What We Were Promised

by Lucy Tan

  She watched her daughter settle in and begin spooning cereal into her mouth without giving any thought to the adult conversation, stopping only to scratch at an eye with the back of her fingernail. It amazed Lina, the way a parent’s presence could lead children to behave so comfortably around strangers. She tried to remember a time when her own world was not made up of individual people, each of whom judged her and sought validation from her, but a general mass grouped under “acquaintances of Ma” and “acquaintances of Ba.” How nice it must be to view people as extensions of one’s parents’ goodwill toward you and to expect compassion and solicitude from each person you met.

  Inside of forty seconds, Karen had finished eating her cereal and sat back with a sigh. Lina checked her watch—it was only 9:10 a.m. She had wanted to be done with breakfast a good while ago.

  “Ready, sweetie?” she said to Karen.

  One by one, the women slid out again to free Lina and Karen from the booth. Lina put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders and together they walked to the back exit and out into the spring air.

  4

  The strange thing about being “under suspicion of theft”—as the hotel manager had written in Sunny’s employment file—was that the Zhen family didn’t seem to suspect her of stealing the bracelet at all. She knew this because their American daughter, home for the summer, told her so.

  “There’s no way Mom and Dad think you took it,” said Karen. “They actually want to hire you as our ayi.”

  When Sunny had walked into the apartment that day, the scene wasn’t at all what Rose had described in her warning speech. There was nothing suspiciously neat about it—the living room was a mess, as usual. A dish filled with orange peels was on the couch, and a hundred-yuan bill had been left sitting on the coffee table.

  Karen lay on the bed while Sunny straightened the perfumes on her dresser. In the mirror, her preteen body was slumped against the headboard, thighs agape. She wore machine-frayed shorts, and her eyes were lined so that they looked as big as dates.

  “Hell-ooo?” she said in English. “I said, you could be our ayi!”

  Sunny liked Karen, even if she was spoiled. It was surprising that the Zhens didn’t have more children, especially since their only child was a girl.

  “I’m excited, even if you aren’t. We don’t get ayis in America. I mean, people have nannies, but it’s not really the same.”

  “What’s a nanny?”

  “Someone who takes care of kids but doesn’t cook or clean. Ayis can do everything, right? They’re like the superheroes of caretakers. Zhen liao bu qi.”

  Aptitude for language was one thing that Karen did have. Most bilingual kids could talk in their second language about school, families, food, and not much else. But Karen was always a surprise. Idioms, proverbs, obscure nouns—Karen knew them all. Once, Sunny had even heard her recite a Tang dynasty poem, which she claimed to have learned from a Chinese-American librarian in her hometown.

  After she had tidied the bedroom, Sunny moved on to the bathroom. There, she found one towel on the floor and two more hanging from the door.

  “You want these changed?” she asked, nodding at the ones on the door.

  Karen shrugged, crowding in behind her and taking a seat on the sink. “Do you think she took the bracelet?” Her legs were swinging so close to Sunny that she could almost feel them breeze past her face as she cleaned the toilet bowl.

  “Who?”

  “The other maid.”

  “No.”

  “Well, it’s either you or her. And it’s not you. So it has to be her.”

  Sunny looked up from her scrubbing. “Or maybe your ma just lost it.”

  But Karen’s mind had already moved on from the question. “I never liked her anyway. Her phone is always going off and it’s so loud. Plus she calls me mei.”

  Most of the maids acted chatty and familiar with the Chinese-speaking families, thinking that it helped to be friendly. They called the younger girls mei, for “little sister,” and the younger boys di, for “little brother.” They couldn’t tell that this made foreigners nervous. Foreigners liked to keep their distance. If they decided that the distance was going to be crossed, they wanted to be the ones crossing it.

  “Ma’s really upset about the bracelet because it came from Africa. Yesterday she had the night manager in here crawling around looking for it. But I think they both know someone took it.”

  Sunny stood, picked up the cleaning caddy, and nodded at Karen to get out of the way.

  “Living room next?” Karen asked.

  “Yes.”

  The Zhens’ apartment was one of the largest in Tower Eight. Karen’s room and the guest room lay in the northern wing, while the master bed and study lay in the southern. The hallways met in a large living room and bar area that extended eastward into the dining room. It was too big for the Zhen family, especially when Karen was gone during the school year, and sometimes while inside the still, silent apartment, Sunny felt a great wave of sadness come over her. But other times, when she was out on the balcony watering the flowers, she could pretend that the whole apartment behind her was hers alone, that she was the owner of this prime city real estate.

  “Watch it,” she said to Karen, who was leaning so far over the balcony railing that a harsher word might have sent her headlong into the pool below.

  “I see Mom coming out of the water.”

