved her point, then drawled, dragging each syllable out, “I,” she halted, “doubt,” another pause, “you,” pause, “would,” pause, “have,” pause, “understood,” pause, “what,” pause, “was,” pause, “going,” pause, “on.” 

I didn’t react to the insolence of her tone, especially as the meaning of her words finally registered. I blinked again, but it wasn’t from confusion this time. So many thoughts swarmed in my head at once that I found it hard to breathe. When I mastered myself enough to come back to my senses, Adeline had already left. 

I knew my English skills were nowhere near adept. Adeline had spoken the truth, and though having it voiced out loud stung a little, that wasn’t what shocked me. It was the implication of what she said: I am to blame; I should know everything; I am not doing enough. No. I shook my head. This is not right at all. I needed a plan, and fast. 

An hour later, I came out of the bookstore, holding a new copy of a Collins-Robert French Dictionary. 

***

I waited. My plan depended on Adeline speaking to me first, and it took all my self-control not to utter a word to her for another three days. She truly wants nothing to do with me. A bitter thought that I banished quickly. At last, my silence was rewarded on a hot Friday afternoon. I was lounging on the sofa, idly scrolling on my phone, when Adeline came paddling downstairs. A very rare sight, but I didn’t deign to acknowledge her presence. That is, until her footsteps neared and she stood a safe six feet away. I still didn’t react, but I thought to myself: This is it. Play it right.

“Can I go to Clare’s house tomorrow?” she finally said. “It’s the weekend.”

Enunciating each word clearly, I replied, “non, vous ne le faites pas.” 

She blinked. I could almost see her little brain scrambling, every gear and cog inside working to figure it out. “What?”

I repeated, “Non, vous ne le faites pas.” 

“What are you saying?” Adeline demanded, brows furrowing. She looked disturbed. Good.

“Tu dois arrêter” was my answer. 

She took a step back, visibly alarmed now. “Are you mad?” she said, voice shaking just a little. “Can you talk normally?”

I almost lost control then. Talk normally? Talk normally? As if she hadn’t been the one refusing to acknowledge her native language for the past month! Feeling my blood heat, I almost forgot the few phrases I’d managed to memorize. Slow and pathetic though my progress was, I’d learned enough to prove my point. So I repeated the word that best conveyed my rage. “Non.” 

Adeline actually had the nerve to look just as pissed. “I don’t know what you are doing,” she hissed, “but you need to stop it.”

I refused. “Un deux trois quatre cinq six sept…” I started to chant the numbers, my voice steadying rising in the air. 

“Stop!” Adeline screamed, “停！你怎么回事？” (Stop! What is wrong with you?)

Chinese. Finally. “你还会说啊？” (You can still speak it?) I snorted, a sound mixed with anger and relief.

“你想要什么？” (What do you want?) Adeline asked after a moment of quiet. 

“说中文，” I said. A simple enough request. Speak Chinese. Something that should not be hard at all to accept if one respects her mother and her heritage.

She pondered for another moment, then conceded. “I’ll try.” 

I was caught off guard. The submission was so quick I didn’t care that she spoke in English again. I had come prepared for battle, not a peaceful truce with no bloodshed.

I asked if she was serious, even if that made me sound like an idiot.

“Yes,” Adeline said, sighing–a long, heavy exhale through the nose that had me blinking in surprise again. It made her seem ten years older, that move.

“I think I know what you are trying to say,” she explained slowly. “It’s hard. I’ve always wanted to fit in, now more than ever. I thought you would get in the way of that. So I stayed away. But it’s not fair on you, I suppose, since you are not to blame for anything. So I’ll try to be better.” She shrugged, going for casual. 

It was more words than Adeline had granted me all week, though I understood only half of it. She is truly becoming a natural, I thought to myself, and when I expected a pang of restlessness to overtake me, there was none. That was when I realized there was nothing I needed to worry about. Yes, Adeline and I were growing apart. Yes, we were more reserved around each other now. But that didn’t mean we couldn’t still have a good mother-daughter relationship. That bond will never be severed, alter though it may. So I looked at my daughter again, allowing more warmth into my eyes than I’d granted her the past week, and said, “We will both try.”