by Gloria Chao
I placed the bottle of multivitamins at the front of the altar and whispered, “Eat your vitamins,” to Nainai one last time.
Clasping my hands in front, I stepped onto the raised platform. Then I stopped breathing.
It was Nǎinai but not. The cadaver’s skin sagged, signaling she was gone. The makeup was caked on, but instead of hiding the lack of life, it drew more attention to it. A tear trailed off my chin onto her cheek.
“Nǎinai,” I whispered, so softly I could barely hear myself. “I’m so sorry.”
My words caught in my throat. I lifted a shaky palm but pulled back before it left my side. We rarely touched before, and now it was too late. The body before me wasn’t her anymore.
“I wish it didn’t end like this. I wish you could hear me right now. I wish you could’ve seen me for who I was—a loving daughter and granddaughter who just wanted to be heard. Wanted to be happy. I wish you could’ve understood, but we’re from two different worlds. Good-bye, Nǎinai. Rest in peace.”
Footsteps. Behind me.
I whirled around. The sight of my mother made the lump in my throat swell. I longed to go to her, but she felt like a stranger.
I held her gaze and she stared back, the moment stretching. My breath blew out hot in the silence.
“You have to go,” she said finally, her face tight with worry. “He’ll know I told you. About the funeral. I wasn’t supposed to.”
That was it? I shook my head in disappointment. “Nǎinai’s gone, you have no children, and that’s the first thing you think of ? You know, I used to think that one day you’d learn to stand up for yourself. Then, when I realized you wouldn’t, I thought—hoped—maybe you’d at least stand up for me. Or Xing. But I’ve finally accepted that it will never happen. Bǎbá is all you have now. And Yilong. I hope you’re happy with the people you’ve chosen.”
More footsteps, heavy and angry this time. My mother’s eyes widened in fear. I didn’t need to turn around to know that I should brace myself for—
“Get out!” Yilong screamed. “You’re not allowed here! You murdered her!”
My father’s face twisted into a deep scowl—brows furrowed, eyes narrowed, and jaw tensed. I glanced at my mother, hoping she had internalized my words, but she merely opened her mouth, no sounds coming out.
Three deep breaths. I concentrated on my chest rising and falling, imagining my lungs filling and emptying of air. I had to calm down before I said something I could never take back.
Yilong grabbed my arm and yanked, causing me to stumble over the step. I fell, catching myself on Nǎinai’s walker.
“Don’t touch that!” Yilong screeched.
I let go, not because she had ordered me to, but because touching the walker felt like touching Nǎinai’s ghost.
I turned to my parents. “Isn’t Nǎinai’s death enough? Can’t we compromise now? I’ll never be able to make up with her—don’t you want better for us?”
My father’s voice was more gravelly than usual. “This isn’t a negotiation. If you want to make up, you know what it takes.”
Air rushed in through my mouth, scratching my sandpaper throat. I said nothing.
He turned his back to me. “Leave. I don’t want you here. Nǎinai doesn’t want you here.”
Something snapped inside me. I found my voice, and I spoke clearly while staring straight into my father’s eyes. “Can’t you see a piece of me dies every time I ignore what I want and just do what you say? I wish you could accept me the way I am.”
In a gust of wind, Xing and Esther walked through the door.
I shouldn’t have been surprised—I was the one who had told them where and when the funeral was—but I had hoped they would disappear into the crowd like I had, not show up at the worst possible moment.
“Get out! Gun!” Yilong yelled. “How dare you bring Nǎinai’s murderer here to rub her dead nose in!”
Xing remained calm, but his eye twitched—a flash of anger I knew to look for. “I want to say good-bye to Nǎinai.”
Yilong turned in a semicircle, pointing first at Xing, then Esther, then me. “None of you belong here. You’re not family.” She clenched her fists, then took a step toward Esther. “This is all your fault!”
