The All-American Diner
- Pandora's Ink
- Aug 19
- 4 min read
Updated: 6 days ago
Written by Cindy Miao from Maryland, USA
The sunset filtered through the windows of the diner, painting my grandmother’s face in shades of brightness, each stroke easing away the lines of age on her face. “Two miles to the market, 孩子. Two miles on foot! You had to haggle with the merchant there- imagine: 10 yuan for one 葱油饼.”
My mother, who sat across the booth, gasped in disbelief. Sunlight also flooded her features, adding a defiant glint to her eyes.
“10 yuan? That’s completely absurd.”
“I know! But don’t worry, I got that grumpy merchant to back down. What was he thinking, taking advantage of an old lady? I got that price halved.”
My dad chimed in, “Good for you, 妈, I’m glad to hear you took care of yourself back home.” The sunlight didn’t quite reach him, but it didn’t need to— his features were always bright and open.
I flipped open the worn menu, casting my eyes over the offers of American cuisine. Mom sighed, “Americans, they eat so many cheeseburgers! Mostly oil and fat. Remember the 包子 we had in Beijing, Samuel? Same ingredients, much healthier.”
“Of course I remember! I wished they served them here too.”
“Sah-mee-ul,” Grandma said, the English syllables harsh against her tongue. “The waiter’s coming. I’m going to order option one.”
“Good evenin’ y’all! Welcome home to our cozy diner. My name’s Tanner and I’ll be your server today.” The young man looked at the family in the booth and paused. “Looks like we’ve got some foreigners tonight. I hope you’re enjoying your stay!”
Grandma held up one finger. “Up-tion wan, puh-lease.”
Tanner’s eyes widened. “Oh. I see. Well, we sell American food here. You might want to try the Japanese place next door.” He spoke slowly and loudly, gesturing to the diner’s doors.
“What?” I reacted instinctively. “We know. We come here every month.” With my brow furrowed, I glanced at my parents. Mom’s face was flushed an angry red, the light leaving with her carefree expression.
She snapped, “We are American citizens!” The customers in the adjacent booth gave her a strange look.
Tanner’s eyes widened, “I don’t mean to be rude— I just wouldn’t expect- you know people like you-” Mom’s face grew even redder, her features swelling like a balloon ready to pop.
She opened her mouth to rebut when Dad interrupted.
“We’re so sorry for any inconvenience, Tanner. Please, we’d like four orders of option one.”
He nodded and walked away quickly.
“Wu Lianghai, what did you do? We have nothing to be sorry for.”
“Keqiang, please. Calm down. I don’t want to make a scene.”
“I must stand up for our family! America is our country too. I cannot, and will not, tolerate this treatment! ‘Try the Japanese place next door’,” Mom fumed. “We are American! We are Chinese! We eat wherever we want to!”
“Darling, I know. He’s a white guy in a country that doesn’t know any better. Unfortunately, the only thing we can do is let it go.”
I felt the hot beam of a spotlight on our booth. Why hadn’t I noticed we were the only Chinese— no, Asian family here before?
“Can you let go of the hours of overtime we’ve worked, struggling to put food on the table?
Can you let go of the home we’ve given up for this ‘dream’? I can’t believe you’re okay with being pushed over again and again. They promised us, ‘land of the free’, and we clung to it for our family. Or have you let us go too?”
“Of course I haven’t, Keqiang. But we’re going to seem like the aggressors if you keep yelling. Please, the customers are watching.”
Our booth fell into a thick silence. Eventually, a hurried Tanner arrived with our burgers. Mom glared at him, her dark eyes narrowed, and when he disappeared into the kitchen, she glared at her food.
“So, Samuel, are you excited for summer?” Dad dipped a fry in ketchup.
“What?”
“You were telling us about camp in the car.” He plastered on a smile that was all teeth and no eyes.
“How can you talk about camp right now?” Anger steamed through my throat. He sighed heavily, the expression peeling away. “I’m trying to move on. What else can we do?”
The group in the adjacent booth plodded to their feet, migrating to the door loudly like a herd of cattle. Trailing behind them, a woman with streaks of graying hair stopped at our table. “Hey, lady—” she drawled, staring at Mom and her untouched plate. “I could barely hear anything over your shoutin’ earlier. Too bad they don’t serve dog here.” She slammed the diner door behind her.
Mom’s hand shook, her fingers trembling around her knife. Then, in one quick exhale, her fingers went limp like a deflated balloon, the utensil clattering onto the ground. Dad reached out for her arm, but before he could make contact, she stood up wordlessly and walked away. He stood up too. “I’m going to talk to Mom. Take care of 婆婆, Samuel.”
I pushed my plate away, hoping Grandma would know what to do. I turned towards her, realizing she had been silent the entire time. Small tears flooded the slopes of her face, eroding herself in apology.
“Oh, Sah-mee-ul, it’s all my fault. Maybe they’d be happier back home.”
“Maybe. But America is home, too.”
The other booths whispered intensely around us, and I felt their prying eyes press into our backs. I grasped Grandma’s hand, squeezing it gently.
“Let’s go find Mom and Dad.”
When we entered the car, Mom turned her face to the window, while Dad stared straight ahead. As he started the engine and pulled away from the diner’s bright lights, I lost sight of everyone in the dark.
The car ride home was silent.
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