Finally Seen: Chapters 33–55

I dive into one of the stalls and am relieved to see that the doors are pristine.

“The roots feed the worms. The worms feed the soil. The soil feeds us. Without the soil, we’re goners! We only have five generations of usable topsoil left in the world—once that’s gone, the world becomes a dust bowl. Soil’s our best shot at reversing the devastation to the planet—I thought you knew this! You were supposed to be a sustainable-farming expert!”

I look over at Carla, who’s glaring at Pete as she spreads compost.

Pete grabs a fistful of dirt. “This is going to be all of us, if you don’t do your job.”
I gasp at Pete’s ominous suggestion as he throws his fistful of dirt hard against the wind.

“And who’s going to give me an advance?” Pete looks up at the cloudless sky. “The rain gods? The bees being destroyed by the commercial farms up north? The Winfield Organic Farmers Association, with all their red tape and steep fees, saying my two-acre farm is too small to be certified organic?”

I gaze out at Mrs. Muñoz and Dad hunched over in the field.

“I know how hard it is...people are always telling you to move on. But...it’s more like a Boomerang on Instagram. You go forward two steps, then you go back one step,” she says, gazing over at her mom toiling in the hot heat.

“What’s a better life?” I ask.
I settle back, expecting Mom to launch into one of her lavish imaginings again.

The gall of Jessica to blame it all on me!

“Why so blue?” she asks.
I put my hand to my face, wondering if I got some mica paint on it.
“No, I mean why are you sad?” she asks. “It’s an idiom.”

“If a parent-teacher conference falls during an away game, forget it. He once skipped my birthday party because he was too in the zone during a mock draft.”
“What’s a mock draft?”
“Like a practice draft,” he says, and then mumbles under his breath, “Like my parents and their ‘trial separation.’”

The more she freaks out, the more I wave and twirl and bounce and scoop. I look like one of those flimsy balloons behind the Winfield car dealerships Mom drives by to get us to school, but I don’t care.

But the land has become so barren, it’s hard to grow anything except chives.

I run out to tell my sister this exciting news. But before I can, Pete gives me an earful about leaving the water hose on.

I open it up and read the dedication.
To my husband, the maverick, the dreamer, the nurturer...whose green thumb makes everything he touches grow.

“Sorry, Lao Lao...the reception is really bad here,” I blurt out. “We’re going to have to call you back.”

When we get to the pond, the basin’s cracked dry. The drought has sucked up every drop of water.

Millie sits at the base of a lone oak tree, frowning and throwing rocks in the bare gully. I think about what Pete says about the world being a dust bowl one day.

“Carrot cake with cream cheese topping! Chocolate-raspberry torte! Blueberry cheesecake!”

I know the steep, narrow gorge of regret well.

“That’s what I dreamed up! I designed cities no one else could even imagine!” Her face is full of optimism, like the moon.

“But, Mama, I thought the one-child policy changed a long time ago,” I say. I remember studying about it in school. According to the government, families can have up to three children now.
“Maybe on paper,” Mom says. “But in reality, companies always have their own preferences and prejudices. Which fester silently.”

“But, Mama, I thought the one-child policy changed a long time ago,” I say. I remember studying about it in school. According to the government, families can have up to three children now.
“Maybe on paper,” Mom says. “But in reality, companies always have their own preferences and prejudices. Which fester silently.”

“Thirty-seven hundred dollars and not a penny less,” Mr. Beezley says. “That’s what you put me out during this whole mess!”
“But the government, didn’t they reimburse—”
“That’s none of your business what I get from the government,” Mr. Beezley says.

Meanwhile, I got expenses. I got mortgages. You think it’s easy being a landlord during a pandemic?

I’m petrified to move, for fear of missing a word. I’m petrified to listen, too, because it sounds like sharp glass.

I remember Pete hollering about that once, but I half assumed he was kidding.

I want to be at the Four Seasons Maui right now, getting my nails done and sipping pineapple sodas, but instead I have to go to yet another diversity and inclusivity meeting at the District.

But I will get you that hundred-fifty-dollar-an-hour tutor everyone’s raving about.

It takes me a little more work to understand Fumble. That’s because according to Mrs. Ortiz, it’s a “prose” book.

Mom found a long list of immigration and tenant lawyers at the library, but she and Dad bickered about whether to call any of them.

“I’ve got the whole thing planned out—after the game, we’re going to go to M&M’s Las Vegas! Twenty-eight thousand square feet of chocolate decadence. You get to customize your own M&M’s!!!”

“You didn’t say anything about long-term contract!” Mom cries. My dad hears the exasperation in her tone.

Mom looks absolutely livid when we walk up the steps to the porch. “No. You ask me to sell strawberries. That’s what I did. Look—no more strawberries! All gone!”

I think of Cat in Flea Shop, finally mustering the courage to push back.

Finn, meanwhile, studies our Honda Civic, with the trunk scraped and one of our back lights duct-taped on. He cranes his neck, as if looking inside for me. I hide my head even farther, mortified.

“But wait a minute, Millie, I thought you were over Hazel and her group.”
“I am over them,” Millie insists, in a tone that makes me wonder. “But I have to be practical, Mom. Their TikTok account has eight thousand followers. Mine has fifteen.”

“Logan’s dad says playing football makes you manly. That’s why Logan wants to get on the football team, so maybe his dad will finally come to see one of his a cappella performances—”

We can build up the soil so it can hold more carbon, farm with compost, so compost doesn’t end up in a landfill and become methane gas—all that’s for us, and it’s priceless.

They walk over to me, both wearing frayed Lakers hats.