Esther instinctively covered her belly with her hand. It was only a second before her arm dropped back to her side, but I noticed. So did my mother, whose eyes were so wide they were about to pop out of their sockets.
Xing’s gaze met my mother’s, and unspoken understanding flickered between them. Joy filled her face, completely out of place in the dim funeral home.
My mother turned to Esther and spoke to her for the first time. Like she was human. “Are you pregnant?”
Even the crickets didn’t chirp. They left the room as fast as they could to avoid the inevitable Lu-suvius eruption.
Suddenly, Esther’s billowy wedding dress, the loose qípáo, Xing’s comment about how his salary was more important now than ever . . . it all made sense.
Xing stepped between Esther and my parents. “None of you will be in his life. You made damn sure of that.”
“His life?” My father’s eyes were glued to the baby bump. “How is this possible? You said she couldn’t get pregnant.”
Xing shook his head. “I never said that. I just said she may have some trouble.”
I threw my hands in the air. “So is this all over now? She’s pregnant. Your one objection is moot. And it’s even a boy. The Lu family line will indeed carry on.”
My father turned away. “Xing still disobeyed us.”
“So did I. I guess that’s it for us, then. No redemption.” I turned to my mother, my last hope. Her eyes were downcast, shoulders slumped.
My voice dropped to a whisper. “Look at all of you, pushing away every relative you have for no good reason. Maybe I should ask myself if I even want to be a part of a family like this. I’m open to reconciliation if we can learn to talk like adults, but until then I’m going to stop trying so hard. Let me know when you’re ready to have a real, open conversation.”
Xing glanced at Esther. “We’ve discussed it and we’re open to reconciliation as well if you apologize.”
I held my breath. He’d finally done it. He’d made the first step. My father had to acknowledge that, be moved enough to take a step forward too, right?
But he just folded his arms across his chest and shook his head.
Xing shrugged as if they were discussing where to have lunch. “Then we’re done here too.”
“This is so ironic,” I said, some spit flying out. “Bǎbá, you disown Xing for disobeying you, not providing grandchildren—which isn’t even true anymore—yet that’s what you’ve done too, since according to you, you have no kids. How can you stand in front of Nǎinai like this? You failed.”
My father’s tears proved I had struck his Achilles’ heel. The rare sight filled me with guilt, but I couldn’t back down now. I fled, Xing and Esther close behind.
We crammed onto a park bench, Esther in the middle. It was silent for some time as we processed.
“Do you think they’ll ever come around?” I asked quietly.
“I don’t care.” Xing’s words sent chills down my spine.
Voicemail from my mother
Mei? I, um . . .
CHAPTER 24
AFFAIR
AFTER MY 5.111 LECTURE, I walked home along the Charles, wondering why I didn’t take Memorial Drive more often. The air was nippy but also invigorating, much fresher than the stale Infinite Corridor air breathed in and out by so many passing students. Every fifty feet sat a bench, clones of the one I had shared with Darren. Each of them sent both a thrill and a pang through me.
My phone rang exactly five minutes after the end of class. Only one person knew my schedule that well.
My mother’s picture filled the screen. God, that moment felt like a lifetime ago. Before picking up, I paused to take
in the bright pink MIT MOM shirt and the hint of pride at the edge of her eyes.
The line was silent, and I stilled, exhaling only when I heard my mother’s sharp intake of breath—an indication the call was intended, not a butt dial.
Her voice was choppy. “Can we meet? At Bertucci’s?” The Italian restaurant marked the farthest she was willing to drive herself.
I nodded, then realized (duh) she couldn’t see me. “Okay.” I hung up first so she wouldn’t hear the tremors in my voice.
I arrived first and waited outside, rocking back and forth on my heels atop the brick sidewalk. I crossed my arms, worried I looked too aggressive, then forced them down by my sides.
My mother’s sea-green minivan pulled up, identifiable by its two dents, one on each bumper. She didn’t notice me on account of her laser focus on the road. The front seat—or death seat, as she called it—was piled so high with Chinese newspapers I could see them from where I was standing.
