My Summer of Love and Misfortune

by Lindsay Wong

  “Tell you later!” I say, smooching him on the cheek.

  Before he can react, I race off and leave him with the tray of crispy leftover bugs.

  * * *

  Scanning the bustling street, I try to hail a taxi, but then I see the same old skinny dude, who grins and insists on giving me a ride on the rickshaw for free.

  He wheezes asthmatically, and I feel so scared that his job is going to end his life.

  “Do you need a break?” I yell as he pedals, but he doesn’t understand English.

  We finally stop at the Red Mandarin Hotel outside a Western-looking neighborhood called Sanlitun. I still insist on giving him a small pile of yuan, since he seemed to have risked his health to help me. Outside the hotel, I buy a bouquet of fresh-cut daisies and purple rhododendrons for my grandmother.

  Pretending that I am a guest in the hotel, I take the key card and ride the elevator to room 33245. It’s on the thirty-third floor. I knock firmly but there’s no answer. I try the key, and the door clicks open, and I’m suddenly inside a large luxury suite with classical Chinese paintings and fine gold furnishings. It looks very fancy, even more upscale and modern than our penthouse in the Shangri-La.

  “Hello?” I say. “Grandma?”

  “Nǐ hǎo, nǐ hǎo ma?” I decide to add, in case she doesn’t respond to English. What if she thinks I’m a foreign thief? I keep chorusing the greeting for a good full minute, and then I think she might actually be hard of hearing. I knock loudly on each door of the suite and then enter the room when no one responds. As I fling open each door (three bedrooms, two point five bathrooms), I call out “Nǐ hǎo, nǐ hǎo ma,” which is the only Chinese I can remember.

  But no one is home.

  I didn’t expect the penthouse suite to be empty. I had a vision of me giving my grandmother the flowers and embracing her. I just imagined old people stayed home all day. For some reason, I thought she would be sitting on a couch, knitting a scarf, and maybe enjoying a cup of oolong tea. What else would she do?

  Where would an old person go?

  I wait.

  I check my phone for English-Mandarin phrases that I can quickly learn. “Sorry, I don’t understand,” bù hǎo yì si, wǒ tīng bù dǒng, could be a very useful phrase, and so could “Wait a moment,” děng yī xià, when I’m googling the English translations. I practice each one at least one hundred times. Due to the extreme stress of learning, I eventually fall asleep on the couch. My eyes are slowly lulled to sleep by a language that I should know, and one that I’m hopefully improving in.

  Someone yelps in surprise.

  I jolt awake.

  It takes me a while to remember where I am.

  “Grandma! Grandma! It’s me, Weijun!” I say, still groggy. “I’m your granddaughter!”

  I force myself to open my eyes.

  But it’s just a hotel maid carrying groceries. Stunned, she drops the bag and milk leaks from a plastic carton. Apologizing in half-Chinese, half-English, she immediately grabs a towel and begins wiping the floor. But there is a well-dressed and good-looking elderly couple trailing slowly behind her. The man is skeleton-thin and carrying a walking stick. He leans on the elderly lady for support.

  In case they don’t remember me, I say, “Nǐ hǎo, nǐ hǎo ma,” in a loud, extra-friendly tone so they will not feel threatened by an intruder in their home.

  “Weijun!” my grandmother gasps. Then she starts speaking to me in rapid Chinese. Of course, I don’t understand anything.

  “Bù hǎo yì si, wǒ méi tīng dǒng.” I recall the phrase from Google and shock myself by saying it in the most perfect Mandarin I have ever spoken in my entire life. Sorry, I don’t understand.

  I don’t know what else to do, except run to hug my grandmother, and she slowly wraps her tiny arms around me. She’s half my size, and I’m already a petite person. Sobbing like two lost howler monkeys, we sink slowly into the couch together.

  The thin old man looks startled, but as soon as he hears my name, he immediately bursts into tears. He looks exactly like my father, but so much older. He actually looks like me. We have the same sharp angular features and half-moon eyelids. My grandpa, face slowly turning white like a steamed pork bun, eventually collapses beside me on the couch.

