by Helen Hoang
“Thanks for coming, everyone. Dad is so happy you could make it here to celebrate his eightieth birthday with him,” Priscilla says proudly.
People clap and crowd around him, and there’s a steady hum of conversation as everyone tries to get a family photo with him in it. I see my mom in the middle of the throng, dressed to the nines, makeup on, talking animatedly with guests, entirely in her element. This party, I realize, isn’t for my dad. He appears to have fallen asleep.
“Where did Priscilla go?” Julian asks.
I look around, and when I don’t see her, I say, “She’s probably getting ‘fresh air.’ ”
His mouth crinkles like he’s tasting something he doesn’t like. “I guess I’ll wait until she gets back, then.”
“Wait for what?”
He just smiles at me and shakes his head before sipping from his wineglass. “My mom said she spoke to you.”
I’m not sure what he’s talking about, but I nod. “It’s been really nice of her to visit so often.” That seems like the right thing to say.
He gives me a skeptical look before he takes a sip of his wine. “You told her you’d love to have her as a mother-in-law.”
A bad sensation settles over me. It feels like all the small lies that I’ve told to please people are catching up with me, and a moment of reckoning is coming. I’ll have to deal with everything eventually and make tough choices. But I can’t today. Not here and now, not while everyone is watching.
“I did. I like her a lot,” I say. My cheeks are tired from all the smiling I’ve done today, but I smile again for him.
“You know what that means, right?” he asks, reaching out to tuck my hair behind my ear.
I try my hardest not to flinch as the nerve endings in my scalp protest his touch. My smile stays in place, but my heart is beating so fast I’m light-headed. I can’t remember his question, but I know how I’m supposed to respond. “Yes.”
A wide smile breaks out across his face, and I know I’ve said the right thing. I’m relieved and terrified at the same time.
THIRTY-TWO
Quan
The street where Anna’s parents live is so crowded that I have to park a block away and walk. Someone is having a party.
Normally, I wouldn’t mind. I’d enjoy stretching out my legs and imagining people having a good time. But tonight, all I can think about is how badly I need to see Anna. I feel like shit, and there’s only one thing right now that can make this better. Her.
I need her in my arms. I need to breathe her in.
As I get close to her house, however, I see that the driveway is packed with cars. The party is here.
Two things occur to me at once: First, this must be her dad’s birthday party. Second, she didn’t invite me.
That definitely feels like a stab to the gut, but I tell myself it’s okay. I get it. I need to work harder at winning her family over. But how the hell am I supposed to do that if she doesn’t invite me to stuff like this? I should be in there buttering up the old folks, making golf dates with anyone who plays, and becoming best friends with her cousins. Most important, I should be at Anna’s side.
But I’m not. I’m out here while she’s in there.
I slow to a stop in front of her neighbor’s house and debate turning around and going home like a reject, but that’s when I hear her sister.
“Thanks for helping me get my dad into his chair, Faith.” There are trees and bushes in the way, so I can’t see her clearly, just a glimpse of her profile as she lifts a cigarette to her mouth. The smoke blows directly my way, and I suppress a cough.
“No problem,” replies Faith, who’s completely hidden from view. “It was easy with that Hoyer Lift device. I never saw one of those before today.”
“Easy, yeah, but you definitely need two people. I didn’t want to ask Anna. She’s been so airheaded lately that she might have dropped him,” Priscilla says, and there’s a bite in her tone that makes me stiffen. I have to clench my teeth together to keep myself from defending Anna.
“You’re so tough on her,” Faith says, and I want to hug her in gratitude.
“Maybe I am, but I expect a lot from people. You don’t think I’m tough on myself, too?” Priscilla asks.
“I know you’re toughest on yourself.”
Priscilla’s hand lifts, and the end of her cigarette flares ember red as she draws on it. A fresh cloud of smoke wafts my way. “I quit my job while I was in New York.”
“What? Why? I thought you loved your job.”
“I’ve been due for a promotion for three years, and they just gave it to this new guy who took over my projects while I’ve been here. I had to fly to New York to fix his problems, and they promoted him over me. Fuck them. I might sue.”
“That’s horrible,” Faith says. “I can’t even imagine that on top of everything else you’re going through. Have you ever thought of trying therapy?”
Priscilla laughs bitterly. “Yeah, right. Anna went to therapy and now she thinks she’s autistic. What a load of crap. Not for me, thanks.”
There’s a pause before Faith muses, “Anna might be autistic?”
Priscilla makes a scoffing sound. “No.”
“I don’t know. She was such a weird kid, so quiet. I don’t think she had a single friend when—”
“I’m not listening to this,” Priscilla says.
“Oh, come on, you don’t think—” Something drops and shatters into pieces on the sidewalk directly in my line of sight. “Crap.”
Instead of running away to avoid being seen—the hell with that—I step forward. “Need help with that?”
Priscilla and this Faith whom I’ve never met jump in surprise.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” I say.
