by Gloria Chao
Suddenly I stood up straighter. This really was just art, I realized. I knew my parents had been saying that forever, but now I actually understood.
A laugh escaped my lips as I remembered how Drew hadn’t even gotten this far on his day here. I pictured him cringing over the patient’s mouth. Poor guy, just like poor Mr. Stinky Tofu.
And with that I forgot that I was going to confront my parents later today, and I hummed to the vibrating machine, also forgetting that I was holding something that had been in the dirtiest part of another human being.
* * *
The day started and ended with emergency visits, and in between, my parents caught up on records and billing while I helped them with their lab backlog. When the last patient left, I helped my mother CaviCide the operatory. Spray, wipe, spray, let sit. I’d been doing this since I was a preteen.
“You finished the Essix retainer for Lee Ǎyí?” my mother asked.
I nodded. “Why do you make so many of those as temporary mouth guards when a real mouth guard is so much better for the teeth?”
She sighed. “Not everyone can afford a mouth guard, even if I only charge them the lab fee and not for my time. Insurance doesn’t cover it. So I make them a free Essix. It’s not as sturdy as a traditional mouth guard, but it helps them in the short term.”
“Why don’t you charge them? It’s a lot of work for me,” I joked, even though I kind of enjoyed softening the plastic with heat and then using suction to hug it to the stone mold of the patient’s teeth. But between pouring the mold, letting it dry, and making the retainer, it was hours of work.
“We’re a community,” she said quietly, and I knew she was thinking about her Bible study and what I’d done to her place in said community.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, which, of course I was sorry, but also, why was I always the one apologizing?
“Thank you for your help today,” my mother said, then left.
I was so frozen I heard her enter the office she shared with my father, then flop into her desk chair.
After a few minutes of listening to them click-clack at their respective keyboards—my mother a distinctive click pause pause click clack pause and my dad a slow but steady click click click clack—I took a deep breath, coughing when the CaviCide burned my nose. Then I strode over and into their office with confidence.
Except I didn’t. That was just the plan. In reality, I crept up to their door like the Cowardly Lion and hovered outside trying to gather my nonexistent courage. Which, yes, was embarrassing, but also led me to overhear this:
Dad: “Do you think Andrew will be able to take care of Jing-Jing when I’m gone?”
Mom: “Aiyah, don’t talk like that. You’ll be okay.”
Pause.
Dad: “I want to make sure, just in case.”
Mom: “I know, I know, you don’t think I want the same? Hongbo was my idea, remember?”
Another pause.
Mom: “Do you think you’d feel better if you told her?”
Dad, immediately: “Of course not. Why worry her for no reason? We’re protecting her. What will her knowing accomplish, except hurting her focus? Her grades? Her future?”
Mom: “She’s strong.”
Dad: “Yes, but why even put her through that?”
Longest pause.
Dad: “And… maybe telling her will make it too real for me. I can’t handle that right now.”
Even though I couldn’t see them, I pictured my mother nodding at him, not looking up from her computer, and my father’s eyes also never leaving his screen.
I ran my feet over the couple of tears that had fallen to the floor, then slunk my way back to the tiny lab I was supposedly tidying up. Except all I did was lean against the counter and squeeze my eyes shut, counting my breaths because I didn’t feel in control of anything anymore.
My parents and I had too many lies between us. How would we find our way back from all this? And… was I running out of time?
In a messed-up way, I understood where my father was coming from. Yes, dysfunction—and a whole lot of it—was at the root of our lies, but so was love. If we didn’t care, we wouldn’t bother. I would’ve just given up on our relationship because of the Hongbo mess instead of going to the extremes of hiring Andrew… yet hiring him was also so ridiculous I sometimes couldn’t look at myself. But when you feel as desperate as I had, the absurdity slowly distorts until, eventually, the previously absurd path becomes the only way out, then a good idea. Obviously, if I could wave a magic wand and make it so my parents and I could understand each other, I would. Expecto Perspectivito! But life was, maybe both unfortunately and fortunately, not a Harry Potter book, and I say fortunately because I’m pretty sure I’d be a muggle. Or a squib. Girls like me don’t get to be the hero, just the weird sidekick.
I had no idea how much time passed before my mother came to get me.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, half gentle, half accusing.
I rubbed my nose. “The CaviCide got to me.”
She shrugged. “You get used to it. Ready to go?”
“Yup,” I said with way too much enthusiasm. She didn’t notice. Or maybe she did and we were all playing our parts. Maybe Andrew was the most real out of all of us.
December 27, 5:08 p.m. PST
I don’t want to talk about it, but I decided not to tell them I know. I just want to spend time with my dad.
Ok
Okay it’s the right call?
Or okay you support me either way?
Just… ok, it’s whatever you need.
Tell me what you’re thinking
Please
I want to help you but I don’t know how
I don’t know either
I don’t know what I need
I wish there weren’t so many lies
Me too
I wish I could see you
Me too
Drew CHAPTER 50
FULL ROM-COM
I was in the kitchen making chicken congee for dinner when Jason came home from his Christmas job.
