"Or the first time Jin sent you a message saying he loved you? I was there on vacation, and instead of cherishing the moment, you started laughing hysterically."
"So what? I’m a socially inept jerk. What’s your point?"
"My point is, Kandice, I've been in love. I've seen people in love. I know what it looks like, and you and Jin are not, were not, and never have been in love."
"Please,” I said. “Not everyone has to look or act like Romeo and Juliet, okay? Just because you fall in love every other minute, doesn't mean—"
"I've fallen in love a total of three times in my life, thank you very much." Jen paused, then, doing the math, conceded, "Okay, so maybe some people in the world are more love-prone than others, but still. That doesn't mean that those who aren’t love-prone should settle down with people they don’t love."
"Can you just shut it for a second while I tell you what I think has happened to him?” I replied. “It's been reported in the newspaper that he’s missing. Jin's parents are distraught. I tried going to the police, but they just laughed me off."
A long silence.
"God. Kandice, I... I’m sorry."
"It's okay," I said. "I mean, I am worried sick, but... Well, actually, there is this last text he sent me. He just sent 'Be careful.'"
"Oh?" Jen said, her tone unreadable.
"Yeah, as if I needed any more reason to freak out right now."
"Damn, girl," Jen said, then sighed. "God, I wish I was there with you right now."
"What? No, you don't! Besides, you just got that new, awesome job—"
"No, it's not fine," Jen retorted. "You've just lost your job, your boyfriend, and any chance of being employed! You need me!"
I winced at the mention of never working again. "Do you really think this won't blow over?" I asked tentatively.
"Uh, well, you did try and expose one of the most loved political philanthropists in Shanghai, which means that you should probably come back to the U.S. You can crash at my place!" She shrieked the final part, her excitement immediate, overshadowing the danger over the thought she didn’t finish. "We can live happily ever after!"
"I can't just abandon Jin," I argued.
"Kandice," Jen said, her tone becoming exasperated. "When you were researching this big story, didn't Jin try and break up with you?"
I winced again. "We made up the next day," I said defensively. "He didn't mean it. He was just stressed."
"Sure, yeah. Sure," Jen said. "Look, hear me out. You used to love it here. Remember? I mean, before you left, you didn't want to leave. Why won’t you consider it now?"
"I made my life in China," I said weakly, feeling my resolve weakening by the second.
My phone beeped, disrupting my focus on our conversation.
"Anyway, look, I have to go, Jen."
"Do you actually have to go, or are you just tired of me being right?"
"Can't it be both?" I said with a chuckle.
She scoffed.
"You want my advice—" she said before correcting herself. "Sorry, wrong turn of phrase. We both know you don't want my advice, even though you desperately need it. But this is what I need to say: Try and come back. I know things between the U.S and China aren't exactly great, but think it over! I'm sure between your parents living here, them being ex-diplomats, and well—it just probably won’t be a problem. "
"You forgot about the incident," I said quietly.
"Oh, shit." Jen said, "But that was years ago," she said weakly.
"You know what, we’ll figure it out," she said. "We’ll just both take some time and think of backup plans for getting you out of there and back here."
"You just want me back in the U.S. so we can go shopping, get junk food, and sit around lounging and eating donuts like we used to," I argued, my eyes going back to my computer.
"You got me," she said. I could hear the smile in her voice. I could almost hear her twining her short blond hair through her fingers, "Don't you?"
"Yeah," I admitted. "But still... I'm not sure I can leave right now. Coming back to the U.S. is appealing, but it doesn't seem fair to Jin."
"All right," Jen said. "Suit yourself. Talk soon?"
"You know it," I confirmed, hanging up. Just then, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. Usually I would follow my instinct and just let it go to voicemail, but there was something off-putting about this.
I answered.
"Hello?" A voice said tentatively.
"Hi," I replied. "Who’s this?"
"This is Changying," the voice replied, sounding as though English was not their native language. "You know Jin, yes?"
"Yes. Why?"
"I know you. You wrote piece for newspaper together," she said quickly, a sob breaking her voice, "I am so worried. If you could tell me something, anything about him. We are very close. Anything."
I held the phone to my ear, a hollow feeling settling in my chest. I thought about what Jen had said, about loving someone, and realized she had a point. The signs had all been there, even if I hadn't wanted to look at them.
Especially in the past few months, Jin and I hadn't seen each other more than once a week. On top of that, there were his absences, both physical and emotional. His replies to my voicemail and texts sometimes took days to get back to me. I'd just written it off as him being busy with his new job. I was too.
But now, this woman... That tone in her voice, that strange tone that I'd never heard in mine, that was love. She'd loved Jin.
"Hello?" The woman was saying, her tears abating.
"How did you know him?" I asked.
"He and I... We... I'm not supposed to say anything, to anyone. But I love him—" she broke out in a sob.
My breath left me.
So, it was true.
Jin had found someone else. He might’ve been cheating on me. I sat back down on my bed. I didn't have the energy to confront this woman or deny her the questions or what little information I had. I didn't have the energy to explain who I was either.