  When I look at my grandparents, my eyes won’t stop watering, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m sad or because it’s the air pollution.

  I literally don’t have the language ability to explain myself.

  That’s when I know exactly what to do.

  Even though I know that I will be breaking all the rules and there will be extreme anger, chaos, and consequences for me.

  Nervously, I video-call my parents on WeChat. I just need real answers, and they’re the only two people who can help with this emergency translation issue. Even though I know that my actions will make my dad extremely upset. Even though I know that he might never forgive me.

  When they don’t pick up after the sixth ring, I send them an urgent message.

  WECHAT GROUP (#1WangFamily!!!)

  Iris: PICK UP the phone.

  Iris: Please pick up.

  Iris: I need to talk to you!!!!

  Iris: I KNOW GRANDMA AND GRANDPA ARE ALIVE!!!!!!!!!

  After eight more tries, my mom and dad finally answer.

  My parents sound utterly terrified and confused. Their anxious faces pop up on the screen and they are both wearing pajamas. My dad is wearing a green nighttime moisturizing mask and my mom is wearing a pink negligee and curlers. I realize they must have been sleeping. What time is it in New Jersey, anyway?

  “What is going on?” my dad yells.

  “Iris, why couldn’t this wait until morning?” my mom says.

  “Who told you that my parents were alive?” my dad asks. “I specifically asked your uncle not to mention it!”

  “Go back to bed!” my mom exclaims.

  “No,” I say, crossing my arms. “A lot has been going on. I need to talk to you.”

  “How dare you disobey a direct order?” my dad says, sounding deeply upset.

  I want to cry with happiness at seeing their familiar faces, but at the same time, I’m also so furious at them.

  “First, you sent me away!” I accuse them, practically sobbing with shaky resentment and rage. “Second, you lie to me about my family, and then third, you LIE to me about Grandma and Grandpa being dead. Why would you tell me about Uncle Dai and not my grandparents? Don’t you care that I’ve been missing two members of my family my entire life?”

  Even though I’m extremely emotional and upset, I also just want to hug my shocked-looking parents through the iPhone screen. I can confront them again later about shipping me away, but it’s more important to know why my grandparents seem to be the biggest secret that I’ve unlocked in Beijing.

  “We did it to help you!” my dad retorts. “Everything we do is for you!”

  Suddenly, my dad sees the older people behind me, leaning anxiously into the phone’s screen. His eyes bulge, and for a second, I think I see a billion different emotions flash in them at once. It’s like watching a television series in a foreign language. Honestly, it’s hard to tell with his green nighttime face mask on. He blinks and rubs his eyes. He can’t even speak. I’m sure that he notices the facial similarities between us three.

  My grandpa, Dad, and I could be the same person, minus my long wavy hair. I can tell where I got most of my above-average looks from. It’s certainly not from my mom’s side of the family.

  My dad can’t speak.

  Finally, the older man, my grandfather, starts speaking. Begging, really.

  Silence.

  The funeral kind.

  To my utmost horror, my dad shouts in extreme anger, “WHAT IS THIS? IRIS!!! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!!!”

  My mom starts pleading. “Jeff! Jeff! Listen to me!!!!”

  My dad is making furious whimpering sounds. He sounds like an injured raccoon.

  Unexpectedly, my dad hangs up on me.
>
  I stare at my phone, shocked and confused.

  My dad has never hung up on me before.

  Both my grandparents react by crying loudly. In response, I start crying and hyperventilating too. I don’t know exactly what happened. Why would this reunion cause such a horrible soul-crushing reaction? Yes, my dad lied to me about their existence, so shouldn’t I be the one yelling and screaming at him? But what life-altering thing could have happened between my dad and his parents to make him lie about their existence?

  Uncle Dai keeps talking about the importance of family, and Frank keeps emphasizing ancestors and culture and belonging. Both of them have taught me that family has no price tag, like a Ming vase from the fifth century. If you look at all of us trying to keep our shit together, family is not fun, cheap, or flimsy.