“Dude,” he said in greeting.
“Dude, no,” I threw back immediately. I was not ready for this. I quickly checked the rice cooker, then retreated to my room. But Jason followed behind like a pet. An annoying one who wanted the details, not one who’d missed me (well, maybe he’d missed me a little, I’d like to think, seeing as I’d missed him).
“You went full rom-com on her?” he asked.
“Hardly,” I said dismissively. “No boom boxes were involved, no chasing through an airport, no declarations of love. I just showed her my paintings.”
“Exactly.”
“So?”
“So!” He threw his hands in the air and I couldn’t help a laugh. “So this is such a big deal!” He ran up to me and grabbed me, jumping up and down. Complete, utter shock on my end. “I’m happy for you!”
“You’re not going to lecture me about shitting where I eat?” I struggled to say between jumps.
He put me down. “Well, yeah, that too, but also, yay! I’m bummed I missed her.”
I wanted to tell him, No worries, she’ll be around soon, but then I realized I had no clue when that would be. I wondered if his operative senses were tingling as I skirted this and said, “You’d like her.”
“Anyone who can get you to stop being so weird about your paintings? I fucking love her.”
I laughed. “I’m not that bad, am I?”
He gave me a sideways look like, Are you kidding me?
I nudged him with an elbow. “I’m just joking; I know I’m the worst. But… maybe not anymore.”
His face lit up. “Yeah?”
I shrugged. “Yeah. I’m looking into a few programs, some contests. Just to see what it’s like, in case it’s something I want. Maybe I’m a little excited too.” I shrugged again even though my heart was racing.
“Yeah you are,” Jason sa
id with a smirk. “Proud of you.”
“Thanks, buddy.” I looked away so I could keep it together.
Chloe CHAPTER 51
BY THE SEAT OF MY PANTS
December 27–29
I naively hoped the next few days would revert back to what ’rents time had been before Andrew, but there were too many emotions in the way.
“Do you want to play mahjong?” I had asked my parents the first night it was just us, but my mother had simply huffed, “We don’t have a fourth,” even though my entire life thus far had been us playing a three-person version with some tiles removed. Somehow Drew’s one-time addition had shifted that—though, really, I knew that wasn’t it. She was still mad at me.
The next day I asked if she wanted to go shopping—I was so desperate I might’ve even tried on some whale tails to make her smile—but she had said there wasn’t enough time, all the good inventory had been bought up for Christmas, her favorite salesperson was on vacation, and her farmers’ calendar dictated she be frugal today. So many reasons, I had responded, and she hadn’t laughed.
I tried not to, but I also hovered around my father. I brought him water and snacks like a sad dog that knows something is wrong but can’t say what. Then I would get scared I was making it too obvious that I knew about the cancer, so I’d keep my distance for the next hour. I was like a frantic Ping-Pong ball, and between that and my spiraling thoughts at night, I felt more unmoored than I had in a long time.
I tried to focus my energy on other things: planning out my coursework for the rest of my college years, reading ahead for my upcoming quarter, putting so much extra time into my research-assistant gig I worried the professor would think I had no life.
And I plotted how to lighten at least one of the weights between my parents and me. Because I couldn’t live with myself otherwise.
* * *
Five days after ridding myself of the Kuos—though it felt more like a lifetime, to be honest—I reentered the belly of the beast. I pulled up to the gross white columns, the mere sight of the pillars making me want to hurl chunks. This was not going to be fun. But it was still better than many of the alternatives, like coming here to visit my fiancé, or waiting in a not-quite-Lamborghini for a visit to Prime Strip.
I saw the part of the grass that Drew and my family had been dumped on post-party and I suddenly wanted to laugh. There wasn’t anything to demarcate the specific spot, but I knew the exact location regardless. The amount of adrenaline that had been coursing through me at the time made me remember precisely how far we had been from the door, from the koi pond, and from the out-of-bloom peonies, which triangulated to one specific spot.
This can’t go worse than that night, I told myself.
After a few deep breaths—ironically, they were similar to Lamaze techniques I’d once seen on TV—I exited the car and made my way up the steps in one swift breath, rapping on the door before I’d processed all the moves I’d just made.
Mrs. Kuo opened the door, and relief rushed through me, since she was the one I’d come to see. I was braced, ready in case she slammed the door, but she let it hang, neither shutting me out nor letting me in.
“What do you want, Jing-Jing?” she asked in a tired tone.
“Kuo Ǎyí, I came to apologize.” When she didn’t respond, I added, “Please.”
She hesitated, looked around the foyer—I had no idea what for—then sighed. Still without opening the door further, she turned and walked into the study on the left, which had floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with wǔxiá novels, Chinese scholarly texts, and biographies of tech moguls.
I followed her and settled into the closest antique chair—square, dark brown wood, and carved with Chinese characters.
I waited a beat, instinct telling me she was going to offer me tea or snacks, but she widened her eyes to ask me, Well? and then added a waving hand when I still hadn’t spoken a second later.