I just felt so sorry for her. Sorry for everything. After all, it was my fault Jin had disappeared. He'd helped me with that article. I was sure we'd spoken just a day or two before I'd submitted our piece to Mr. Li, then nothing. I hadn’t thought anything of it, because that was how it had been recently. But now, if the connection was as apparent as it seemed, then it was my fault he was gone.
Anyway, what if this woman didn't know he even had a girlfriend? That I had been Jin's girlfriend? Would she have dared call if she'd known I'd pick up? Would someone call their lover’s girlfriend, despite the risk, just for closure?
"I'm sorry," I told her, "I don't know anything. I wish I had some idea of where he was."
Suddenly the last text that he sent me before the 'Be careful,' his 'I'm sorry' now made so much sense. At the time, we'd had a little disagreement over dates, and the consistency of ours. I had wanted to see him more, to go out more, and he had wanted less. He said our relationship was fine as it was. He felt it was too time consuming to plan dates. At any rate, when he'd sent the ‘sorry,’ I'd thought it strange.
Jin was one who showed his apology through a gift like flowers or a surprise ice cream. He’d never said ‘sorry’ to me in our three and a half years together. Now, it made sense.
Maybe he knew it was his last chance, maybe he knew what was about to happen and he just wanted to apologize for whatever had gone on with this woman. I sighed, my heart heavy.
"What’s your name again?" I asked her. "If I find out anything, I can let you know."
As I wrote down her contact information, her name, and phone number, I noticed that my hand was shaking. I hung up the phone, just sitting there for a few seconds, my tears spilling down my expressionless face. I wasn't just crying for this woman and the love she had for Jin. I was crying for myself too. Not because Jin had been cheating on me or had essentially left me, but because I now finally realized that everything was all so obvious.
I had been k
eeping myself busy, throwing myself into work in order to avoid looking at the situation head on. I'd never loved Jin. I'd never really loved anyone. And frankly, I wasn't sure that I even could.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
What Changying said kept looping through my mind. People didn't just up and disappear for no reason. While part of me had wondered if this was Jin's way of finally giving me the slip, ending our pathetic attempt at a relationship, I now had confirmation. His parents didn't know where he was, and even his secret girlfriend was genuinely at a loss. This was bad. Really, really, like, oh-shit-I-might-die, bad.
As I lay there, I tried to calm my thoughts by fleshing out a plan of sorts. While going to the U.S. was probably my best, safest option, tickets were expensive and I didn't want to go if, in a month, I'd be extradited back here. No, maybe I could go somewhere closer? Cheaper, too. I could fly to Vietnam or Laos. I was pretty sure I could even take a train from Shanghai to either country. I could spend a few days at a motel, eat some good old diner food... Wouldn't that be enough of a break to help me get on my feet? Help me decide about what to do permanently?
Maybe the important thing wasn't finding the perfect, foolproof plan right now. Maybe it was just getting out of China, to safety.
I could feel it in my bones, like a narcotic working through every bend and twist of my veins; it wasn't safe here anymore.
As I drifted off, that one single thought repeated over and over again, attaching like a thread on a spool joined to a spindle shaft, spinning round and round.
I had to get out of China. I had to do whatever it took.
4
Giovanni
It was strange how it all happened.
Papa died in his sleep while we all stood vigil, wide awake. He even had a merry smile on his face.
The next few days were a flurry of activity; making funeral arrangements for when we arrive home, transportation of his body back to the States, obtaining papers and legal documentation required to transport our dearly beloved.
Figuring out the reading of the will had also occurred quickly, and honestly, not been something I thought was required to be undertaken while still in China, but our lawyer insisted. He flew out to Shanghai to complete it mere days after Papa's departure.
Apparently, due to my father's high stature in the business world, the sooner we read the will and figured out his last wishes, the better for everyone.
There was something else about Reginald's tone over the phone. He didn't admit it outright, but I could tell there was something he knew, something important about my father's will. Something definitely not good. I had been privy to a copy of his will once, a few years ago, but there was ample time to have it changed since then.
It was just like Papa to throw a wrench in everything. Not that he'd ever been candid about his plans for the business once he'd passed or his net worth. Not that we even cared, really. I'd just lost my father.
What was left... I didn't even know.
The past few days, Mama and Maria had done whatever I'd suggested. Whether it was to browse through a bookstore (even though they'd inevitably end up in the bathroom spilling tears into the sink) or ordering in food for the seventh consecutive meal because none of us had the energy to leave the hotel room.
I'd mustered enough energy to call Gino, leaving a message on his phone. God only knew if he'd received it yet.
How had it all come to this?
It was a running joke between them, the way Mama used to scold Papa for his secret cigarette trysts, "You're having an affair with Gitanes, and while she’s enticing, that lady on the pack, she will steal your life away."
She used to waggle her finger at him, having given up on words. Papa would laugh at her, placing the cigarette down and standing to scoop her up, spinning her around the kitchen in a dance. Even when he was diagnosed, he didn't stop his affair with Gitanes. "I'll go out how I lived," he'd said stubbornly, "Or I won't go out at all."
I set my jaw grimly. Well, he had gone out how he'd lived. At least there was that. Until the very end, every time he was awake, lucid and had energy, he was full of jokes, making light of life and the situation. As if we were all the doomed patients, not he.