“You must be Quan,” Faith says as a huge grin takes over her face. “I’ve been wanting to meet you. I’m Faith.” She steps toward me like she wants to shake hands, but glass crunches beneath her shoe.
“Nice to meet you,” I say as I come forward and crouch down to gather up the broken pieces of glass. The champagne flute is still mostly intact, so I put all the shards inside it. When I’m done, there’s nothing but a wet spot left from the champagne.
Priscilla takes it from me with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thanks, Quan. You must have come to see Anna.”
Before I can say yes and apologize for showing up uninvited, Faith grabs hold of my arm enthusiastically. “She’s out back. She’ll be so happy to see you. Come on, let me take you there.”
Priscilla looks like she wants to say something, but in the end, all she does is aim a nauseated-looking smile at me as Faith leads me around the side of the house, past the garbage bins, where Priscilla chucks the broken glass, and to the backyard.
I can hear the people before I see them, laughing, talking, coughing, screaming (there is one very pissed-off little kid here). When we round the corner, it takes me a second to process it all. It looks like they’re celebrating a wedding, not a birthday.
“Let’s see here. Where is she?” Faith says as she scans the crowd.
Someone says, “There’s Priscilla,” and soon her mom waves at her, summoning her toward a table on the far side of the tent where her dad is sitting in a wheelchair.
“I have to go. Feel free to eat and drink. The bar’s right there,” Priscilla says, pointing to a nearby corner where there’s a short line of people waiting for drinks before heading away.
I’m about to thank her when a loud clanging draws everyone’s attention to a good-looking guy who’s banging a fork against his wineglass. “Attention, please, everyone. Attention,” he calls out.
Anna is next to him. She’s wearing a simple black dress, and her long hair is down. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I step toward her just as the dude sets down h
is fork and takes her by the hand.
A friend of hers?
No, that guy’s body language doesn’t say “friend.” I don’t like that guy’s body language at all, not while he’s holding my girlfriend’s hand.
“First, I wanted to wish Xin Bobo a happy birthday,” he says as he lifts his wineglass toward Anna’s old man.
At the table with Priscilla and Anna’s dad, Anna’s mom pats her husband’s shoulder before smiling graciously and lifting her champagne flute.
“Zhu Xin Bobo shengri kuaile,” the guy says before drinking from his glass, along with everyone else in the tent. “Next, since everyone’s gathered here, I wanted to share some news with you all.”
I go completely still. My feet feel like they suddenly weigh a thousand pounds. This can’t be what it looks like.
“Who is that guy?” I ask Faith in a low whisper.
She looks at me with wide eyes and lifts her hand away from her mouth to say, “Julian.”
My heart stops beating as I stare at Anna’s face and try to read the situation. She’s smiling up at that piece of shit, hanging on his every word. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes sparkling. So fucking gorgeous.
“Anna and I are getting married,” Julian announces.
THIRTY-THREE
Anna
“We haven’t set a date or anything yet, but I think sooner is better than later so that the important people in our lives can attend. Isn’t that right, Anna?” Julian says.
For an inappropriate length of time, all I can do is gaze at him and smile. That’s the only outward reaction that feels acceptable when everyone is watching me.
Inside, I’m melting down.
He said we’re getting married. How is that possible? He never even proposed. If he had, I would have said no. I don’t love him. Right now, I might hate him.
Words pile up in my mouth, demanding to be spoken. Things like No, you misunderstood or We’re never getting married, and I’m not sorry.
But I see my mom press her hands to her chest as happy tears track down her face. Priscilla wipes her own tears away as she excitedly bends close to our dad’s ear, no doubt telling him about my upcoming nuptials. Julian’s mom smiles at me like this is the happiest moment of her life.
And I can’t do it. Not in front of an audience.
Later, I tell myself. I’ll do it later. When it’s quiet, when there aren’t people all around, when I’ve had time, when I’ve caught my breath, when my head doesn’t feel like it’s exploding.
I find my voice, and I say, “Yes.”
Applause breaks out, loud whistling. Silverware clinks against glasses, and Julian smiles at me, looking like I’ve given him the moon. As he leans down to kiss me, my peripheral vision catches sight of a familiar face.
Quan.
He’s here. He witnessed that. He looks like someone just tore his heart out.
Julian’s lips touch mine, and I freeze. I don’t kiss him back. I can’t.
What have I done?
He doesn’t seem to notice that I didn’t kiss him back as he pulls away and lifts his glass toward me.
“To us,” he says.
I clink my glass with his and tip my head back to drink. What else can I do now? I swallow even though the wine tastes like vinegar in my mouth.
When I’m done, my eyes immediately seek out Quan. But he’s gone.
Pure, undiluted panic shoots through me. I can’t let him leave like this. I have to explain. I have to make him understand.
“I’ll be right back,” I say to Julian, and I hurry around to the front of the house.
I don’t see him on the front lawn or the driveway, so I run to the sidewalk. It’s starting to get dark out, but I see him. He’s there, walking fast, walking away from me.
“Quan,” I call out as I chase after him.