She pulled the van across three parking spaces, braking every few feet so the car appeared to be breakdancing (more accurately, brake-dancing, heh . . . at least I crack myself up). Aware of her poor parking job, she readjusted but ended up in the same position as before. Drive-reverse-drive-reverse. Eventually, she managed to straddle just two spaces.
The familiarity of it all made me hug her when she got close enough. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but when she patted my back with a cupped hand, I realized I had been expecting nothing. Maybe even rejection. Encouraged, I reached an arm out to put around her shoulder, but she ducked under and maintained a few feet between us as we walked.
Inside, my mother scoured the restaurant like a spy. An incompetent, nearsighted spy too vain to wear glasses.
I grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the unsuspecting patrons. “What’s wrong with you?”
She clucked her tongue. “If you had done this when you went to dim sum with Xing, Bǎbá and I would’ve never found out. Use your head!”
“I doubt any of your friends are here.”
“Still . . .” She asked the hostess for a booth in the back corner, beside the bathrooms.
We settled in, my mother sitting with her back to the entrance as an extra precaution. Then she handed me her cell phone.
“Can you erase my call to you in case Bǎbá looks? Now I just have to practice my story for what I did today. Or erase the tire tracks from the lawn.”
“Or not drive over the lawn when you’re backing out of the driveway.”
She ignored me. “I don’t even know what he would do if he knew I was here.” She shuddered, and pity surged through me.
“But I’m your daughter too. You should get to decide for yourself whether or not you want a relationship with me, regardless of what he thinks.”
She shook her head. I couldn’t tell if it was because she couldn’t comprehend what I was saying, or because she did want to make her own decisions but didn’t know how to get there.
“Whether we have a relationship is up to you, Mei. Not me. We’re disowning you to get you back on track. You cannot become Ying-Na. Not just for my sake but yours. That’s no life to live.”
“You don’t even know what Ying-Na is doing. Everything you hear is a rumor. For all you know, she could be a neurosurgeon married to a billionaire tech god.” Or maybe she’s struggling but happy. I kept this thought to myself since my mother wouldn’t understand the value of that life.
My all-knowing mǔqīn shook her head confidently. “No. I’m sure Ying-Na’s still taking off her clothes for money. I just heard it from Mrs. Ahn yesterday. That’s your future unless you come to your senses. Just try biology. Meet Eugene. Stop seeing Xing. How will you pay for college, food, a place to live? You need us.”
I made a mental note to find Ying-Na, not just to prove my mother wrong, but also to get a glimpse of what post-disownment life was like. If she had survived, maybe I would too.
“You’re trying to use money to control me. Forcing me to do what you want with threats isn’t healthy. Can’t we talk? Don’t you want to know how I feel?”
“That’s why I’m here.” She fanned her flushed cheeks. “But I feel like I’m having an affair. This is so stressful. How does anyone else do this?”
I dug my nails into my palms. I closed my eyes, and when I spoke, my voice was serrated. “You feel like seeing me, your own daughter, is the same as cheating on your husband? This is so messed up. All of this. Your relationship with Bǎbá needs to change. You don’t have to do everything he says. How do you feel when he orders you around? Don’t you want to stand up for yourself ?” I mimicked my father’s booming voice, supposedly made deep from all the raw eggs he was forced to swallow growing up. “Old woman, fetch me my tea. Cook ten dishes for me to eat the second I come home, not too cold and not too hot.”
My mother winced, her shoulders slumping so much her spine curved. “It’s my place. That’s how it is.”
“Just because you were born with one more X chromosome than him?”
“When the daughter marries, she joins the male’s family. She becomes theirs.” Her monotone voice made her sound like a Stepford wife.
I shuddered. “People aren’t property, not anymore. Are you expecting to pay a dowry when I get married?”
“Yes. Because your husband will be accepting the responsibility of having you.”
“Because I’m such a burden.”
