five
I didn’t know much about Alan these days and what he was like.
From my parents, I knew he was a model student. Straight A’s. Bound for a top-tier school. Debate team. Two-sport athlete—cross-country
and tennis. Mama and Baba spoke of him with a tone of subdued admiration. He’d taken to California like a flower to the sun.
I wasn’t surprised, of course.
From Morgan Park, I knew that he was well-liked. Popular. She knew his name instantly when I brought it up, which was enough
indication, given the school had two thousand people. She’d looked at me with surprise when I’d mentioned it.
“You’re friends with him?” she had asked in a tone that felt borderline insulting if you read into it at all.
“Not friends, really.” I struggled with trying to figure out how to describe what we were. “We used to know each other,” I said at last, which was the only thing that felt remotely accurate. “Years ago. Back in Illinois.”
“He’s from Illinois too?” Her finely penciled eyebrows almost disappeared into her bangs. “Since when?”
“Since always?” I scanned for signs of recognition and found none. “He went to my school for two years before moving here.”
She shrugged. “He always said he came from Shanghai.”
“He did. But that was before.”
“Huh. Maybe he doesn’t like to talk about it.”
“Maybe,” I’d replied.
So that was the only other thing I knew about him. That he’d disappeared a chunk of his past—all the parts that included me—once
he’d come out here.
Besides all that, he was a stranger to me. But he wouldn’t be for long.
We were parked in the driveway of Alan’s house early on a Saturday morning. Salmon-colored stucco siding, a two-car garage,
and the distinctive Spanish red-tiled roof that was so popular in this area.
Baba killed the engine in the driveway and turned to look at me. “Ready?” he said brightly, as if I were about to embark on
the adventure of a lifetime.
They had laid it out methodically, piece by piece, that night they came into my room to tell me something had come up.
My cousin in China was getting married. My cousin’s father traveled frequently for work, and his mother—Baba’s sister—had slipped down the stairs and broken her leg.
Baba was the eldest man remaining in the family, and thus, had a responsibility to help finish up the arrangements for the wedding while his sister was immobile.
Nai Nai was frail and in no position to have the stress put upon her.
They would be there for two weeks. They would come back.
I couldn’t go with them.
“But we haven’t forgotten about the college visits. I know you were excited about them,” Mama had said.
They had called up their friends, and it turned out Alan was planning a trip up the coast to visit the major schools too.
He would be happy to take me. They had already scheduled out where we would stay. Two stops with our parents’ family friends,
so we’d have appropriate supervision, of course, and then the final stop in Palo Alto as part of a formal “overnight with
student ambassadors,” where we’d both already been registered.
“We would go with you if we could. You understand,” Mama had told me, almost as an afterthought.
How could I say no? It was already locked. All I was doing was providing the rubber stamp so my parents could feel like we
had come together to agree. But I didn’t feel like I had any choice.
Sitting there on the cusp of this plan, the reality of the situation was bearing down on me. The pull of my anxiety became
urgent.
I finally managed a real protest. “Do I have to do this?” I asked.
Mama turned around in her seat. “What’s wrong?”
“Why can’t I go with you to China?” I sounded timid and pathetic, even to myself.
“Come on,” she replied. “What are you nervous about? Alan is nice. You remember him. You used to get along so great.”
“It’s not that,” I said, although it was that, somewhat.
“What, then?” Her eyes probed me. “Tell me.”
It was silly. But I had always imagined that we would go on the trip together, like we had done with Sam, way back when. Shouldn’t
they have wanted to come with me? Shouldn’t this have been more important than Xiao Xiao’s wedding?
Before I could say anything, the front door to Alan’s house swung open.
“Xiao Chen!” Uncle Zhao shouted, barreling down the front walk toward us, hands extended.
Mama’s expression snapped back from curious to composed, and I knew the time to put my foot down was over.
Baba emerged from the car, his face split in jovial enthusiasm. The two men embraced heartily. Uncle Zhao, lanky and balding;
Baba shorter, but with his silver hair intact. Seeing them together again reminded me of that first summer, the smoky barbecues
in our old backyard, when the Zhao family had first moved to Mount Pierce. The smell of cigarettes from our fathers permeating
long into the grassy night air, while Alan and I gleefully collected fireflies and mosquito bites.
I blinked away the sharp memory, catching me off guard with its potency.
Auntie Li followed on her husband’s heels. “Grew taller,” she said to me in Chinese, the ultimate compliment, patting me on the head as if I were a poodle. “Quick, quick, come inside.”
Although we had moved several weeks ago, this was the first time we had seen the Zhao family. Like Alan with me, they had
kept their distance, letting us settle in slowly. I often wondered with situations like ours, if people could sense some kind
of aura that drove them away. It had felt like that back home. The unbearable faces of even the people at school who knew
me, once they found out what happened to my brother.
Tragedy was a repellent to others. It forced you to be alone.
We went inside and took off our shoes. “Thank you for supporting us during this time,” Mama said.
“Of course, of course. We are so happy Alan can help,” said Auntie Li, waving her hand modestly to indicate that this was
nothing.
