That day, I rushed to the music store after school, hoping the bearded guy wouldn’t be there so I could play my uke, which would have calmed me down. No such luck. I walked home. Slowly. When my mom arrived from work, I tried and failed to think of a way to bring up the subject. After dinner, I sat on the couch in the living room, feigning interest in a movie, while she began her seasonal redecorating campaign. As she was putting away winter-themed knickknacks and setting out valentine-themed ones, she found Aunt Joan’s birthday card behind an end table and held it up. “Did you send Aunt Joan a thank-you letter?” The no that was all over my face was the least of my worries. She stopped and looked at me. “That is not the right attitude, Minny. I was going to call her tonight, and now I’ll be embarrassed. It’s already the beginning of February. You’ve had plenty of time.” I was about to say something when a window opened in my mind, allowing a new thought to fly in: Aunt Joan would know about Keanu Choy.