“I’m sorry for how everything devolved that day,” I said. “I’m sorry I embarrassed you, and I’m sorry I ruined your party.” Those things I did mean. Mostly. Though, honestly, it was hard to separate those feelings from my anger at what she and her family had done.
The next part, on the other hand, I not only didn’t mean, but in order to get it out without gagging, I had to channel every tip Drew had given me last night when I’d texted him my plan. Memorize the words and repeat them beforehand until they have no meaning. That way, when you say them, you don’t even have to be present. If that doesn’t work, pretend it’s a joke and you’re deadpanning right now. And if that still doesn’t work, take a few breaths and remind yourself you can barf later.
“I knew I wasn’t good enough for Hongbo,” I said evenly. “So I lied and told everyone I was pregnant for his sake, and yours, and Kuo Shǔshú’s.”
Mrs. Kuo’s face widened with surprise, her eyebrows and mouth stretching to increase the length of her face. But otherwise she was completely still, trying to give the semblance of control.
“And why would you sacrifice everything—your family’s miànzi—for Hongbo? For us?” she asked.
“Because nothing else was working, and I think a failed marriage is more shameful than a moment of embarrassment.”
“That doesn’t add up,” she accused. “Obviously pregnancy outside of wedlock is much worse.”
“I panicked. I didn’t know what else to do.” Jesus, was I flying by the seat of my pants.
“All lies. Why are you really here?”
More like drowning by the seat of my pants.
She pointed an accusatory finger at me. “You’re trying to make me lift the ban on your parents. Why do you even care when you were the one to throw them in the gutter in the first place?” She gestured to her house. “You had the chance to give them everything, to elevate them to float among gods, but instead you threw it all in the trash.”
Did she really just call herself a god? My God.
“Like I said, it escalated too fast and I panicked. It’s not true; I’m not pregnant.” Scared that my not-knocked-up self would get roped back into the previous arrangement, I quickly added, “But, like I said before, I’m not good enough for Hongbo.”
“Obviously not, especially after all this. It doesn’t matter what you say now; everyone thinks you’re pregnant. You can’t take that back—it’s like pouring out water.”
That was my new most-hated phrase.
“Please, this had nothing to do with my parents.” Apparently I was resorting to begging now. “My mother is devastated she’s no longer allowed at Bible study. I came here, with no face, to apologize to you and beg for forgiveness. Can you please not punish my parents for something I did of my own volition?”
She was already shaking her head before I’d finished. “There’s no such thing. Your parents raised you; they are responsible for your actions.”
“For how long? I’m an adult!”
“Forever!” she declared, her voice booming.
“So then you’re responsible for Hongbo impregnating that girl, and for his DUIs?”
“How do you know about that?” Her eyes grew so wide I could see white above and below her pupil. “Your parents couldn’t have told you,” she murmured. “They would never disobey one of my requests.…”
“Hongbo told me.” Sort of.
She tried to play it cool by barely reacting to what I’d said, but I noticed her jaw tightening. Then her eyes scrutinized me, narrow and prying as if she was trying to read me, but before I had a moment to think, she blurted, “Of course your parents are welcome at Bible study. I shouldn’t have gotten so worked up about what happened at the party. Just a little spilled tea in the past.”
She stood and smoothed out her dress, waiting for me to stand as well.
I was still recovering from the whiplash when she shoved me outside with a final “I’ll let your mother know myself!” before slamming the door behind me.
I stood for a moment on the front steps, replaying her expre
ssions, and I realized she had been trying to figure out if I had it in me to betray their secrets.
I almost started laughing.
If I didn’t say a word, it wasn’t officially blackmail, right?
Chloe CHAPTER 52
MOVING FORWARD
My parents were already home from work when I returned from the Kuos. I went into the kitchen and tried to be as nonchalant as I could by pretending I was a Rent for Your ’Rents operative.
“Where were you?” my mother asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Out.” I opened the refrigerator.
My mother followed me over. “Well, the strangest thing just happened—Kuo Ǎyí called and said she’s looking forward to seeing me at the next Bible study.” She grabbed the fridge door and opened it further so she could pop her head next to mine briefly. “Jing-Jing, do you know anything about this?”
“That’s great, Mā,” I said, not looking up from my rummaging. “I’m glad this is all over with.”
When I shut the refrigerator door, she was standing next to me, her eyes shiny.
“Did you do this?” she asked.
“Yes,” I whispered, hoping she wouldn’t ask me for details.
“That… is… appreciated,” she said slowly, the in-between pauses punctuating that there was more she didn’t know how to say.
She pulled me into a hug. It stunned me so much I dropped the leftover (non-Franken-) bāo in my hand.
Was this actually happening?
She squeezed me, and I wrapped my arms around her tiny body.
But as soon as I allowed myself to enjoy it, she pulled away and wiped her eyes.
“I’m glad we can finally move forward,” she said. “I’m ready to accept Andrew with open arms—him, his family, and his family money.” She laughed, signaling it was a joke, but I had to force my chuckle out. Because I knew it was only part joke; she did actually care about all three of those things, and not in that order. “Well, I’m ready to accept him as long as you’re not really pregnant,” she added with another laugh.