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Chapters (77)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. A Series of Screw-ups: The Chisaki Joan Katsuyama Story, Part I
  6. 3
  7. The History of My Beef with Brynn Foer-Preston
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. The History of the Katsuyama Family, Part I
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. A Brief History of Chisaki Joan Katsuyama’s Romantic Learning Opportunities, Part I
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. A Brief History of Chisaki Joan Katsuyama’s Romantic Learning Opportunities, Part II
  20. 13
  21. The History of the Katsuyama Family, Part II
  22. 14
  23. 15
  24. 16
  25. 17
  26. 18
  27. 19
  28. The Complicated History of Chisaki Joan Katsuyama’s Imaginary Relationship with Her Nonexistent Dad
  29. 20
  30. 21
  31. 22
  32. A Brief History of Chisaki Joan Katsuyama’s Romantic Learning Opportunities, Part III
  33. 23
  34. 24
  35. 25
  36. A Brief, Backward History of the McAllister Family, as Paraphrased from the San Jose Mercury News
  37. 26
  38. 27
  39. 28
  40. A Quick and Eerily Relevant History of Asians in America
  41. 29
  42. 30
  43. 31
  44. 32
  45. 33
  46. 34
  47. 35
  48. 36
  49. A Brief History of Chisaki Joan Katsuyama’s Romantic Learning Opportunities, Part IV
  50. 37
  51. 38
  52. 39
  53. 40
  54. 41
  55. 42
  56. 43
  57. 44
  58. A Series of Screw-ups: The Chisaki Joan Katsuyama Story, Part II (Or Maybe It’s a Prequel)
  59. 45
  60. 46
  61. 47
  62. 48
  63. 49
  64. 50
  65. 51
  66. 52
  67. 53
  68. The History of the Katsuyama Family, Part III
  69. 54
  70. A Note from the Author
  71. Index of Flowers and their Meanings
  72. Acknowledgments
  73. About the Author
  74. Praise for This Time Will Be Different
  75. Books by Misa Sugiura
  76. Back Ad
  77. About the Publisher

She hums a few bars of the song again and says, “‘Dream a little dream of me.’ That’s what the white violets told him to do, essentially.”

“White violets say ‘think of me,’ not ‘dream of me.’”

“Same thing, in this context.”

“Maybe. Whatever. Congratulations, I guess.”

“Thank you, sweet pea.”

Hannah goes back to her inventory and her humming, and I go back to the tulips I’ve been preparing to put on the floor out front.

I don’t understand how Hannah can go careening headlong into every relationship that comes her way. She’s like a dandelion seed. All it takes is a breath of wind, a whisper of possibility, and she’s floating untethered into the future without a single thought as to what might happen next. She doesn’t think about the past, either. Nothing weighs her down or holds her back. It’s like she leaves every failed relationship, every hard lesson, every painful memory behind her on the bare stem of the dandelion. I wonder what it takes to live like that.

As I puzzle over this, it strikes me again how calm she is. I don’t know what Hannah and Mom talked about after Mom got back from Denver—Hannah told me she had to wait and figure out just one thing before she could tell me, but not to worry. Even so, and even with the prospect of a new romance, it’s strange. I’ve been so preoccupied with the promposals and with my own misery that I haven’t been paying attention to Hannah at all. Guiltily, I ask, “Hey, I forgot to ask you this week—what’s going on with Mom and the store? Remember you said you had to figure one thing out? Is she giving us more time? Or was there something else?”

“Hm? Oh, right.” Hannah shrugs. “I met someone in Monterey who gave me the idea of putting together a donations fund-raiser, so I asked your Mom for a couple of contacts and three weeks to talk to them. You know she has a lot of wealthy friends.”

“You were going to borrow money from her friends?” That sounds humiliating.

“No, no! I asked them for pointers on putting together a fund-raising event. Like one of those fancy dinners that cost five hundred dollars a plate. Or an auction party, you know, where people donate plane rides and vacation weeks, and guests bid on them.”

“That sounds fun.” It sounds like a lot of fun, actually.