“But you said two years, max, in China.”
He shrugged. “Plans change, Terra.”
No, I wanted to say. Plans don’t change for no apparent reason, especially changes to my master plan. See, according to my plans, Merc was supposed to move back to Boston — which, compared to China, wasn’t too far from Williams. According to my plans, I’d be able to see him a hell of a lot more than we had seen each other these last two years. But then again, I wasn’t going to Williams anymore. And he wasn’t moving back to his practice in Boston. Plans did change. What was the point of being an adult if you couldn’t control your master plan?
I twisted my hands around my glass of water, no longer cold but lukewarm. “So you love it here?”
“Love?” The word sounded so unfamiliar, so distasteful, in Merc’s mouth, he couldn’t bring himself to say it without making the idea suspect, something contagious. “China’s trying to figure out what it wants to be. And that’s tough to do, especially if you’ve never had any choices before. So, no, I don’t love it here. But it’s an exciting time to be here.”
God, I wanted to shake him. He sounded so buttoned up, like he was being interviewed, giving intelligent, pat answers devoid of any feeling, any passion.
He raked his hand through his short curls, rumpling them. Gruffly, he said, “You must be tired.”
I was now the bone-liquefying kind of fatigued, unsure whether my own legs could support me. But I nodded, said goodnight. As I passed the front door and my collage, I thought about the piece I had made for Elisa, carefully swaddled inside my backpack. Merc was no longer correcting his document, but staring at the map of the world as though trying to recall a route once taken.
I could have continued to my bedroom now, but I said softly, “I made something for Elisa. Can you give it to her?”
He whipped around to face me, startled. A forensic scientist didn’t need to tell me that this wasn’t the clean and easy breakup he professed it to be. Their relationship hadn’t died its natural death, two people changing out of sync so they no longer fit together. Anyone but Merc could tell that he was still pining for Elisa. Now he tapped his pen on the document, an impatient rhythm. “She moved to Beijing.”
“Beijing?”
“Yeah, I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you her address. You and Mom could visit her in a couple of days when we’re there. You’ll love her boutique. Sleep well, okay?”
Dismissed, I slipped back into the guestroom, my limbs curling together against the cold sheets in bed. As I listened to the song of Mom’s sighs, it occurred to me that I had inadvertently stumbled on the key to my own map. I had always followed Merc’s path blindly: power through high school, get into college, then work for my financial independence. Maybe that master plan had been flawed. His fancy degree from Harvard, his lavish apartment, his sizable bank account made Merc no happier than Norah, these two people who had everything money could buy but the one thing that could be given freely: love.
Mom and I overslept. I could hardly believe it when she rapped on my door, murmuring it was already eight thirty. For a brief moment, showered and dressed, Mom looked refreshed. Her relaxed humming stopped when she strolled into the living room and found the sheets folded neatly at one end of the sofa. Merc had already left for work, leaving us to fend for ourselves. The familiar worry line creased her brow, instantly aging her.
“How are we going to get to the hotel?” she asked, clinging to the sofa back like the railing on a lurching ship. “Do you know the way?”
I didn’t, but I didn’t want to admit that and worry Mom more. Still, a faint wisp of irritation wound around my stomach. “I’ve got a map,” I said, resenting the pressure of always needing to know the way. Just once, I’d love to see Mom take action, make a plan, figure it out on her own.
The cell phone on the kitchen counter rang, and Mom recoiled as if she had never heard one before. Her eyes widened at me, all but asking, What should we do?
Sighing, I answered it. “Hello?”
“Good, you guys are up,” said Merc quickly, sounding busy. A picture of him checking e-mail and reviewing a stack of documents while he was talking to me formed in my head. “I left the phone for you guys to use. Peter, my driver, should be waiting outside. So whenever you’re ready, just tell him where you want to go.”
“Cool. Thanks. That’s so —”
He interrupted, “There isn’t much in the fridge, so just grab something at the coffee shop in Jinmao before heading up to Norah’s room.”
