nine #2
On the shore, we displayed the treasures we had gathered. He and I had opposite approaches. He was selective, wanting to save the most striking of finds, often emerging from our hunting sessions with only one or two feathers.
He showed me a long feather from the tail of a blue jay. Verdant turquoise with stripes of black. He had the fiery red feather
of a cardinal as well.
“Good day,” he pronounced.
I had many more feathers than him, but all of them were common brown duck feathers, some with a light spray of white spots,
some with irregular dark blotches on them.
“Nice,” he said, peering over at them.
For some reason, with his rare finds that day, I felt humbled by my modest batch.
Sensing my discomfort, he nudged my shoulder. “This is what I like about you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You find the smallest things beautiful. Bu guan shen me dan diao de dong xi, ni zong neng zhao dao yang guang. If only everyone
could be like that.”
He made me seem as rare as a jewel-colored feather in the wild. Even years later, I couldn’t forget his words. I tucked them
somewhere deep, where they could keep me warm.
No one had ever told me anything so kind.
The girl I once knew could always find sunlight , he had said.
The sensation of tears was too fierce. I was so lightheaded, I thought I might float away.
I breathed slowly, each drag of air bringing me closer to the ground again. I couldn’t trust him. Not for a child’s sentiment. But neither could I shake off my desire to forgive him and start over.
“Look,” he said, “I know you want to write me off. Maybe I would too if I were you. But I’m going to leave the door open.”
He paused, as though considering whether he wanted to share what he was about to say next. “I have a friend from high school
who’s in college at UCLA. He’s invited me out to a party at his frat tonight. I’m going to go. You should come. If you want
to get a real sense of the college experience, you’re not going to get it on one of these bland tours that say nothing.”
“Tonight,” I repeated, not entirely sure I understood. “When?”
He scratched the back of his neck. “We’d probably show up just before midnight?”
“I don’t think Uncle Wang and Auntie Chao would be down with that?” I was confused at this plan. “Did you ask them already?”
“No, obviously not. The plan would be that we’d sneak out.”
I stared at him. “That seems like a bad idea.”
“We’ll get back at two, three in the morning? Everyone will be asleep. We’ll take a house key. Nobody will notice. We can
let loose a little.”
He was supremely confident, as per usual. He couldn’t contemplate getting in trouble. He lived a charmed life.
I had a responsibility on this trip. It was to visit colleges, not tank my grades while I was out and not cause my parents to worry about me while they were gone.
“I think I’m going to stay in,” I said. “I have homework to keep up with this week. And I didn’t sleep well last night. I shouldn’t stay up again.”
“Okay, sure. No pressure,” he said easily, as though it didn’t matter to him either way, betrayed only by a small slump in
his shoulders. “Just let me know before you go to bed.”
My parents had landed in China. They messaged me on WeChat to let me know that they were boarding their connecting flight
to Xi’An and would call me once they were settled at Nai Nai’s apartment. It would be evening California local time.
After dinner with Uncle Wang and Auntie Chao, I bid everyone an early good night and retreated to my room. I booted up my
applications and read them again. I wrote two paragraphs of a personal essay, then deleted one. I tried to read Heart of Darkness , but I couldn’t concentrate. The language was dense and required unflagging focus, which I did not have.
I was jittery for some reason, as though I had drunk too much coffee earlier. It had been only thirty-six hours or so since
I’d last seen my parents, but I felt apprehensive talking to them, especially with Nai Nai there.
At exactly 11:00p.m., my phone lit up with a video call on WeChat, and I answered.
My mother’s face swam into view, slightly blurry, and an arm’s length away from the camera. “Hi,” she said.
As the resolution cleared, I could see Baba sitting slightly behind her. Baba’s sisters, my aunts, were there as well. And Nai Nai, at the head of the table.
My fingers curled in a tiny wave. “Hi, Mama. Hi, Gu Gu, Gu Ma.”
“My granddaughter is on camera!” Nai Nai demanded. “Let me see!”
Baba steadied her under her elbow. I swallowed hard, the guilt chewing away at me. It had been months and months since I’d
last called her. Her frailty pierced me.
Mama tilted the camera as Nai Nai approached. “Say hello,” she said to me. Her voice had a false brightness to it. Her smile
was strained.
Nai Nai’s hair had thinned and faded to a moon white. Her high, round cheeks had slackened, giving her a gaunt air. But she
was still my Nai Nai.
“Mei mei, ah,” she said. “You look beautiful. Prettier by the day. But thin. They’re not feeding you right in America. Come home next
week and I’ll make you all your favorites.”
“Ma,” Baba protested behind her. “You know you can’t exert yourself like that.”
She waved him off, clucking. “I can cook for one week. I’m stronger than you think. I know my body.” She winked at me.
I smiled back weakly. I thought I might burst. “I miss you,” I said.
