The House That Lou Built Page 14

  He waves goodbye and walks toward the camera again to turn it off. Our screen goes blank.

  * * *

  —

  “Wait, come back!” Lola says, glued to the TV and eating popcorn like she’s watching one of her soaps.

  An image appears, and there’s Michael Nelson again. He puts a finger up to his nose and looks into the camera as if he’s saying “Shhhh.”

  Dad walks offscreen, the gravel and leaves crunching under his footsteps, then brings Mom in, blindfolded. He pushes her forward gently.

  Mom clutches my hand even tighter.

  He probably towers a good foot over her. They look so young. She’s glowing, and her belly’s rounded out.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asks, laughing, as he walks her toward the hammock and helps her sit. They’re not close to the camera, so it’s a little hard to hear, but I’d recognize her laugh anywhere.

  Dad slips the blindfold off and Mom seems surprised. He bends on one knee and lifts something for her to view up close—my dollhouse.

  “It’s gorgeous, Michael. Did you build this?” She peeks in.

  He nods. “It’s for Lucinda when she’s a little older. Just the starter until I build our real house.”

  “Lucinda’s going to love it. Our Lou.”

  “Lou?” he asks.

  “That’s what we’ll call her. Do you like it?”

  “It’s perfect,” he says, laughing. “Go ahead, look inside. Search the rooms.”

  She does, carefully, pulling out tiny models of furniture, admiring them, putting them back again. Until she finds another surprise: the red box.

  Mom flips the top and covers her mouth. Dad places the dollhouse on the ground and slides the ring onto her finger as she nods and shrieks. He lifts her. The hammock swings wildly.

  “She said yes!”

  They both walk up to the camera, and all I see is her belly, round and full.

  He kneels down a second time, but now it’s to kiss her stomach.

  I’m looking right into his eyes as he says, “Lou, I wanted you to have a memory of this moment. Your mom and I are making it official, and I can’t wait to finally meet you, my sweet little girl.” He puts his hand on her tummy and rubs for good luck.

  In the video they’re laughing and so happy. And it’s strange, because now I see: I get my eyes from her, my nose from him, and my skin color from them both. It’s like I’m watching a dream. The tape ends.

  Lola and Mom hold hands across my lap. They’re crying—so am I.

  “We would have made things work, Lou,” Mom says.

  * * *

  —

  For the rest of the night we watch more videos:

  A room full of people wearing pointy party hats, blowing horns that swirl out and in; they surround my parents—their engagement party.

  Mom in a hospital bed with a baby in her arms, Grandpa Ted’s voice saying: “Mikey, my boy, I wish you were here with us. Your daughter is stunning.”

  Me with both grandpas in Lola’s backyard, building benches. The grandpas try to hammer, but I keep interrupting, dancing around to get their attention.

  We watch all kinds of clips full of family in different places, but always the feeling’s the same: of love, of home. No matter what house we’re in, they always fill me with happiness.

  “Amazing,” Mom keeps saying softly.

  We sit, hushed. Three generations holding hands.

  Moonlight travels in through the window and shines on Mom, in bed on her side of the room. She’s not asleep, either.

  Late at night, Lolo used to tell me and my cousins ghost stories in the dark. He’d turn the lights down low, which made it super spooky, and none of the cousins dared to interrupt as he’d talk about the souls of Philippine soldiers who died in World War II fighting for America, trudging through his village still searching for home. He said you could see the sadness in their faces from having lived through so much destruction. Whenever I’m in the dark, I remember those tales. They still freak me out a little.

  “Are you awake, sweetie?” Mom asks.

  “I’m up.”

  “What are you thinking about?”

  I’m thinking about my dad, how his eyes moved when he smiled, and about his voice, which was easy to listen to.

  I’m thinking about my land, and how it feels just right to build there.

  I’m thinking about tomorrow, when I turn thirteen, and a couple of weeks after that, when we leave—and how everyone has said that one day I’ll build again.

  But I tell her what I’m thinking most: “I don’t want to say goodbye to everything.”

  Mom has her hands behind her head, staring at the ceiling, and I can hear her sighing, sighing.

  * * *

  —

  In the morning the doorbell rings, and when I answer, it’s Sheryl, Gracie, and Alexa wearing party dresses and huge smiles.

  “Happy birthday!” they shout in unison, throwing their arms up like a synchronized act.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I say, and they’re so goofy and giggly that I join in.

  “Let’s get you ready!” Alexa hands me a dress, something straight out of a teen magazine, and pushes me in the direction of my closet. “First, put that on. Second, we’re going somewhere. Someplace top-secret.”

  “I don’t do dresses, you know that.”

  “See, I told you she wouldn’t,” Gracie says.

  Alexa sighs. “You were right.”

  “But that’s why we came prepared.” Sheryl hands me something else—a tool belt—but in the pockets, pretty flowers and ribbons poke out in soft colors.

  “Oh my gosh, I’ve always wanted one.” It’s not even girl-ified in pink or with swirly designs like I’ve seen; it’s just a plain old regular belt to hold my tools when I build. It’s a little worn, and somehow familiar.