“That’s okay, I brought stuff,” I said.
No answer. Then, his muted murmurs as he addressed someone in his office. I waited, imagining how his girlfriends must have felt. On hold, waiting for him to return. Always second in life, after Work.
Mom sidled up to me. “What’s he saying? Is he coming back for us? When?”
I sighed, shrugged, wished I could shrug off Mom. And then immediately, I felt guilty. So I whispered, “He’s talking to someone else.”
Finally, Merc came back on the line, no apology, and continued, “Remember to take the phone in case you need me.”
But would you show up if I called? Probably like all of his former girlfriends, I said, “Sure,” but he had already hung up.
“Just don’t look over the edge,” I advised Mom as we stepped onto the seventy-fifth floor in search of the Fremonts’ hotel room.
“Trust me, I won’t,” Mom said, her face pale.
This hotel was a nightmare for people afraid of heights. Rooms and halls made up the perimeter of the hotel while a thirty-three-story open-air atrium ran its entire vertical height. Lean over, and you could see straight down to the café with its grand piano. It would be a very long way to fall.
I knew better than to ask Mom for Jacob’s room number, so I checked my notebook, where I had jotted down their contact information last night. As soon as I knocked, Jacob wrenched the door open so fast he could have been watching out the peephole for us. He was tousled and antsy, bouncing in his Vans.
“Save me,” he pled.
From inside the suite came raucous laughter, then a spate of Chinese. If I hadn’t known better, I would have said it sounded like a party.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Shopping, Mom-style. You better go in, Mrs. Cooper. They’ve been waiting for you,” said Jacob ominously as he widened the door, allowing us through.
Norah was standing with her arms spread, a scarecrow whose waist was being measured by a woman kneeling on the floor. Fabric swatches were spread like a cloth rainbow across the table along with a small stack of file folders.
“You made it!” cried Norah, smiling broadly. She waved Mom over to the empty spot at the table. “We’ll measure Terra next and then you. That way, the kids can get on their way.”
“Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?” asked Jacob.
Mom looked uncomfortable, and I knew why. Buying clothes for herself had become a loathsome chore since she started gaining weight. I couldn’t remember the last time she bought anything, much less tried something on in front of me. Getting measured in front of Norah would be her idea of hell.
“This is Mrs. Liu,” said Norah, introducing the slight woman who was now writing down measurements in her dog-eared notebook. “One of my best friends uses her every time she comes here. She is the best tailor in Shanghai.” Quickly, Norah translated for Mrs. Liu, who nodded pleasantly at Mom. “She’ll take our measurements, go over the designs with us, and then we’ll head over to the fabric market. I’ve been collecting ideas for the last month.”
“Two months,” corrected Jacob.
Mom stood frozen: frozen smile, frozen stance. I considered her faded purple pants and T-shirt embroidered with a sprig of tiny pansies. She was dressed for gardening, not a day of sightseeing and shopping in the chicest city in China outside of Hong Kong. Even worse, she looked a decade older than her forty-nine years. Norah, who must have been around the same age, could pass for a w
oman in her early thirties.
“Come on, Mom,” I said with an encouraging smile. I took her arm and led her to the table. “This could be fun.”
Jacob snorted from behind us.
On the table was a file folder, marked with Mom’s name. Since Mom looked at the folder as though it were radioactive, I opened it to a stack of pages, neatly clipped out of fashion magazines and clothing catalogs. Various pieces — shirts, skirts, pants — had been marked with stars, Mom’s name labeled next to them.
Mom looked lost, a foreigner in this fashion land. I could see her calculating the cost of these ensembles, trying to picture herself in these clothes for a life she didn’t have. I cleared my throat, because, really, how uncomfortable is it to mention money when we were in the company of people who seemed regularly surrounded by it? Take this hotel room tricked out with an enviable sound system and high-tech automatic blinds that Jacob was maneuvering with a push of a button. Shanghai kowtowed at our feet from our lofty position in the sky.
