Yin Yang Love Song

Chapter 23 Chryssy

Chapter 23

CHRYSSY

O n our last day in Tennessee before heading back to Washington, we’re tasked with helping Vin’s parents clean out the chicken pen and coop. It’s a late spring cleaning I’m a little too excited to partake in.

Vin and I meet his family at the coop, and they give me a skeptical once-over. I’m dressed in the most casual clothing I brought: flower-patterned jeans and an embroidered white top with sleeves that puff out from the shoulders. At least I know Lucy and Ethel will appreciate my outfit.

I cover a yawn, a consequence of a later-than-usual night out. After watching the fireflies, Vin’s dad had enough energy to drive the four hours back. All I remember is drifting to sleep in the crook of Vin’s shoulder as his playing echoed in my mind. I’ll never forget watching Vin play live for the first time.

We all greet each other with various enthusiasm, Leo’s and Vin’s being the lowest. I’m sandwiched between two moody brothers, and their tension creates a new energy I haven’t felt from them before.

Isabella, William, and Leo have already guided the chickens to a temporary enclosure. It’s all hands on deck as we clear out what I learn are called feeders, nesting box trays, perches, and drinkers from the coop.

“Everyone good?” Isabella asks, clearly also sensing the mood.

“Great,” Leo says, clapping his hands together. “We better get started. Lots to accomplish today!”

It’s lost on no one that this is a jab at Vin.

Vin returns Leo’s snipe with a glare.

“How about we don’t ruin Mom and Dad’s weekend?” Vin says, grabbing a shovel. “Unless you really don’t care anymore.”

“Someone please tell Vin that maybe I’d care more if the gas wasn’t always pressed down to the floor,” he says.

“Tell him yourself,” Isabella says.

“I would but he said not to talk to him until I’ve read the contract, and I haven’t done it yet,” Leo says.

“You’re being a child,” Vin says.

“Yeah, I’m the child,” Leo says, making a face.

Vin scoffs triumphantly. “You said it.”

“Thirtysomethings and you’re both being children. What did your mother just say?” William says, looking visibly uncomfortable with having to be the bad guy. “Get moving. This coop won’t clean itself.”

“This is not how you act in front of guests,” Isabella says, eyeing her sons.

I brace myself for a fallout. For blame. For someone to fly the coop. To go for a drive. To guess whether they’d come back. I’ve heard enough family stories, seen enough with my own eyes. The end is imminent.

“It’s just Chryssy,” Leo says.

“ Just Chryssy?” Vin asks. He drops his shovel as though, of all the things Leo has said, this is what’s made him mad. I shouldn’t be flattered, but I am.

“You know what I mean,” Leo says. “We love Chryssy. Well, I don’t love her in that way. I can’t speak for Vin, though.”

Vin picks up his shovel, thrusting the cutting edge under the chicken coop bedding. “Are you still talking?”

“Yeah, but not to you,” Leo says. “Someone tell Vin that I don’t love Chryssy like that.”

They hold each other’s stares for another beat before breaking.

They cover their mouths, holding back muffled sounds.

Is that… are they… laughing?

“Stop using ‘love’ and ‘Chryssy’ in the same sentence, man,” Vin says, shoveling the bedding into a composting bin. “Read the contract when you want. We’ll sort out the details later.”

“Thank you,” Leo says. “And to set the record straight, I’m not a child.”

Vin grunts. “Thanks for clarifying.”

And just like that, the fight’s over. No one else looks surprised by this sudden turn of events.

“Speaking of setting records straight,” Vin says, sticking the shovel into a mound of dirt. He faces his parents. “Do you two have something to tell us?”

Leo furrows his brows, looking confused. “What would they have to tell us? Is there something to tell us?”

Isabella and William eyeball each other. “We do have something to share,” Isabella says slowly. “We wanted to wait until after your visit so we could focus on having a nice time together.”

Leo and Vin both stop what they’re doing.

“What is it?” Leo asks, as Vin’s fingers tighten around his shovel’s handle. “Oh god, did someone die? Was it Uncle Wilbur? It was Uncle Wilbur, wasn’t it?”

“No one died,” Isabella says, reaching for William’s hand. “Your father and I are…”

Suddenly, I’m ten years old and sitting on the couch in my parents’ living room. They’re breaking the news that things are going to look different from now on. That while they won’t be living at the same house anymore, I’ll still see them both. That they love me and that this has nothing to do with me. That this has everything to do with the curse. We were doomed from the start. When Mom said we , it was no question that she wasn’t talking about her and my father. She meant me and her.

The rest of that night is such a blur I only remember it in flashes. Dad’s hand covering his mouth, like he’s covering up the words he wanted to say. Instead, he lets Mom speak for them both. Mom’s sigh of resignation. The wave of her arm like a white flag in surrender to our family’s curse.

When she said she was tired of fighting, I took that to mean against the inevitable. That night was the last fight between my parents. Mom left midargument. Went for a drive to cool off, Dad had said, his eyes puffy from crying. I spent the rest of the evening under the covers reading my mom’s medical textbooks about the heart, thinking one day I could fix them. That one day I could make the pain my family felt go away.

