Chapters (77)
- Cover
- Dedication
- 1
- 2
- A Series of Screw-ups: The Chisaki Joan Katsuyama Story, Part I
- 3
- The History of My Beef with Brynn Foer-Preston
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- The History of the Katsuyama Family, Part I
- 8
- 9
- A Brief History of Chisaki Joan Katsuyama’s Romantic Learning Opportunities, Part I
- 10
- 11
- 12
- A Brief History of Chisaki Joan Katsuyama’s Romantic Learning Opportunities, Part II
- 13
- The History of the Katsuyama Family, Part II
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- The Complicated History of Chisaki Joan Katsuyama’s Imaginary Relationship with Her Nonexistent Dad
- 20
- 21
- 22
- A Brief History of Chisaki Joan Katsuyama’s Romantic Learning Opportunities, Part III
- 23
- 24
- 25
- A Brief, Backward History of the McAllister Family, as Paraphrased from the San Jose Mercury News
- 26
- 27
- 28
- A Quick and Eerily Relevant History of Asians in America
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- A Brief History of Chisaki Joan Katsuyama’s Romantic Learning Opportunities, Part IV
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- A Series of Screw-ups: The Chisaki Joan Katsuyama Story, Part II (Or Maybe It’s a Prequel)
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- 53
- The History of the Katsuyama Family, Part III
- 54
- A Note from the Author
- Index of Flowers and their Meanings
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Praise for This Time Will Be Different
- Books by Misa Sugiura
- Back Ad
- About the Publisher
“Are you saying you didn’t have any”—I start off saying it as a joke, but halfway through I realize that it might be true, so the energy fizzles out of my voice as I finish—“any, um, friends?”
“Yeah. I don’t blame anyone for it. I mean, I was kind of a shitty kid. It took me a few years to not be an asshole all the time. Not to feel like an asshole all the time.” His eyes lose their focus a little, and I can tell he’s seeing his past.
I’m not sure I should ask what’s on the other side of the door he’s opening. But I’m so curious. How is it possible that Owen, Mr. Sunshine himself, was a shitty kid whose only friends were history books? I ask hesitantly, “Why?”
Owen puffs his cheeks out. “Lots of stuff. Some of it had to do with having to admit to myself that I was bi, but it was mostly my parents. My mom was having problems with depression and drug abuse—prescription drugs, not like meth or Molly or anything. But it was pretty bad. She’d threaten to kill herself, or threaten to leave us, or . . . other shit like that. I felt like it was my fault, somehow.”
“Oh. God, I’m sorry. That sucks.” I remember him talking about things getting rocky, but I never imagined anything like this.
He shrugs. “She’s okay now. I mean, she couldn’t help it, really. It was like her brain was miswired, you know? And I was getting into trouble, skipping school, all that stupid shit. So. Yeah. She had a coupla hospital stays. There was lots of therapy. For everyone. But things are better now. She has good doctors, good medicine. Happily ever after, at least so far.”
If Owen’s family made it through a nightmare like that, I guess I can see where his optimism comes from. But I can’t help wondering. “Do you ever worry that it’ll happen again?”
“All the time,” he says.
“Seriously?”
“Not like I’m always thinking about it. But like, sometimes my mom goes through a tough cycle, and all the old fears spring right up, like they never left, you know? Like they were sitting there under the surface of the rest of my life, just waiting for something to happen.”
“No offense, but that doesn’t feel like happily ever after,” I say. Ugh, that’s so harsh. I lean against him to soften it, to show him I meant to be sympathetic, not critical.
“I said happily ever after so far,” he reminds me, leaning back.