plain forgetful lately, and has said and done some pretty weird things. But this day seemed to be a good one, and special tea went smoothly.

It is usually as soothing as Mimi herself.

"So, my Claudia," Mimi began (and I should tell you that I am the only one Mimi callsher someone), "how school was?"

"Oh, okay. I didn't do so well on that math test."

"How not so well?"

"A C-minus?" I answered with a question, as if I weren'tsure that was the grade I'd gotten. But it was. One point lower and it would have been a D-plus.

"Oh," said Mimi. "Well. Studied. Studied hard. I remember. Next better time." That garbled message meant that Mimi remembered that I had studied hard with the help of my dad and my big sister, Janine, who is a genius, and that no doubt I would do better on my next test.

"Thanks, Mimi," I replied, smiling. "Guess what Idid get a good grade on. That history composition," I answered for her.

"The one I help?"

"Yup. The one you helped me with."

"What grade?"

"B … plus!" I said grandly.

Mimi beamed. She had given me the idea to write a composition on a period in Japanese history, but she had really helped only a little. I had done most of the work myself.

I sipped my tea.

I looked at my hands holding my cup, and at Mimi's hands holding her-cup. My hands were smooth and creamy-colored and steady. Mimi's were wrinkled and brown like walnuts, and they shook. Mimi is my mother's mother and she's getting pretty old.

As you have probably guessed, Mimi is Japanese. She came to the United States a long time ago, when she was thirty-two.