Instead of turning around to face me, he walks faster. “I can’t do this right now, Anna.”
“It’s not what you think.”
He keeps walking, so I run after him. When I grab his hand, he yanks his arm away from me like I’ve burned him, and it feels like a smack in the face.
“Quan—”
He whips around abruptly. “I really can’t do this right now. I’m not—” He drags in a breath. Down at his sides, his hands curl into fists. “I’m not thinking straight. I don’t want to say things that—I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m not marrying him. I just couldn’t say it while everyone was watching. Plus, my mom and his mom want this so bad that I—I—I . . .”
“I was watching, too, and I saw my girlfriend tell her entire family that she was marrying someone else. Do you have any idea how that feels?” he asks.
“I know it was wrong of me. I really am sorry. I’m going to fix this,” I say, pleading with him. I’m not in control of my life. He has to know that.
“Then fix it now,” he says. “I’ll go in there with you, and you can make a new announcement. Tell them I’m the one you’re with. Me.”
I don’t know what to say. I can’t do what he’s asking. Everyone wants me and Julian to be together. If I’m going to go against their wishes, I have to find another way to do it, something quiet and clever. I’m still figuring it out, but I’m fairly sure it involves getting Julian to call it off. They can’t pressure me then. They can’t make me say yes.
“Or can you only be with me in the dark? Are you ashamed of me, Anna?” he asks in a rough voice.
“No.”
“Then why do you act like you are? Why can’t you speak up for me?”
My throat locks, and I shake my head ineffectually. How can he expect me to speak up for him when I can’t even speak up for myself? I’m not allowed to. Why can’t he see that?
When I don’t answer him, his features droop with disappointment. “This isn’t working. I can’t do it anymore.”
A jolt of adrenaline makes my heart squeeze, and my senses stand at red alert. “Do what?”
“Us. You’re breaking my heart, Anna.”
I can’t bear the sadness in his eyes, so I look down at my feet and do my best not to make a sound as my tears fall. I hate that I’m hurting the person I love. I hate that there’s nothing I can do about it. I hate how trapped I am in my life. There’s no winning for me. I’ll never be able to please everyone.
“I’m going to go,” he says.
Everything inside me rebels at his statement, and I bunch the fabric of my dress in my hands as I fight the urge to reach out and stop him. There’s an invisible barrier around him now, and I’m not allowed inside it.
“I don’t want you to go,” I say, and it feels like the words come from my very soul, they’re so true.
Instead of answering, he turns around and continues down the sidewalk to his motorcycle. Without looking back at me once, he puts on his helmet, climbs on, starts the engine, and drives away.
I watch him until he’s gone, and even then, I stare at the intersection where he turned and disappeared from view. That’s it. We’re over now. He’s broken up with me. I’m not ready for a future where I never see him again. Yes, I still have my family. But what do I have to look forward to now? Where is my safe place now?
He’s just a man. I shouldn’t feel so empty with him gone. But I know I’ve lost something important, something essential. Because I haven’t just lost him. I’ve also lost the person that I am when I’m with him—the person behind the mask.
I’ve lost me.
“Anna, are you out here?” I hear Faith call out behind me.
I can’t find it in me to move or tell her where I am. I don’t want to be found. It’s quiet out here, and I want to be alone.
But footsteps come my way, and soon she says, “Here you are. Are you okay?”
Feeling tired to the marrow of my bones
, I look at her over my shoulder and nod.
“Priscilla said it’s time for you to play,” she says hesitantly.
My throat is almost too swollen to speak, but I manage to say, “Okay.”
“You look so sad, Anna. Did something happen?”
I don’t have the energy to answer her question, so I shake my head and walk quietly to the house. As I’m opening the front door, I say, “Getting my violin.”
She flashes an uncertain smile at me and heads back to the party.
My feet feel impossibly heavy as I make my way up the stairs to my room, where my violin case is resting on the floor underneath a pile of dirty laundry. I kneel on the floor, brush everything off the instrument case, and after a small pause, open it. There’s my violin.
It’s not a Stradivarius and isn’t worth millions of dollars, but it’s mine. It’s good. I know its sound, the feel of it, the weight of it, even the smell. It’s a part of me. Running my fingers over the strings, I remember all the trials and triumphs that we’ve gone through together. Auditions, opening nights, my introduction to Max Richter’s recomposition of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, my obsession with his recomposition, the performance that put me on YouTube, the circular hell of the piece that I can’t finish . . .
It’s a shame I have to break this violin tonight.
But I don’t see that I have a choice. I can’t play. If I try, I’ll just humiliate myself in front of my harshest critics—my family. The mental problems that I’m facing aren’t worthy of their respect or even a cursory attempt at understanding. In their minds, I need to identify the problem, find a solution, and get on with it. It should be that easy.
So I’m doing that now, just not in the way they’d prefer.
I take my violin from its case, relishing the familiar way its curves fit into my hands, and I hug it. I’m sorry, my friend, I whisper in the safety of my mind. I’ll fix you afterward.