“I miss you too, my sweet girl. And I miss your brother. He must be so busy at Harvard, and now you are all so far away from him. I hope he is not too lonely. I wish for you all to return to me soon. When your schooling is settled and you have time to see an old lady.”
I could hardly stand to look at the screen. I didn’t see my parents’ expressions. They were probably impassive, revealing
nothing. It was strength in some ways, hardness in others. One could admire it and hate it at the same time.
Baba was the one who took the lead on shielding her from my brother’s death. To him, it was a simple calculation. Nai Nai
was an old woman. She had given her years to caring for her grandchildren while her son toiled away in America to make a suitable
new life for his family. She could not know that her sacrifice had borne the bitterness of my brother’s death. The mantle
of sadness should be our burden to bear on her behalf. Many Chinese families would have done the same. We lived far away,
and as Sam and I had gotten older, we’d long since stopped regularly calling home, so it wasn’t too difficult a ruse to pull.
It was always me who was the problem. I had gotten used to hiding from my parents and showing them my false face. But I couldn’t
lie to Nai Nai. Unlike all the others in my life, she was the only person who never asked anything of me. It was enough that
I existed. She had known me as a guileless baby. She had sung me to sleep under the stars. She knew my truest heart.
The whole family thought of me as the weak link. I was sure this had something to do with why my parents wanted to supervise
our interactions as much as possible and keep me away as much as they could.
Little did they know, I could keep a secret better than anyone.
“Soon,” I said, my voice shaking.
“Of course, education comes first. You must focus on that and not on my ramblings. I know you are visiting colleges now and
finishing your applications. I will look forward to the good news.” She leaned back in her chair. “I am so fortunate. To have
all these successes through my grandchildren. Chen Wei going to the best university in the world. Xiao Xiao getting married.
And my Liang Liang growing up. To live to this age is a blessing. To experience hardship while young but rest easy while old.”
“You have so much fu qi, Ma,” Mama echoed Nai Nai’s sentiments. The pinched corners of her mouth—the only telltale sign of
her troubled inner thoughts. Perhaps she was thinking that about Nai Nai’s fortune, which had bypassed my own mother. Nai
Nai lost her husband young, but all three of her children surrounded her now. A luxury Mama would never have. “We wanted Liang
Liang to say hello, but it is late for her. She should go to bed to prepare for tomorrow.”
Although I wanted to stay on with Nai Nai, she bid me good night. Mama asked me to stay on for a moment and took me into another
room, where she closed the door before sinking onto the bed.
It was probably the jet lag, but I hadn’t seen her looking so exhausted since the month after Sam died. I expected her to
tell me about updates from the family or share about how she and Baba were feeling. Rather, she dove right into business.
“How was Caltech today?”
“Fine,” I said, disappointed in how tactical she was.
“Did you like it?”
“It was okay.”
“Only okay? It’s a very good school. You should take this seriously.”
“I am taking it seriously.” I was irritated at her line of questioning, but uncharacteristically, it was leaking out in my tone.
There was a considerable pause. “Good,” she said, softening.
The whole situation sat wrong on my shoulders. My mother’s focus on applications, feeling like a ridiculous overlay to the
secrets between me and my parents, us and Nai Nai. What kind of family was this, anyway?
I couldn’t begin to shape any of these thoughts into the right words to say out loud. They seemed to melt into nothing on
my tongue, like snow. I left all these things alone, churning in the darkness where they belonged.
“I don’t like that Nai Nai doesn’t know. It doesn’t seem right. She raised us,” I said quietly, the closest I’d ever gotten
to challenging her in all these months.
Mama’s lips pressed together tightly. I could tell I had annoyed her. She hated being reminded of the years we spent with
Nai Nai. “These are decisions for adults. Please do not concern yourself with them.”
“But, Mama—”
“It’s enough,” she snapped. Her face slackened. “You do not need to worry about this. We have it under control.” But it was
apparent that the reality was the opposite. She was busting at the seams. Something was rocking her composure.
“Forgive me,” she said. “We are tired from traveling, and you have had a long day too. We’ll schedule another time to talk more.” She gave me a long look. “Be well, my daughter.”
Before I could respond, she hung up.
My cheeks were hot. Our conversation left me sour and dissatisfied. I was startled at how angry I felt. I was accustomed to
my parents excluding me from decision-making, and I had never protested. Yet my insides coiled up as tight as a wire spring.
Inside, the house was quiet. On the other side of the bathroom, I heard light rustling. Alan was right. You could hear everything
through the doors. Sleep seemed further than a pilgrimage.
Outside, it was nighttime, the dark gray sky peeping through Jia Jia’s pale linen curtains. There was an entire world out
there, shaking itself awake and preparing for the stars. With chances to be taken and mistakes to be made.
I knew where I wanted to be.