“Where is he?” Mama asked, looking around as though he might be hiding behind a corner somewhere.
“Still sleeping. He had an event last night, but he’ll be up soon. I thought he could use the extra sleep, since he’s driving
today.”
I lingered briefly while the adults pattered into the kitchen. I could smell tea brewing and pork buns heating in the steamer.
Against the wall, a big cabinet with clear glass doors sat across the way, and it was jam-packed with trophies and medals.
All from Alan for chess, tennis, and various other extracurricular activities. A floor-to-ceiling bookshelf featured a lot
of sci-fi and fantasy novels. The wall against the staircase was lined with photos of the family.
This house felt so lived in. The contrast of it to our house. It all seemed like a knife, further twisting in my belly. I turned away.
“Have some breakfast, Liang Liang,” Auntie Li called from the other room.
I went in. All the adults were assembled around the table watching me. They hadn’t sat down. I felt shy. I wasn’t sure if
I was supposed to take a seat or not, so I stayed standing.
“How is the adjustment to the new school?” Auntie Li asked.
“It’s fine,” I said automatically, picking up a bun from the table.
“Yes, I hope Alan is making a good introduction for you.”
“Mm.” I tried to be politely noncommittal. I couldn’t throw her son under the bus right in front of her. “I’m finding my way.”
“We are happy you’re here. Closer to friends is better,” said Auntie Li. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen you. We have
many things to catch up on.”
“Yes, yes,” Mama agreed readily.
“So much has happened,” Baba said.
Mama gave him a sharp look, her eyes widening with dismay.
I was chewing, and suddenly, I found it difficult to swallow. The discomfort around the table was immediate and palpable.
“We know it must be hard,” Uncle Zhao offered.
There was a painful silence. None of us seemed capable of looking at each other. I stared at the design on my plate. Delicate
pink flowers.
“We’re so sorry for your loss,” Auntie Li said. “We are always here for you, if you need it.”
This, I guessed, was what it would’ve been like to have a funeral for Sam. The endless condolences as we stood in a line.
Would it have been better? Instead, my parents had decided to cremate his remains and hold no memorial. Everything we did,
we did in private. It spared us the raw exposure to others and allowed us to hide our secret guilts.
Baba’s face looked like a jigsaw puzzle; the portrait of a man who had not figured out how to put himself back together yet.
It was Mama who laid her hand on his forearm. “We should go,” she said to our hosts. “Thank you so much for all of this.”
Baba seemed to shake himself back into place. “Go?”
“Yes,” she replied firmly. “We have to finish preparing our things. Our flight is in only a few hours. And we should get there
early to deal with the international terminal.”
A lie, but only I knew. Their flight was closer to evening. And they had already packed everything the night before.
She gave him a significant look. He seemed to understand.
“Stay,” Auntie Li said weakly. “There’s all this food.”
“You are too generous. You are already offering us so much help with our daughter. Please,” Mama said. “We will find another
time to stay longer.”
They were shuffling out, backing away, as they spoke, and it was clear that the escape was underway. We were powerless to
stop them. Me, most of all.
We moved out of the house in a slow retreat, a reluctant herd.
Until we were gathered by my parents’ car.
To my great shock, it was time to say goodbye.
It was happening too fast. They were leaving me alone.
My family would be all together on the other side of the ocean.
Everyone together, except for me. I was being horribly, horribly abandoned.
Baba opened his arms to me and pulled me close. He smelled like ginger and five spice. I suddenly felt quite afraid.
“Take me with you,” I whispered urgently. My voice quivered. “I want to hui jia. I want to see Nai Nai.”
He let go before I did. I thought I saw a glint of wetness in his eye. A glimmer of regret. He seemed to want to say something,
but nothing came out.
Mama cut in with her embrace next. It was short and efficient.
“You will be okay?” she asked. She phrased it as a question, but I could see that she was looking for reassurance. Her eyes
were searching, her face taut.
I looked back and forth between her and Baba. I was used to this now after Sam died. They wanted to know that I wasn’t going
to fall apart on them. That I could handle it all.
They needed to know.
Every time, I thought about telling them that I couldn’t actually do it. I thought about telling them that we were messed
up. I was messed up. None of us knew how to move forward without Sam. I wanted to tell them about my lingering guilt. The secret
I carried to Sam’s grave, up to now. But every time, I studied them and knew that if I opened a crack in the fortress we had
built around ourselves, we would crumble into nothing.
So, of course, I said what they wanted to hear. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” Fine rang strangely in my ear, such an odd word. I had said it so many times that it had lost all meaning.
Mama hugged me again, tighter this time. “Thank you,” she whispered into my ear. “You’re my brave girl. We’ll talk soon, when
we get to China. I promise.”
It occurred to me that I had the answer to my question I didn’t get around to asking. My parents didn’t want to do any college visits with me. They had taken the first possible excuse to leave.
Maybe it hurt too much to be reminded of before. Or it scared them to think of where I’d be going, after Sam never came back.
But I was scared too, and yet, it didn’t seem to matter.
I watched them pile into the car and wave from behind tinted windows.
They drove away without looking back.