  “I took it from Lola’s garage. Look,” Sheryl says, and she shows me a name embroidered on it: Ernie Bulosan. Lolo’s. We run our fingers across the belt, and flashbacks of building with him spring into my head. “Wow. Thank you, Manang.”

  I snap it around my waist.

  “Now, that’s more like it,” Alexa says.

  I catch a glimpse in the full-length mirror. It goes with my shorts and plain tee, but if I were wearing a dress, it’d go with that, too. It feels just right.

  Is this thirteen?

  “Okay, final touch,” Gracie says. She holds out a black blindfold, the velvety kind that people sleep in, and slides it down my head to cover my eyes. “Ta-da!”

  It’s a lot different from protective goggles.

  “Where are we going?” I ask. “A fancy dinner and show downtown?”

  “Exactly,” Sheryl says. I can hear her smile.

  Someone spins me and my head wobbles as I try to walk.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  We’re outside now; I feel the breeze on my legs and hear a car door opening. They push me inside like they’re holding me for ransom. Someone tugs a seat belt over my shoulder and it clicks.

  “Who’s driving?” I ask.

  “No one.”

  “Yep. This is one of those automatic cars.”

  The engine starts and music plays. All the way to wherever we’re going the girls belt out pop tunes and blow at my face or stick their fingers in my ears. I have no idea how much time passes—because they’re silly and singing as we feel the bump of car and road.

  When the engine finally stops, they shout, “We’re here, Birthday Girl!”

  * * *

  —

  “Can you see anything?” Gracie’s voice asks.

 
; “Everything.”

  “Shut up,” Sheryl says. “We’re being serious.”

  “Can I take the blindfold off now?”

  “Quiet!” Alexa says like a sergeant.

  “Shhhht! Shhhht!” Gracie says like a lola might, in her most exaggerated Filipino accent, and the girls bust up.

  “Okay…now!” they say, and someone slips off the mask.

  We’re in Auntie’s car, but with Mom in the driver’s seat, grinning.

  “Mom, you were in on this?”

  “The whole time. Happy birthday, sweetie.”

  Finally, I can look out.

  A group of people stand around my unfinished house laughing and talking, holding old-fashioned bottles of root beer. Streamers in pastel colors and paper lanterns hang from the trees, softly waving. It looks like a pretty postcard.

  As soon as I step out they yell, “Surprise!”

  I spot Jack holding up his camera. Mr. Keller and Ed, Annie, my cousins, lots of our family. Lola plants kisses on both of my cheeks and places a ring of flowers atop my head. “I made this from the wildflowers on your land.”

  I notice something new about my house: There’s more to it now. Four wall frames stand vertically from the base of the trailer bed. They’re not filled in, but it’s a huge step.

  Someone put a ton of effort into my house—but it wasn’t me!

  I walk up to it and place my hand on a beam to feel if it’s real.

  “Where did this framing come from?”

  “We all helped,” Sheryl says.

  “We?” I say, so surprised.

  “Yeah, a bunch of us,” Gracie explains. “While you were at your class with Annie. Mr. Keller led us—it was your mom’s idea. We had so much fun. Auntie Minda even brought lunch from In-N-Out.”

  “That was my favorite part,” Arwin says, grinning.

  “You know how you’re always talking about how you like making things with your hands, Louie?” Alexa says. “It took us a while to figure out what that meant, but you were right. It feels good.”

  “I call it Habitat for Loumanity,” Manang Maribel says, and we laugh.

  Mr. Keller turns on his boom box and party music plays.

  * * *

  —

  Mom takes my hand and walks me off to the side.

  “I have your other gift.”

  “That class was expensive, Mom. You didn’t have to get me anything else.”

  “No, this is a different kind of surprise.” She smiles. “I’ve decided not to take the job out of state.”

  I gasp. “What? Are you kidding?”

  Mom shakes her head and laughs. “Not joking. I’m going to accept the position in Oakland.”

  I’m in total shock. “What happened?”

  “Your lola’s right—we shouldn’t be away from our family. Look what they did for us. We’re so lucky to have them.” She beams at me. “It may mean we can’t get our own place right away, but it’s okay. I’m grateful for everything we have. And this job’s not perfect, but I’ll learn all I can and apply for better jobs later. I’ll find what I need here. This will still open doors for us.”

  “Sooooo…we’re staying put?” Mom nods. I grab her hands and jump all around. Laughter bubbles out of me. “Yeeeaaahh!” I shout.

  “The tiny house is all yours,” she says.

  “You mean it’s all ours.” I do the happiest dance.

  * * *

  —

  When Mom and I rejoin the party, Auntie Gemma points to the creek and says to me, “The kids went that way.”

  I run down the path and find my cousins and friends in the creek wading ankle-deep. “Hey!” I shout, waving my arms all around. “Guess what? We’re not moving! We’re staying!”

  The girls scream and cheer and jump. “This calls for a water fight!” Sheryl yells, stomping water toward Arwin.