  My grandmother hugs me and we start wailing and breathing loudly together. My grandfather joins in. We sound like asthmatic basset hounds. I certainly know that we are related based on our amount of caninelike distress. We’re having the exact same emotional reaction.

  Moments later, my mom calls back.

  At first, I think she’s going to apologize and explain my dad’s irrational behavior. But she starts scolding me. “Iris, what game are you playing at? It’s four in the morning and we thought it was an emergency. You call us and I’m in my … pajamas!”

  I notice that she’s put on a housecoat and taken her curlers out. Did she put on concealer? She must be embarrassed about the dark circles under her eyes.

  “Explain to me RIGHT NOW why Grandma and Grandpa aren’t dead!” I say between furious-scared-demanding tears. “I just found out that the people who are supposed to be dead are actually living in a seven-star hotel. What’s going on? How can you keep lying to me?!”

  I’m practically a Level 10 Audio Earthquake. I rage. I can’t stop shaking with pop-eyed indignation.

  “You have to call us in the middle of the night for this?”

  She’s right.

  I completely forgot about the time difference. Is Beijing thirteen hours behind or ahead of New Jersey? I can’t remember these trivial details about international time travel.

  “This is a family emergency,” I sniffle.

  My mother sighs. “Let me talk to your grandparents.”

  Reluctantly, I hand my phone to my grandmother and grandfather, who exchange rapid no-nonsense-sounding words with my mother. I have no idea what’s being said. All I know is that they both don’t understand how the phone works, or else my mom’s Chinese is cringingly shitty, because my grandmother is yelling and speaking slowly and pantomiming. She looks frustrated. Like how Frank is always trying to explain how to speak Chinese to me during our lessons. It gets worse when my grandfather tries to talk over them. It’s an epic shouting match of Chinese karaoke. Everyone is fighting to speak into the phone’s tiny microphone.

  My mom looks seriously annoyed.

  Then my grandmother finally gives me back the phone.

  My mom’s expression looks resigned but exhausted.

  She pauses, like she doesn’t know exactly what to say. Like she’s wondering whether to give me the big-girl version or the happy-go-lucky kiddie version of what happens to us when we die.

  Finally, she says, “Iris, your father and grandfather fought many years ago because your grandfather did several questionable things, such as having multiple affairs. When he was younger, he was a very good-looking man who loved beautiful women and men and cheated all the time on your grandmother. He really hurt your grandma. He was never home and your father had to take care of his mother.

  “One day, he had a scandalous affair with Uncle Dai’s mother, who was the daughter of a local shopkeeper, and she got pregnant. Your grandparents don’t want me to tell you more, but I think you should know. They think you’re fragile and can’t handle PG-13-rated stuff.”

  “Go on,” I say, nodding.

  I feel very grown-up having this conversation. My grandfather, the former cheater, hobbles to the kitchen and brings back a plate of buttery almond cookies and honey-drizzled cakes. I grab both snacks and chew in what I think is a very thoughtful, refined manner.

  “Because of China’s very conservative attitude after the Cultural Revolution, your grandfather had to send your uncle to a small village to live with a distant relation to avoid bringing shame to everyone involved. When your dad found out about the affair and his half brother, he refused to speak to your grandpa and cursed him. He was sick of your grandfather’s harmful behavior and he was tired of protecting your grandma. When your grandma decided to forgive your grandpa for the affair, your dad swore he would never speak to his parents again. He was furious. All these years, he has been pretending that your grandparents are dead because he can’t forgive his father for never being a father to him. He didn’t even want you to ever meet such a selfish man who never thought about his own wife and son.”

  “Are you serious?” I say. “Dad’s been holding a lifelong grudge? That’s not very Goatlike.”

  My mom purses her lips.

  “Your grandma has forgiven your grandpa, but your father hasn’t. She’s accepted Uncle Dai and Ruby as her own. Your father is still very, very hurt and doesn’t want anything to do with his parents. When the private detective and lawyer that Uncle Dai hired finally found us in New Jersey, your dad was reluctant at first, but he really wants to have a brother. And then he learned that Uncle Dai has a family, and he wants you to have a cousin. Now that your dad has had a lot of time to think about it, he knows that Uncle Dai is not to blame for your grandfather’s behavior.”