I close my eyes, my heart breaking in anticipation for Vin. My stomach clenches, bracing myself for the destruction of the perfect marriage he witnessed growing up. The perfect love he’s looking for and wants to feel.

“… selling the house,” Isabella finishes, her voice cracking.

My eyes fly open. I touch my fingers to my cheek, my gloves coming back wet with tears. I blink the rest away, looking over at the chickens, over to their miniature pool. Doing anything I can to make my tears evaporate without drawing attention to myself.

Leo reacts first. “Which house? This house?” he says. “Surely you don’t mean this one.”

“This was your dream house,” Vin finally says.

Isabella looks between her sons with a face so sad I can’t help but mirror it. “Dreams change,” she says.

“Is that why you have all of our instruments out?” Vin asks. “Those should really be in cases.”

“We need you to go through your stuff,” William says. “While you’re here.”

Isabella and William glance nervously at each other, pulling their hands away. “There’s more,” Isabella says, clearing her throat. “We’ve separated.”

And there it is.

Without thinking, I move over to Vin’s side and take his hand in mine, giving it two squeezes.

“Who? You and Dad?” Vin’s jaw flexes. “From each other?” He follows his own question up with another one. “You said ‘separated,’ not ‘separating.’ Past tense? When did this happen?” he asks.

“Oh, does it really matter?” Isabella asks.

“It does,” Vin says. “I want to understand what was happening that you felt you couldn’t tell us.”

“It was six months ago,” she answers.

“ Six months? And you just, what? Pretended to be together?” Vin asks, cringing at his phrasing.

“We weren’t pretending to do anything,” William says. “We just didn’t tell you.”

Vin exhales sharply. “That’s not any better.”

“You two have so much on your plate, and then you and Aubrey,” she says to Leo, who flinches at the sound of her name. “We didn’t want you to worry. Not involving you two was the right choice. Our problems aren’t your problems.”

“Oh my god, is this why we’re cleaning the coop?” Leo asks. “Is this the last spring cleaning ever?”

“What the hell was this visit even for?” Vin asks. “Is it for show? Is this all just part of an act?”

“Of course not. And sue me for wanting to see my sons. When’s the last time we’ve all been together like this?” Isabella asks, shaking her head firmly. “Your father and I still have so much love for each other. What we share deserves to be celebrated. Thirty-five years is a beautiful milestone.”

Hearing this stuns me. Like, actually shocks me, and not because I didn’t once get a read on their heartbreak. It occurs to me that maybe this is because… there isn’t any. Or at least there isn’t anymore.

If a relationship can’t even last for a couple who separates but still loves each other, how could it for someone who’s cursed? I came here looking for proof, for inspiration. Instead, we’re just witnessing another breakup. It strikes me now that when Vin talked about his parents and their perfect relationship, I needed to know that it was true. That it was possible.

I try to hold the shock in, to keep it compressed inside of me. This is not the moment to explode with feelings like I’m some kind of emotionally unhinged firework.

The backs of my eyes prick with tears again, and my vision blurs. I envision guardrails. A garden bed around my heart. I do not need to hold this pain. I’m thinking the words but clearly don’t feel them because I’m suddenly vibrating choppy, gasping wheezes, drawing attention to myself.

“How?” I hear myself asking.

The way everyone’s heads turn in my direction confirms that they, too, have heard this.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, pressing my hand over my chest. “Ignore me, please.”

“You might as well ask, honey,” Isabella says. “We put you in this situation.”

This time, it’s Vin who squeezes my hand.

“I just… you’re separated but live together and are celebrating your love?” A frown settles on my face. Vin and Leo know about my family’s curse, but his parents don’t. “My parents divorced when I was young. They don’t talk. We don’t do joint events. They sure aren’t celebrating their love for each other. I don’t understand… but I want to.” Pressing my palms into my eyes to block my ducts doesn’t help. The tears are back, and it’s so embarrassing.

“How do you do it?” I ask, noting that they’re both still wearing their wedding rings.

Isabella kneels down to pet Lucy. “In relationships, sometimes there’s an expectation that you must be in sync all the time. I admit I expected that. When William and I first started dating, we didn’t miss a beat. But that’s impossible to maintain, especially over three decades,” she says, looking between all of us. “Somewhere along the way, we not only fell out of sync, but we started playing different songs completely. We stopped growing together. We haven’t quite gotten back into rhythm yet.”

“There’s a lot of great aspects to staying on the beat with someone,” William says. “But there’s beauty in asynchronicity, too. Let’s not downplay thirty-five years. To make it this far requires communication, a willingness to be vulnerable. Not thinking you have all the answers. Remembering intentions. Not being afraid when your partner changes and evolves.” He looks over at Isabella, and all I see in his eyes are admiration, affection, and care.

Isabella takes a deep breath in and links arms with William. “Sometimes that means you change together. Sometimes it means changing apart,” she says. “We decided to take time to find ourselves again. Independently.”