“We’re on a pretty strict budget for this trip,” I said, picking my words carefully.
“Don’t worry, Mom’s the ultimate bargain hunter,” said Jacob.
Just as though she were negotiating to purchase coffee beans from a farmer, Norah told Mom flat out what the pieces would cost: a fraction of the best end-of-season sale prices. Mom’s face cleared; I breathed in relief. Nascent interest glimmered in her eyes.
“Terra, you should have some things made, too,” Mom said.
“No, that’s okay, I’ve got plenty,” I countered politely. The last thing I wanted to do was shop, not when I was finally here in China. I looked impatiently at the door, ready to leave.
“Really,” insisted Mom.
So I found myself holding my arms out, getting my chest measured in front of Jacob. The tailor said something to Norah; they twittered. And when Norah didn’t choose to translate, I could only imagine what they were saying about my chest. Compared to Norah, I was voluptuous. Not one of my finest moments.
As soon as the tape measure dropped from my inseam, measuring from my crotch down to my ankles (trust me, mortifying), Norah clapped her hands. “Why don’t you kids look around town? I’ve got a long list of shops we have to visit.”
“Do you think this is a good idea?” Mom looked worriedly at me, the idea of us splitting up petrifying her.
Even though the same concern troubled me, I bristled. I could take care of myself. And Mom would be with Norah. That was exactly what Norah said.
“We’ll all be fine.” She checked her watch. “We’ll see you for an early dinner.” To Mom, she said, “The place we’re going to tonight has the world’s best dumplings. Really, I dream about them.”
“Come on,” said Jacob, nodding toward the door. “Before they change their minds.”
Half of me wanted to stay, make sure Mom wouldn’t be embarrassed or treated badly, but she was already studying the fashion portfolio Norah had assembled for her, inspecting each picture like it held a key to a new route she’d never considered taking.
Jacob was waiting at the threshold, doorman to my own possibilities. “Ready?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said softly. And then, with more force, “Definitely.”
The seventy-four-floor descent to the lobby was such a stomach-dropping plunge, I thought for sure my feet would lift off the floor. Around the thirty-second floor, my stomach returned where it belonged. Able to talk again, I quoted my plan for the day from memory: “The Yu Garden opened at eight thirty. We could walk the Bund after and then hit the museum in the afternoon. Although Mom may want to go to the museum, so we could shift that to tomorrow. Do you think that’s what your mom would want to do, too?”
“This is very cruise director of you.”
I glanced swiftly at Jacob to see if he was mocking me. Not mocking, but his lips were curved into a gentle, teasing smile.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said, leaning against the elevator wall.
“What?”
“Are you always this suspicious first thing in the morning?”
The problem was, I tended to be suspicious all the time, expecting people to tease me. I shrugged noncommittally. “Go on,” I said.
“You choose one thing for us to do in the morning, and I’ll choose something for the afternoon.”
“But —”
As if he timed it to interrupt my protests, the elevator reached the ground floor just then, doors gliding open. Immediately, men and women surged on, a wall of suits preventing us from leaving. Jacob grabbed my hand, forced his way through, tugging me along with him until we were free of the crowd. Only when we were outside on the sidewalk did he release my hand, but I could still feel the warmth of his touch on my palm.
“So,” he said. He pressed his hands together as though my touch lingered with him, too.
“So,” I repeated.
A loud clang from the building being constructed next to the Jinmao Tower interrupted whatever Jacob was going to say. I craned my neck to see what was going on, but couldn’t. The building was too tall, its pinnacle out of my sightline.
“You’re looking at what’s going to be the tallest building in the world,” said Jacob.
“Poor Jinmao.” It was about to fall even further from its former claim to fame. As it was, the tower could only brag that it was the fifth tallest in the world. Who knew that remaining the best at anything is hard, even for a building?