Now, he was gone. His responsibilities had all fallen to me. I was the eldest Bruno son. It was my responsibility to watch over the family as well as the business.
Right now, in our lawyer’s office, the ball was entirely in Reginald's court, since something suspicious seemed to be passing knowingly between him and my mother.
He was taking his time getting the folder out. In his defense, it was large. My father was a fair businessman, but in his rise to the top, he'd made his share of enemies. Businesses were jealous of Bruno Lamps, their sleek, daring, cutting edge design, and their hefty price tag.
Most of all, they hated how we seemed to gobble up more market share every year. There'd been lawsuits, claims of copying style and innovations, as well as other bogus allegations.
Reginald had dealt with them all, and yet as we sat here, in a borrowed office with a severe, three-inch-wide, stark white crown-molding encasing the entire room, the walls an inky, jet black in blatant juxtaposition, he seemed nervous. His ornate, mahogany desk was set at the front of our cream colored, overstuffed couches, forming a three-sided box of elegance.
In this room, I felt like a speck, insignificant. Maybe that was the point.
Rising, Reginald cleared his throat.
"Your father entrusted me with his final will and testament decades ago, having finalized the draft several months ago. Recently, he also made one significant change to it."
Mama gulped, "How recently?" she asked.
"Two days ago." Reginald eyed her.
My hands clenched the edge of the couch cushion. It wouldn't have been after our talk. Papa would not have...
Reginald cleared his throat again, his bony fingers tightening on the paper before him.
He started out listing the smaller items; the obvious things that still needed to be divided in order to settle any disputes. He left the house to Mama, of course. Monetary gifts to friends and family that were still considered close, other items left to business associates and charities, etc. But then came the moment where everything seemed to pause, a stillness coming over the room. The part that was both the most important and beloved thing to my father: his business.
"As for the bulk of my estate, Bruno Industries, I leave it to my Giovanni,” we all let out a collective breath, until Reginald continued, “On the condition he marry within six months of the date of my passing. Should this not transpire, everything will pass onto my youngest son, Gino."
"No!" My mother gasped, slumping back into the couch.
"He didn't!" Maria spat, looking accusingly at Reginald.
I put a hand on each of them, mine covering their smaller ones completely.
"Reginald," I said carefully. I wasn't one to undermine authority, especially my father’s. But what he had done, what he was proposing; I was shocked. "You are aware of Gino's current state, no?"
Reginald had sat back down in his high, wing-backed chair, the expanse of the mahogany giving him a comfortable distance between us, as if he'd retreated from battle. But he carefully kept his gaze trained on the stack of papers, which was really, the only defense he needed.
"I know what you’re thinking. I understand how you must be feeling, Giovanni. I do. But it’s out of my hands, your father was sound of mind—"
"But he was dying," my mother spoke quietly, in disbelief. "He was anxious about giving the company up! I know you’re his lawyer, that it’s his will, but Reginald, there must be something, please. My husband was—"
"Fully cognizant, regardless of the emotions this situation inspires. He was even joking with me about whether I was wearing my typical penguin tie. He was in his right mind, I am sorry Cecelia, no matter how crazy this seems..."
Mama had sunk back into the curve of the couch, a shell of her former self.
She looked at my hand, covering hers. "You’re sorry... With this last request, Reginald could leave our family—it could destroy Bruno Industries if Gino gains control."
Maria moved her hand out from under mine and reached over to squeeze Mama's forearm. "You never know, maybe Gino will—"
"Ha!" Mama barked, jerking her hand away from both of us. "Gino is my son! I do not need people to lie and tell me he is not as gone as I see with my own eyes. Maria, do not, my dear girl."
I took Mama's hand again and squeezed it. "Mama, we will figure this out. It’s not the end of the world. Six months is plenty of time to meet someone."
Mama exhaled a long, loud breath of reluctance. "Of course we both wanted you to find someone, settle down, and find happiness. But this? Not like this. How could my Antonio not see this could hurt the company?"
"I could just get married and then divorced," I said, wondering aloud.
Reginald cleared his throat, and shifting his glasses up his nose, had the good grace to look mollified. "Actually," he coughed, "right here there is a stipulation that the marriage be real, and should it dissolve within five years, the company will transfer to your brother at the time of the divorce."
I stared at the paper he had passed across the table, my mouth falling open at the asterisk clearly indicating a change in the document.
"So, on the off chance I do meet someone suited enough to marry, what Papa has essentially guaranteed is that I stay with them, regardless of whether we’re actually in love?"
"You know how we view divorce in this family," my mother chimed in stiffly, surprising me with her Catholic sternness.
Her stern expression crumbled, ten years plastering onto her in the matter of ten seconds.
"Damn your father... Damn that crazy fool!"
I rose. As angry as I was, my hands shaking with my rage, I despised causing a scene more than anything. Reginald wasn't family, and while he truly could be blamed for his rigidity, he had acted according to his role and his client’s wishes.
I didn't blame him. I knew my father could be an irascible, argumentative, stubborn old ass when he wanted to be. But still.
Playing Pretend Box Set Page 18