  “Stop getting me wet!” he shouts, and that just makes them splash more water at him. Arwin sprints back toward the clearing and the other kids make their way up—except Jack and me.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey,” he says.

  I have a hard time looking Jack in the eye, even though we’re friends now.

  “Thank you for all the videos….What they showed at the news studio, that was so awesome.”

  “Not bad, huh? I can put it on my demo reel now.”

  “You’re really talented, you know?”

  Now he’s the one who has a hard time making eye contact.

  “Should we go back up?” I ask.

  “I have something for you first.” From his pocket, Jack pulls out his phone.

  “A new phone? Awww, you shouldn’t have,” I joke.

  “Here,” he says, swiping through before handing it to me.

  “Is this your film-camp application?”

  He shakes his head. “It’s your birthday gift.”

  A video’s on the screen, and I press Play.

  The first person to pop up looks frazzled, but then the camera widens and you see why: She’s working hard at making something. It’s almost the same video that the station played, but there’s a little more to it, with pictures of everyone important to me added at the very end.

  Watching this video, I realize how many people have helped—especially Jack.

  “Wow…this is so cool.” Finally, I look at him and the butterflies tumble. “It’s the best DIY project I’ve ever seen. Thanks so much. I love it.”

  “Sheryl gave me the pictures. I’ll send you a copy.”

  I surprise myself by giving Jack a hug—an ultra-awkward tight squeeze around his neck. He smells like soap, the green bar kind.

  “You’re a good friend,” I say.

  Alexa thinks Jack should be my first kiss. If only I knew how that would happen.

  But here’s the magic thing: He comes in close and quick so that our faces touch this time, on the lips. I can’t believe it. Tingles explode all over. Is this really happening? A true first kiss, clumsy and perfect and mine.

  I stand on my bed in my new room, taping images onto a brand-new heart collage on the wall, one by one, like a puzzle.

  “Pizza’s here, break time! Come eat now! Come eat!” Lola shouts from the living room.

  Moving day has turned into a party, with uncles carrying in boxes, aunties in the kitchen stocking cupboards, and Mom excited and ready to decorate.

  Mom’s worked at her Oakland job for seven months. We found a two-bedroom close to Lola’s and my cousins, and the rent’s a good deal because Lola knew somebody who knew somebody.

  It’s not a tiny house, but it’s pretty perfect. Because here’s what I know: Home isn’t necessarily a place; it’s more of a feeling—of comfort and trust, of people who are a part of you. And I’m lucky, because it means I have a lot of different homes.

  The house on my land has a foundation and walls filled in now. It still needs a roof and wiring, plumbing and floorboards, plus a lovely shade of paint. I’m thinking white with international orange on the door to make it pop. But I have time.

  I’m not sure how long it will take to finish; I’m in the second semester of eighth grade, so I only have weekends. Sometimes Mom helps, or whoever wants to—usually somebody does. This house belongs to a lot of other people now. I just want to finish building it so everyone can come hang out.

  In the meantime, there’s school and working at the salvage yard, and friends, like Jack. We haven’t shared any more kisses, but we still talk about everything. He even invited me to Spring Fling, and of course I said yes! Alexa’s planning my outfit.

  Mom likes her new job. Our money problems haven’t disappeared, but I see how hard she works—the way my whole family does—and it makes me do the same. So I study hard. I started a blog and put up how-to vide
os, and I’ve gotten comments from tiny-house lovers all over the world who share their tips. We cheer each other on. Sure, I’m only thirteen, but my ideas matter.

  There’s one last gap in the middle of my heart collage. I slap a picture into the spot: me, staring off like an explorer. In the distance, the smallest house, holding the biggest love inside. The photo droops at one edge, so I smooth it down.

  Lola has a favorite saying: Home is where your heart is. If that’s true, then my home is wherever I am. And if people are houses, I’m a tiny one.

  Sheryl runs in and leaps onto the bed. We tumble into a heap, busting up. “Pizza party!” She jumps to her feet.

  “Be there in a sec,” I say as she runs out.

  * * *

  —

  I unpack the last box, the one with Michael Nelson scrawled on the side, holding all the videotapes. There’s something else in there—a fallen piece of wood I found behind my house the other day. I started by sawing it, but like most beginnings, it’s not much. No real shape, no nothing. Still, I’ve got some ideas.

  I study the block in my hands. The sun shines in through the window, warming my new room, filling it.

  My original idea was to make a keepsake holder, but now I’m not so sure. It’s okay; I’m learning that sometimes plans change, so I guess I’ll find out.

  I turn and turn the wood.

  I’ve already sanded it down to take off the rough edges. Parts of it are smooth; others are bumpy. Really, I’m just aiming for the start of something. Right now it feels good. It feels like possibilities.

  Acknowledgments

  What makes a house a home? I’ve loved exploring this question. I’ve also loved sharing one snippet of Filipino American life through Lou’s journey. Growing up, I never saw my family in the books I read (and I read a lot!), so giving my kids the chance to recognize aspects of their culture in an everyday story is something I’m very proud of.

  I owe a world of gratitude to many people who’ve made this book possible: