Boundless

by Ismée Williams, Rebecca Balcárcel

Genres: YA Family; YA Coming of Age; Short Stories; YA Social Themes

Synopsis

With twenty stories that center and celebrate the multiracial and multicultural experience from your favorite award-winning and bestselling authors, this is a groundbreaking anthology perfect for fans of COME ON IN and BLACK ENOUGH.

When identities cross boundaries, with love that knows no bounds.
From platonic and romantic love to grief and heartbreak, these stories explore navigating life at the intersection of identities, and what it means to grow up surrounded by a multitude of traditions, languages, cultures, and interpersonal dynamics.
Returning to a father’s homeland. Trying to fit in at chaotic weddings and lavish birthday parties where not all are welcome. Processing grief at family gatherings. Figuring out how to share the news of a new relationship with loved ones. This collection celebrates multicultural and multiracial characters at the helm of their own narratives, as they approach life with a renewed sense of hope and acceptance.
 
Featuring original stories from:

• Adi Alsaid
• Rebecca Balcárcel
• Akemi Dawn Bowman
• Anika Fajardo
• Shannon Gibney
• I.W. Gregorio
• Veera Hiranandani
• Nasugraq Rainey Hopson
• Emiko Jean
• Erin Entrada Kelly
• Torrey Maldonado
• Mélina Mangal
• Goldy Moldavsky
• Randy Ribay
• Loriel Ryon
• Tara Sim
• Eric Smith
• Jasmine Warga
• Ismée Williams
• Karen Yin

Release date: June 13, 2023

Publisher: Inkyard Press

Print pages: 304

Sample

THE CHAIR FAR AWAY FROM THE TABLE

By Akemi Dawn Bowman

SPRING

When Aunty Fei opens the door, the smell of chicken katsu, barbecued ribs, and potato curry tumbles out of the house like an explosion of contradiction—sweet and spicy, old and new, Asian and not Asian.

Well, maybe the last part is just me. Projecting, as Hannah says.

My older sister beams beside me and holds up a paper bag. “We brought sweet rolls!”

“I told you on the phone not to bring anything but yourselves,” Aunty Fei scolds, even though her eyes are sparkling. She glances at Dad, who inhales the intoxicating scents from the doorway. “Save your money, Hiroichi. We have enough food to feed an army.”

Dad laughs. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

He says that every week, but we never show up to karaoke night empty-handed. Aunty Fei may pretend like it’s not necessary, but it’s one of the unspoken rules Dad’s side of the family seems to have. You’re supposed to make an effort, even when everyone tells you not to.

Aunty Fei waves us all in. “I hope you folks are hungry.”

“Starving,” Dad replies, and Hannah and I follow him inside.

There’s a row of aunties already waiting to greet us. They make all their usual comments—they ask how we’ve been managing since Mom left, they ask Hannah what she’s planning to study at college, and they tell me I’m getting “so tall, just like your dad,” even though me and Dad aren’t exactly being recruited for a basketball team anytime soon.

And then they shuffle us toward the enormous table packed to the edges with Crock-Pots, glass bowls, and ceramic dishes. All the usual potluck favorites are here, plus a few new ones from the extended aunties and uncles.

Technically they’re not all relatives, but my family is from Hawaii. Every friend of the family is considered an aunty, uncle, or cousin.

Someone shoves a plate in my hand, and Hannah nudges me forward, hurrying to get to the dish wedged between the potato mac salad and the spam musubi.

“They have the Jell-O,” she whispers over my shoulder.

It’s the most out of place dish on the whole buffet table. Half emerald-green, half milky-white, Aunty Fei has been making the half-and-half Jell-O squares for as long as I can remember.

I put two pieces on my plate and surround them with rice and chicken skewers.

One of the aunties sees my choices and looks personally offended, but then brightens when she sees everything on Hannah’s plate.

Hannah tries everything—even the smoked tako—and everyone in the family seems to love her for it.

I don’t have my sister’s people skills, or her palate for octopus. I don’t even have her features, which are unmistakably similar to Dad’s.

She never wonders if she’s Asian enough to be a part of this family. But me?

I’m more like the puzzle piece that accidentally ended up in the wrong box. I don’t fit.

Hannah disappears with everyone else into the dining room where the Big Table is set up for all the grown-ups. My sister is only just eighteen, but she stopped sitting at the kids’ table years ago.

I’m not sure if I was ready for her to leave me behind, but Mom used to come to karaoke nights back then, and she never sat at the Big Table. She said she preferred sitting with the kids.

Maybe she never felt like she fit in, either.

But Mom is on the other side of the country now, chasing dreams that were too big

to find in Las Vegas. And I’m too old for the kids’ table.

I take my plate and find a spot in the corner of the living room, where Uncle Albert is sitting in his favorite red chair. I plop down a few feet away, eating in awkward silence while Uncle Albert rests his eyes.

He doesn’t like socializing with the other aunties and uncles. I’m not sure he likes people coming to the house at all.

But I’ve been gravitating toward Uncle Albert and his chair ever since I was little, and he never tells me to leave. He just lets me sit with him in the quiet, and occasionally offers me candy.

Out of everyone in my family, I think I relate to him the most.

After dinner, my relatives flock to the TV in the big living room, where me and Uncle Albert are still sitting in the corner. There are over a dozen aunties and uncles, all gathered on footstools, cushions, armchairs, and patches of carpet.

When the blue karaoke image appears on the screen, one of my oldest uncles moves for the microphone and bursts into a very animated rendition of “Nagasaki Wa Kyou Mo Ame Datta.”

And then Hannah leaps to her feet, rushing for the next turn while everyone offers words of encouragement.

Hannah doesn’t even speak Japanese, but she knows all these old songs by heart. She’s been singing them since Aunty Fei started karaoke nights.

I watch from the back of the room, like I’m on the outside looking in.

It’s easy for Hannah. She looks more the part than I do; she has Dad’s black hair and dark eyes, and skin that tans impeccably well in the sun. I inherited Mom’s freckles and mousy brown hair and a face that is neither Asian nor white. It’s racially ambiguous. The kind of face that confuses people, and they end up asking the same question over and over again. The question I dread most.

What are you?

Nobody on my dad’s side of the family ever asks me that. But sometimes they look at me like they’re waiting for me to figure it out.

Uncle Albert leans forward and grunts, interrupting my thoughts. He’s holding a koa box full of See’s lollipops: chocolate, coffee, vanilla, and butterscotch.

I take one of the butterscotch ones because they’re my favorite, and pull off the wrapper. “Thanks,” I mumble.

Uncle Albert twists his mouth and sinks back into his chair, setting the box beside him while Hannah finishes singing the last note in her song.

Aunty Fei’s gaze immediately seeks me out like a spotlight. “Come, Nina,” she calls, waving her hand toward the television. “You try next!”

I shake my head and point to the candy in my mouth like I’m apologizing, even though singing in front of my relatives—in front of anyone—is a genuine, recurring nightmare. I think I might even prefer the

smoked tako.

Hannah stares at me for a second too long before handing the mic to one of our cousins. She takes a seat next to Dad, but she’s still watching me with the kind of urgency that makes me nervous and embarrassed all at once.

We’ve never had a secret sister language. We’re not even really close.

But ever since Mom left, Hannah has been acting weird. Like she thinks she needs to fix me before she leaves for college and she’s out of time.

I tug at my sleeve, cheeks burning when Hannah shakes her head at me from across the room. She doesn’t have to say anything—I can read the message in her eyes.

You have to try, Nina.

Not about karaoke—she wants me to try harder to be a part of this family.

But she doesn’t get it. Belonging comes naturally to her. She’s never had to try.

I wish being myself were already enough.

I stare at the carpet, thinking of Mom on the other side of the country, and wonder why loving me wasn’t enough to make her stay.

SUMMER

I sit in the living room, wedged between the floor fan and Uncle Albert. I forgot to bring a scrunchie, so I grab my hair with a fist and hold it off my neck.

Uncle Albert’s snores grow and grow until he startles himself awake. He jolts, searching the room for all its familiarities, and then drifts back into a nap.

Hannah appears with her hands on her hips. “The buffet is outside,” she says, using that weird Mom-like voice that’s only gotten more obnoxious over the months. “Aren’t you coming?”

“It’s July,” I reply with a blank face. “In Las Vegas.”

She lifts her shoulders like she doesn’t understand my point.

“It’s like a hundred and twenty degrees.”

“So? They have misters. Just put on some sunscreen—you’ll be fine.”

“I’m fine in here.”

“Seriously, Nina,” Hannah says, and now her arms are crossed, so I guess she’s really upping the Mom impersonation. “You can’t just keep avoiding everyone all the time. You need to be around other people.”

I twist my mouth. “Nobody needs to be around other people.”

“Yes they do,” she snaps back. “Social isolation is literally a form of torture. You’re just weird.”

Her last word stings like salt in a wound that won’t heal.

Hannah purses her lips. “I know Mom is gone, but—”

“This isn’t about Mom,” I say, bristling. Even though I mean it, Mom is always going to be a sore subject. It doesn’t matter that she left months ago; there isn’t a time limit on when I should be okay with one of our parents abandoning us.

I will never be okay with it.

Hannah sighs like she’s tired, and maybe she is. But maybe I am, too. “She hated karaoke nights. And I think she made you hate them.”

“She

didn’t make me do anything.”

“Really? Because you were basically her shadow for fifteen years, Nina. You never left her side. You would’ve done anything to make her happy, even when she constantly asked for too much.”

A scowl tears across my face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hannah’s hands shoot up in desperation. “You didn’t even yell at her when she left! She told you to understand, and you just...did. And now she’s gone and it’s like you’re this lost puppy. I’m worried.”

I flatten my mouth, holding back the words I want to say but wouldn’t dare in front of Uncle Albert, sleeping or otherwise.

It was always me and Mom on one side, and Hannah and Dad on the other. Two different sides of a coin. Two contradictions.

Mom didn’t abandon them the same way she abandoned me. She left them—but she left me behind.

I wasn’t supposed to have to be a teenager without her. I wasn’t supposed to feel this alone.

Of course I’m angry. Of course I’m sad. But what good would it do to say it out loud?

Nobody here would understand.

I don’t want my mom to be the villain. But she was the person who felt most like family, and she didn’t choose me.

“I’m not talking about this with you.” My voice is stiff, and maybe a little cold.

But Hannah pushes anyway. “Family is important. Please try to make an effort. For Dad.”

“What does Dad have to do with this?”

She eyes Uncle Albert, still asleep in his chair. “I think he needs karaoke nights more than you realize,” Hannah says solemnly. “And I think... I think it’s good for him to have a reason to leave the house. I think it’s good for both of you.”

“If you’re worried about Dad, fine,” I reply sourly. “But leave me out of it.”

Hannah sighs. In a voice that’s barely audible, she adds, “I just don’t want you to always feel disconnected from the people who care about you. Mom liked to make her problems your problems. If she couldn’t fit in, she didn’t want you to, either. She didn’t want to be alone—but she had no problem leaving us alone.” She shakes her head. “You always deserved more than being Mom’s shadow. You can just be you. I hope someday you’ll believe it.”

My mind spins too fast to reply, and then Hannah is gone and it’s just me, Uncle Albert, and the buzzing fan.

When he speaks, his voice croaks like a bullfrog. “You’re angry at the wrong person. Your sister is just trying to help.”

I sit up, slightly alarmed. “I—I thought you were asleep.”

“You woke me up.”

My cheeks flush. “Sorry.”

Uncle Albert folds his hands over his stomach. “How come you’re always

sitting here instead of hanging out with everybody else?”

“It’s not like anyone cares.” When I hear the words out loud, my eyes open wide. “I don’t mean it in a bad way—I just mean that I’m not good at being around people the way Hannah is. So it doesn’t really matter if I’m here or outside, you know? I’m like...invisible, I guess.”

“Why do you have to be like your sister to spend time with your family?”

I blink. “Hannah is likable. She fits in. She sings karaoke and eats all the spicy food. She knows what to say to make everyone smile.”

“You think eating spicy food gives you permission to sit at the table with everybody else?”

My jaw tenses, but I don’t respond. I don’t really know how to. Maybe it sounds silly, but Hannah never questions whether she belongs. She just does.

I guess I’m still trying to figure out what the difference between us is.

Uncle Albert stares up at the ceiling like he’s searching for a memory. And then he lifts the koa box from the side table, removes the lid, and holds it toward me.

I take a butterscotch lollipop. He takes a coffee one.

We sit in the silence for a long, long time, listening to laughter in the distance. And I think maybe Uncle Albert understands me more than he wants to admit.

Maybe deep down, he doesn’t feel like he belongs, either.

FALL

It’s strange not seeing Hannah at karaoke nights. She still calls once a week to catch up with Dad and tell him about college. But there’s an empty space she left behind that’s even more noticeable than the one Mom left. She was a constant in our family—like the North Star. A nearly ever fixed source of light that everyone was drawn to. Dad most of all.

All Dad and I really share is the quiet.

And sometimes the quiet is the loudest thing of all.

I sit in the corner of the living room with my head down, drawing shapes in the carpet.

When the koa box appears in front of me, I take a piece of candy and look up at Uncle Albert. His brown eyes are thoughtful, watching me with a calm recognition.

He doesn’t take the box away. “Give one to your dad,” he says curtly. “He used to like the butterscotch ones when he was little, too.”

I hold it in my hand, rolling the lollipop stick between my fingers. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re trying to fix me and Dad.”

The corners of Uncle Albert’s eyes wrinkle, but he doesn’t smile. “I must be a clever guy if I’m doing all that just sitting here.”

“Well, it’s not going to work. He needs Hannah, not me.”

“Who do you need?” When I don’t answer, he leans his head back. “Go talk to your dad. And if you forgot how, just open your mouth and say words.”

“It’s not that easy.”

Uncle Albert clicks his tongue. “That’s because you need to practice more.”

“You sound like my sister,” I say but stand up anyway.

Dad’s sitting on the couch in the far room, eating red bean mochi with Aunty April, Aunty May, and Aunty June. They’re all named after their respective birth months, which seemed pretty unoriginal until I realized Dad and his brothers—Hiroichi, Hironi, and Hirosan—were basically named Hiro One, Hiro Two, and Hiro Three.

When I hand Dad the See’s lollipop, he raises an eyebrow. “I haven’t had one of these in years.”

“Uncle Albert said you liked butterscotch the best.”

“I do. Something you and me have in common.” For a moment, he almost sounds relieved. “How about a trade?” he offers, holding up the container of mochi.

I take one of the round off-white pieces covered in rice flour.

Dad’s entire face brightens. “Remember that time Grandma made you eat a whole bowl of poi because you’d gotten it confused with mochi and told her poi was your favorite?”

“Yeah. It tasted like glue,” I say, chewing. “I think I cried at the table for two hours straight.”

Aunty May makes a noise of surprise. “Did you mix it with sugar? It’s real ono like that, you know.”

“Grandma didn’t say anything about sugar.” I shrug. “She just said I wasn’t leaving the table until I ate all of it because it was expensive.”

Aunty April turns to Dad, laughing. “Your mom was so strict, yeah?”

Aunty June scoffs. “You and your brothers were always making humbug. She had to be strict.”

Dad rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “We weren’t that bad. Although, there was the time we almost set the house on fire playing with toy soldiers...”

He spends the next few minutes reminiscing about his childhood in Hawaii, where Hannah and I probably would’ve grown up if Mom hadn’t been in such a hurry to move. We have aunties and uncles in Vegas, but nowhere near as many as on Oahu.

Sometimes I wonder if karaoke nights would’ve felt different if I’d grown up where Dad did, around more people who looked like me. So many people in Hawaii are multiracial. It isn’t weird or different or exotic, like I’ve been called most of my life. People in Hawaii share a similar cultural influence—there are pieces of Polynesian culture, with lots of love and respect for the Indigenous people of Hawaii, and a blend of Asian countries, including Japan and China where Dad’s side of the family lived over five generations ago.

Dad calls it chop suey. All mixed up. And everyone in his family is considered kamaʻāina—a child of the land. Like they belong.

I wish it were that easy for me. But I didn’t grow up in a land that wanted me.

I grew up with a Mom

who decided she didn’t.

When Dad finishes his story, all three aunties are laughing, and I realize he’s no longer paying attention to me. They jump to the next story, and the next, and pretty soon I feel like I’m listening in on a conversation I’m no longer a part of. So I slip back out of the room and return to the corner of the house where Uncle Albert is asleep on his red chair.

I sit on the floor, folding my legs like a pretzel.

Sensing me, he shifts. His white socks are pulled halfway up his calves, and he’s still wearing a pair of therapeutic flip-flops. Slippers, as my dad calls them.

“Go talk story with your cousins,” he growls abruptly, the bags under his eyes darker than usual. “Play cards with your aunties. Anything except sit in this room all by yourself.”

“I’m not by myself,” I argue.

He waves a hand. “You’re not here to talk to me. You’re here because you don’t know how to talk to anyone else.”

My heart pinches, defensive. “Well, why are you here, then?”

For a long time, he’s quiet. “Because,” he says seriously, “I didn’t practice enough when I was younger.”

We sit together when the room fills back up with relatives ready to sing karaoke. The music starts, but I don’t move from my spot. Every time I glance at Uncle Albert, his eyes are closed like he’s asleep again.

But I don’t think he’s sleeping.

I think he’s so used to feeling alone that he wants to convince himself that he really is.

WINTER

The house feels emptier than usual, even when there’s twice the amount of people.

Not for karaoke night—for Uncle Albert’s memorial.

It happened without any warning at all. He had a heart attack, and then he was gone.

There was no choice to leave or stay. Not like Mom, who packed her bags and planned her exit and recited her goodbyes like an essay she’d prepared again and again.

I’m not sure it matters how people go. All that matters is the hole they leave behind.

Mom is gone, and Hannah is gone, and now Uncle Albert is gone, too.

And I don’t just feel alone—I feel lost.

Dad finds me in the laundry room, where Aunty Fei’s chubby dachshund Mele Kalikimaka—Mele for short—is asleep in his bed.

“He sure does enjoy his naps,” Dad remarks, shutting the door and sitting on the tile beside me.

“He doesn’t like the noise.” I don’t know why I’m defending Mele. He barely tolerates me when he’s awake.

“Is that why you’re hiding in here?” Dad asks gently. “Because it’s too loud?”

I flatten my mouth. 

“I’m not hiding. I just don’t want to be out there.”

“I know you and Uncle Albert were close. And if you want to talk about it...” His voice trails off, and I can’t tell if it’s because he doesn’t know what to say, or if he’s hoping I won’t take him up on the offer.

It’s awkward between us. It has been for a long time. But I’m holding too much in, and I don’t know how much more my heart can take before it bursts.

I try to ignore the salt-sting in my eyes when I look at Dad. “What is so wrong with me that I can’t get anyone to stay?”

“What?” Dad pulls his face back. “Honey, Uncle Albert passing was not your fault. Nobody could’ve controlled that.”

I smear my tears with the heel of my palm. “Mom left. Hannah only talks to me when she’s trying to boss me around. And you—you have more fun at karaoke nights than you’ve ever had with me.”

Dad looks like his heart might burst, too. “That’s not how I feel at all, Nina.” He clenches his teeth, blinking too many times. “I can’t defend or explain what your mom did. If I’m being honest, I still have questions, too. But I know Hannah loves you. I love you.”

I sniff into my sleeve, shutting my eyes tight.

Dad hesitates, swallowing. “I’m not going anywhere, you know. I’m here—and I will be, anytime you need me.”

I study his face for a moment, sensing the sadness in his eyes.

Hannah said it’s always been there. Maybe even for as long as I’ve been holding on to my own hurt.

My chest tightens. “I’m mad that Mom left.”

Dad’s eyes crack like glass. “Yeah, kiddo. I’m mad about that, too.”

“And I’m—I’m mad that she always made me feel like it was her and me, and you and Hannah.” My cheeks darken. “And I’m mad that you always seemed okay with it. Like it was totally normal to love Hannah more.”

He sits up then, eyes big and glistening. “I didn’t know you felt that way, Nina. I love you both the same, and I always have. I guess I just assumed that you didn’t always want to talk to me or hang out.” He rubs his forehead, trying to find the right words. “That’s my fault, not yours. I’m the dad—I should’ve told you more often that I wanted you around. And I’m sorry for that.” He leans in, face serious. “But you are not my second choice. Ever, ever, ever, okay? Hannah being gone, your mom being gone, even Uncle Albert being gone... You and I are family forever. And there will never be a moment in my life where I don’t want you in it.”

“Okay” is all I can think to say.

Dad offers a sad smile. “That’s your family out there, you know. And they love you, too.”

“Sometimes I feel like Hannah matches this family better than I do. She’s more like you—I’m more like Mom.” My voice scratches. “Sometimes I feel like I’m not very good at being Asian.”

Dad barks a laugh so loud it makes me jump. “Sorry,” he says, holding up his hands. “But that is impossible. You are Asian. That’s it. That’s the prerequisite

. It doesn’t matter the language you speak or that your hair isn’t as dark as mine or how much you know about the culture. You just are.”

I press my lips tight to stop myself from crying.

Dad leans in, voice softening. “I’ll tell you a secret. I couldn’t figure out how to use chopsticks until I was fifteen. Everyone at school used to make fun of me. Grandma used to make me practice with the training kind. I can’t tell you how many jokes my friends made about me not being a real Asian.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Is that true?”

He holds up a hand. “I am dead serious.” And then he stiffens. “Maybe that’s an inappropriate thing to say today, with the memorial and all.”

“Uncle Albert wouldn’t mind.” I motion toward the door. “He would’ve been more upset about all the people in his house.”

Dad chuckles. I stare at my feet.

“I know he didn’t talk a lot, but I miss him,” I say, tears building in the corners of my eyes.

Dad tilts his face and nudges me with his shoulder. “That’s another good thing about having family. ...