“You will be if you’re jobless and broke!” Cluck. “You’re too young to understand all this.”
I shook my head. “No, you’re the naive one. You’re in denial about your relationship. Bǎbá should treat you better—appreciate you, be nicer.”
“He is nice to me! He’s changed! Now after he yells at me, he tells me he’s sorry.”
I raised an eyebrow. “He says the word ‘sorry’?”
“Well, no, but he shows me. He ends the silent treatment, then says something sweet, like how I’m not as bad of a cook as I used to be.”
“That’s not sweet.”
“How would you know? You’ve never had a boyfriend.”
I clenched my teeth, forcing my secret—Darren, or whatever we were right now, anyway—back inside. We needed to step back and reboot. Lu-suvius was bubbling ominously, and I didn’t want to boil over before we could actually talk about anything substantial.
In the ensuing silence, the waiter approached.
“She’ll have a side salad, extra vegetables,” my mother ordered for me.
I slammed my menu shut. “I’d like a Coke and the meat lover’s pizza, extra cheese.” Meat lover’s didn’t even sound good to me, but it was the unhealthiest option I could think of.
My mother whipped out her credit card. “I’m paying. If you want a tip, she’ll have water and the side salad.”
“If you want to support freedom, Coke and pizza. I have money too.” I pulled out my wallet. He didn’t have to know there was only a five-dollar bill in there.
The poor waiter took a step back, looked between the two of us, then rushed off with a mumbled excuse, not even returning to bring bread—he sent someone else. I snatched a roll and dodged my mother’s hand swat in one swift motion.
Cluck, cluck. How I hated that tongue.
“I risk everything to come see you, and you act like this? Have you not learned your lesson? Maybe I should leave.”
“I’m just hungry. And it’s not like I’m a fugitive. I’m your daughter.”
“To Bǎbá, you’re nobody. He changed our will. Yilong will get everything now.”
The words brought tears to my eyes, but I blinked rapidly, refusing to let her see. “You have no kids left. What does that tell you about your parenting style? You raised us. If we’re so terrible, aren’t you to blame?”
My mother clutched her chest, signaling that I had hit the nail square on the head, straight into her heart.
I continued, hoping to break through before the opening closed again. “Xing and Esther are happy. Are you r
eally going to be absent from your grandson’s life because of something so outdated? They’re married. It’s done. Not to mention, you don’t believe in divorces. And she’s even giving you the grandson you wanted so bad! Isn’t it time to move on? I don’t think you even feel that strongly about all this. I think it’s more Bǎbá.”
I talked slower, wanting my words to sink in. “Mǎmá, ask yourself what you want. Bǎbá’s way isn’t the only option. You could have a say, and you should. You should get to decide your own opinions, your own actions.”
My mother’s face contorted as if she were tasting a lemon. Before, I would have backpedaled, pulled out the Mandarin to wipe the disapproval away, but now I merely sighed, then looked at her with empathy. “You need time, and that’s okay. I’ll be here when you’re ready. I just hope we’ll be on the same page someday. Think about what I said. There isn’t just one way to parent, one way to live. We all have options. You have options.”
She shook her head as if shaking my ideas out. “There are no other options. Not with Bǎbá. There’s just his way. Please, Mei, it’s up to you now. Do what he wants so we can be a family again. He only wants the best for you. Win-win, right?”
“I believe he wants the best for me, but he doesn’t know me well enough to know what that is.”
My mother was silent. When her phone rang, she jumped, spilling the winter gear beside her onto the gross, sticky floor. “It has to be Bǎbá. No one else calls my cell phone. I have to get back. He doesn’t want me here.”
“When will it be what you want?”
Her muscles stiffened only for a second, but she heard me.
Latest on Ying-Na through the grapevine
Ying-Na had sex once and got herpes. Now she can’t nab a rich husband to support her.
Even Ying-Na’s jobless boyfriend who majored in art history dumped her because her eggs are getting old.