  “Didn’t he know that I would find out about Grandma and Grandpa?” I ask.

  “He didn’t think you would ever find out. Their side of the family is usually very good at secret-keeping. But you NEVER meeting your grandparents was a condition that Uncle Dai agreed on. He didn’t want to hide it from you, but felt it was best to honor his older brother’s wishes. Your grandpa just really wants your dad back in his life and asked your grandma to intervene.”

  “Is Dad my real father?” I suddenly ask.

  This seems like the right time to finally know, since it’s like we’re showing each other before-and-after photos at a sleepover. Like we’re confessing what we used to look like before contacts, braces, and makeup.

  “What are you talking about?” my mom says. “Of course he’s your dad. I would know.”

  “Are you sure you’re my real mom?” I ask, crunching on another cookie.

  “What?” she says.

  “Am I adopted?” I ask.

  “Where is this coming from?” she says, sounding annoyed.

  “Is Uncle Dai my real dad, because I kind of look like him? Is there even a possibility at all that I was kidnapped at birth?”

  “Why are you still talking nonsense?” my mom says.

  After we finish our chat, my mom tells me not to call her again in the middle of the night unless I’m in the hospital.

  “And tell Iris not to drink or do drugs!” My dad’s voice suddenly appears from the background. “Tell her that Chinese drugs aren’t FDA approved!”

  Has he been listening to our conversation the whole time?

  I should be angrier at him. First, for lying about my uncle, aunt, and cousin, then my grandparents. He lied about five entire people not existing! I’m also pissed at him for not wanting to explain himself when I called him. As my parent, shouldn’t he be taking responsibility for lying multiple times and sending me away?

  But also, I understand that the truth is really shitty, and sometimes it’s easier just to leave it behind or send it away.

  “Jeff, you tell her yourself,” my mother replies. “I’m going to sleep for an hour before I have to get up for work.”

  “Iris, don’t drink or do drugs!” he shouts.

  “Too late,” I yell back.

  Quickly, I disconnect before they can ask me more questions. I can’t believe that my father never talked to his parents again aft
er immigrating to America. I can’t believe that he’s still furious at his father for having an affair. Is this what Ruby meant when she said that my father abandoned his family for the United States? That he never bothered to look for his baby half brother and left Beijing as soon as he could get approved for an international student visa?

  The more I learn about my family’s secrets, especially my dad’s, the more I think that I should be designated as the mature, responsible, levelheaded adult in the Wang family. I’m the only person that I know of who isn’t hiding a long-lost sibling or pretending that a misbehaving parent is dead.

  Before I leave the Red Mandarin Hotel, my grandparents hug me tightly. They’ve been watching our conversation with looks of sorrow and shock on their faces. Poor Grandpa is literally shaking like a washing machine. Will his heart be okay? He must be a flower-heart like me. I don’t know enough Chinese to ask him about cardiac arrest, and I wish I knew how to phrase it properly. He looks genuinely sorry for the past.

  And yet, I don’t know what to think, because he hurt my dad really badly. My grandmother has obviously forgiven him and so has Uncle Dai after being given away for adoption. But I can only imagine the messy family drama, the imploding anger, the perpetual lies, and all the manipulation. I’m already feeling so wounded by my parents for sending me to Beijing, so I can’t imagine how Uncle Dai felt growing up alone in the countryside without his family. I can also see why my dad dislikes and mistrusts his own father for his selfish weakness.

  Admittedly, maybe I’m more like my grandfather than anyone else in the family.

  Flower-hearts cannot control their impulses.

  Even though my grandparents don’t understand a word of English, they must know that my father is terribly upset at them. Because when I hug them back for the third time, my grandparents start crying loudly again. As soon as one of them starts sobbing, I can’t help but cry harder. Even though our family is a real mess and I’m 95 percent probably not-royalty, I might be okay because I have people who love me. Maybe that’s what family is. A safety net of highly flawed and imperfect individuals to catch you and hold on to you when you fall off a cliff.