“What does that even mean?” Vin asks. “You’re still living in the same house, aren’t you?”

“There was no need for anyone to move out right away while we worked through our next steps,” William says. “Your mother wants to travel and see the world outside of concert halls. There are a few hobbies I have my eye on. Maybe I’ll even live abroad.”

“Who knows what else? That’s kind of the point,” Isabella says.

There’s nothing and no one to blame. In front of us are just two people who have nothing but love and respect for each other.

Conceptually, this makes sense. But not just being amicable but loving toward each other? This is the stuff of heart-wrenching movies, not real life. Isabella and William’s relationship was the song I hoped Vin and I could cover. And now… it’s static on the record player.

“I’m sorry… I just… I need some air,” I say, dropping Vin’s hand. I leave the pen and round the corner toward the field. My sneakers crunch over sticks and dirt, every step taking me farther from Vin.

Amicable split or not, this whole thing feels like another reminder of what I’ve known my entire life. Nothing. Will. Last. I am not the exception.

Hua women get left. We accept it. It’s only a matter of time.

The shout of my name makes me turn around. I see Vin running through the field. Running after me. The chase leaves him breathless.

Hua women also don’t get followed.

Vin stops two feet from me, running a hand through his already unkempt, windblown hair.

“I’m so sorry, Vin, about your parents, this whole weekend, everything,” I start.

He turns his light brown eyes on me, and it doesn’t take much to see the sadness behind them. “Sorry?” he asks. “Chryssy, you have nothing to be sorry about.”

I do, though. I feel guilty and filled with regret. I made that about me. I cried .

Vin paces a small patch of grass, burning off his excess energy.

“I can’t believe this,” he mumbles. “I… I’ve been so busy I didn’t even know my own parents were having relationship trouble. No. Growing apart.”

“It’s what happens,” I say, wanting the strength to help him but feeling too tired to be anything but sad. “Sometimes it’s one thing, other times it’s a culmination of a bunch of little things.”

He dips his chin to his chest. “Or it’s one big thing that leads to the rest of the little things,” he counters. “Why bother if it all ends?”

I cross my arms. “Some people say it’s about the journey. That it’s better to have loved and lost and all that.”

Vin’s mouth is a hard underscore. “And is it?”

I shake my head. “It’s silly nonsense we tell ourselves to feel better temporarily. They’re happy-ever-after movie endings in the form of pithy sayings.”

“My parents’ life was so focused on us,” he says. “All their sacrifice during our childhood, just for it to lead to this. At least we were successful and made everything they gave up—what they’re giving up—worth it.” He furrows his brows. “And I was just going to throw it away…”

Doubt, hopelessness, fear, panic—all the emotions that have typically accompanied my previous breakups—surge through every square inch of my body.

“Maybe we should continue on with our original plan,” I spit out preemptively, drawing a metaphorical line between us in the grass. “A relationship with me won’t last, and I made you a promise. Are you sure you don’t want to break up with me? June’s nearly over. We’d be right on target for when this was all supposed to end anyway.”

This would be for the best, for both of us. To prevent the heartache we’ll both feel in the future. If we call it off now, we can spare ourselves. Do Future Chryssy and Future Vin big favors. I can still help him.

“I guess we made it this far,” Vin says.

I look anywhere but at him. “We should follow through,” I add before the back of my throat constricts. “We’re nothing if not committed, and we still don’t know enough about the curse.”

After a long stretch of silence, Vin sighs through his nose and folds his arms over his chest.

Tears stream down my face. “So, break up with me. Now, tomorrow, at the end of the month like we planned, whenever, just do it. Rip the flower head off,” I say.

Maybe if enough breakups happen, one day I really will come back stronger.

His eyes pierce through me when I say all this. He doesn’t object.

My conviction strengthens. “Or I’ll break up with you, how about? It’s never been done before, but with everything we learned, I don’t know what to believe anymore. We can put a stop to your heartbreaker reputation if that’s what you want.”

My chest pinches, like my heart is actively shrinking. A flower closing in on itself. I’ve accepted so much when it comes to love and my family and the stories that have been passed down. Even if I didn’t want to anymore, what am I supposed to do?

“Let’s get back to the inn, and we can figure it out then,” Vin says, looking past my shoulder.

“You can get everything you ever wanted,” I whisper, offering him another opportunity to put the deal back on the table and run.

Vin looks at me for a few heartbeats. “Us breaking up with each other isn’t going to get me anything I want,” he says. “But I don’t know what I’m supposed to say here.”

We stand opposite each other, facing off and playing another unspoken game of chicken. Fitting, given the coop half a field away. This time, though, it’s Vin who breaks first. He takes a step back, turning to go.

I ready myself to watch him leave. This is for the best , I repeat to myself.

But then, in the slightest of surprising movements, Vin turns his hand out, extending it toward me. I look at it sadly before eventually placing my hand in his.

We leave the conversation where it is—a question without answers—and walk back in silence toward the soon-to-be-sold farmhouse.