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Back This Time Will Be Different Save as PDF
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

“I’m getting to that, kiddo. Be patient!” Mom closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Your father . . . couldn’t stay. But guess what? That’s okay, because I was happy on my own. And anyway, I had Hannah to help me. And, I had you, of course.” She kissed me on the forehead and stood up to go. “Okay? That’s it, kiddo. Good night. I love you.”

“But where did he go?” I asked.

Mom sighed and sat down again. “Who knows? All I know is that I love my big five-year-old girl, and that’s enough for me.” After counting out five kisses on my forehead, she gathered me up in her arms and snuggled me. “Is it enough for you?”

It was, for a long time.

Ten Years Old

Hannah used to help me make up stories about my dad. “He was tall and handsome,” she’d say, “with golden eyes and hair the color of black tea.”

Sometimes he was an astronaut visiting the NASA Ames Research Center in Mountain View. Sometimes he was a chef looking to open a restaurant in San Francisco. Once he was a time-traveling Viking disguised as a librarian. But he was always kind, generous, clever, and immensely talented at whatever it was he did. Sometimes he knew about me, and sometimes he didn’t, but he always had some cosmic connection to me—he’d see a field of flowers and feel a tug at his heart, or read about me when I became famous, and smile without knowing why.

Then one morning, Mom walked in on Hannah and me in the kitchen. We had decided that my dad was an entrepreneur who was visiting Silicon Valley to pitch the Next Big Thing, and then decided to give it all up to go home to Australia to take care of his ailing granny and her kangaroo ranch.

Mom chased Hannah out, and then sat down across from me at the table with a cup of black coffee. “Listen, kiddo,” she said. “I’m telling you this now because you’re grown up enough to hear it. Are you ready?”

My heart sped up. Finally, I was going to hear the real story. I nodded, too excited to speak.

Mom took a slow breath and said, “The man who is your father is not going to come back for you, okay? He just isn’t. And you need to accept that. Making up stories about him might make you feel better, but it’s not going to make him magically appear.”

That hit me so hard I almost couldn’t breathe.

“Does he even know I exist?” I whispered.

Mom looked out the window and took a long sip of her coffee. “No.”