“Aren’t people afraid it’s going to topple or something?” I asked.
“You’ve got to have faith that some people know what they’re doing.” His eyes crinkled from his smile.
“Implying that you do?”
His grin widened in answer. “So sound good, garden first?”
“And you’re going to pick what we do after?”
He nodded.
“What are we going to do after, exactly?”
“We’ll wing it,” Jacob said. Again, the maddening half smile.
But I didn’t wing things — not tests, not artwork, not my exercise route. That would mean trusting in the risky unknown outside the Methow Valley. No, it was safer to have the trip mapped out, destinations picked beforehand, routes to and from plotted well in advance. So I unzipped my messenger bag to pull out the typed itinerary. (I had read somewhere that nothing makes Americans stand out as tourists more than their backpacks and sneakers. Hence, my black messenger bag and athletic Mary Janes.) My research was the advance team, blazing the trail before I made a single move.
“Do you know where the word ‘itinerary’ comes from?” Jacob asked as I scanned my perfectly formatted document of opening times and tips on how to bypass long lines and which routes to take during prime drive times.
“What does this have to do with anything?” I countered.
“Everything. It’s from Latin, for ‘journeys.’ So trust me. You’ll have fun.”
Two corporate types exited a taxi just then, both of them lost in conversations they were having, not with each other but on their separate cell phones. The man and woman might have been traveling together. They might have been doing business together, but they were not having fun together. I thought of Merc living the jet-setting life I had dreamed about, but there was nothing glamorous about a life centered on paper and deals, meetings and conference calls.
Safe, I decided, didn’t leave much room for fun.
I nodded. And with that, I left the end of the wagon line to join the advance team in the front.
Chapter twenty-two
Bearings
SHANGHAI’S MOST FAMOUS GARDEN HAD been open for two hours before Jacob and I even made it to the Old City, a fact that irked me. All the guidebooks I’d studied had advised to be there, in line, for the garden’s daily opening to avoid the crowds. For good reason, too. The Yu Garden had been first commissioned back in 1559 to be a place of tranquility, but peace and calm seemed to be the last thing found here today. On both sides of the narrow footbridge Jacob and I
walked upon, other tourists staked their right to meander. Apparently, they thought that included the right to meander right over me and Jacob.
“I can’t breathe in here,” I said.
“Do you want to leave?” asked Jacob a mite too eagerly. All I had to do was say the word, and he’d lead me out of here. After all my research, though, I was determined to check this site, its opera house and museum off my tick list.
“No,” I answered grimly and continued through a curved moongate that framed a tiny picturesque courtyard. There was no point in removing my camera from my messenger bag, not with this constant flow of people.
No one looked particularly moved by the ancient rock gardens or stone bridges that gleamed bone-white in the sun. I supposed that when you were busy making sure you weren’t nudged into the pond by accident — and then mauled by the creepily hungry carp lurking in the polluted depths — it somewhat diminished your enjoyment of the garden. Still, as many people as there were inside the garden walls, it was an oasis compared to the bazaar outside, thronging with tourists bargaining for slippers embroidered with fantastical flowers, bundles of chopsticks, thick-handled art brushes, and the odd mandolin to slice vegetables into long curling strips.
“What are all these people doing out on a Monday morning?” I couldn’t help grousing when an old man literally pushed me to the side so he could get up the stone steps first, and then scowled at me for inconveniencing him.
“Tourists, like us,” said Jacob.
“I want to be a traveler, not a tourist.” I stepped quickly to the end of another bridge when I heard the impatient clacking of heels behind us, two women walking determinedly, more than ready to run us off.
“What’s the difference?”
“Huge. A tourist looks; a traveler participates.”
“You will. That is, if you slow down and actually enjoy where you’re going.”
“We’re going to end up in the water if we aren’t careful,” I said, looking pointedly at the crowds around us. “Anyway, you walked this fast when we were geocaching.”
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