  Zhen Taitai never did any real swimming, just parted the water this way and that, aimless as a swan. But when she lifted her arms so that she could towel beneath them, her muscles looked alert, even sculpted. Sunny peered over the edge in time to see her gather her towel and disappear into the hotel lobby. Ta ma de, she cursed silently. She hadn’t thought to make up the southern wing of the apartment first, and now it was too late. She’d have to tidy the master bedroom with Zhen Taitai inside it.

  By the time Sunny finished the living room and kitchen, Taitai had already taken a shower and was sitting at her desk looking at letters. When she saw Sunny and Karen come in, she began a conversation with her daughter in English. Karen’s last word—Fine!—followed by exaggerated stomping down the hallway was all that Sunny understood.

  To exist alone in a room with Taitai was to be trapped in silence. No matter how softly Sunny moved, the sounds she made seemed amplified. She set about emptying the wastebaskets—the one in the bathroom, the one by the bed, the one in the walk-through closet that separated the bathroom from the bedroom. Boss Zhen had confused the wastebasket with the hamper again. Sunny fished out a pair of silk socks from the garbage, draped them over the edge of the actual hamper, and removed the plastic bag from the trash can’s metal mouth. When she looked up, Taitai was leaning against the doorway of the closet, watching her. “Sunny, I want to ask you something.” Under the sweep of her palm, a lock of hair fell from her widow’s peak and arced softly toward her chin.

  “What is it?” Sunny asked.

  “How much do you get paid every month?”

  “Twenty-five hundred,” she said, instinctively upping the amount by five hundred. The twitch in Taitai’s eyebrow seemed to indicate that the lie hadn’t gone undetected.

  “Maybe this goes without saying, but trust is very important to me. I think I’m good at knowing whom to trust.”

  “I—”

  “I trust you.”

  It took a moment for Sunny to work out that Taitai wasn’t talking about Sunny’s fabricated salary—she was talking about the theft. When Zhen Taitai wanted to, she could relax her demeanor and appear almost imploring. She had large, dark eyes with thick lashes that stood out against her fair skin. Though her jaw was a little long, there was refinement in the arc of her neck and the tilt of her head. She was a true fujianü, not one of those countryside wives who had stumbled into the role wearing skirts that were three inches too short.

  “I can pay double your salary if you’ll work for us as an ayi this summer.”

  “Double,” Sunny repeated.
“Five thousand?”

  Taitai nodded. “My husband’s brother is coming in a week or so, and it will be a busy time for our family. Have you done this kind of work before?”

  Sunny thought about lying again and decided against it. “No.”

  “Do you cook?”

  “I can.”

  “Good. We won’t ask you for a trial meal. You won’t be cooking too much anyway. The main thing will be for you to watch Karen while the adults are out—or take Karen out when the adults are here. How does that sound?”

  Sunny hesitated.

  “That sounds fine. Only—I wonder—if it’s just for the summer, what will happen to me in the fall? If I give up my job here…”

  “I have friends. I can make referrals.”

  This was the response she had been hoping for. “Can I think about it?”

  “Of course,” Taitai said, and she handed over a slip of paper. “You can call me when you decide.”

  What a funny feeling, to have the phone number of the Zhen residence. It felt more like a lottery number than a phone number. Sunny had wiped down that receiver once a week for the past five years. Now her voice would be coming through that very same device.

  Not only had Sunny never been an ayi, but the possibility had never even crossed her mind. She was a good housekeeper. During her five years at Lanson Suites, she had learned how to read people; she knew to leave an extra bar of soap for soiled laundry if she saw maxi-pads in the trash can or sachets of green tea if someone seemed unable to hold his liquor. She didn’t just clean, she anticipated. Move the bottles back beneath the bar and out of reach of the cat’s paw. Part the curtains just far enough so that the sun won’t fade the couch. Being an ayi, however, required a deeper commitment to her employers. She would have to dedicate herself totally to these residents—to breakfast with them, travel with them, swim in that infinity pool. It was one thing to work at the hotel for a set number of hours a day. When you were on the clock, you were an employee. When you went home, you were yourself again. She knew what happened to people who got used to living the ayi lifestyle. Some of the women she roomed with had stopped sending money home altogether. They spent it on Taobao and Starbucks coffee, fooled into thinking that acceptance into a rich household meant that they could adopt its habits and standards. But five thousand yuan—that number was enough to set her spine humming. When no one was looking, she took out her phone to calculate. Five thousand yuan was 178.5 Starbucks coffees a month!

  That night in the service hall, Sunny met up with Rose. They unclipped their radios, signed them in, and threw them into the collection bin. The regular security guard still hadn’t returned; this time it was Lao Huo, who was usually stationed at the back gate, performing the checks.

  “My God,” Rose whispered. “They really want every single man in this compound to have a feel, don’t they? Next they’ll be sending in Boss Zhen.”

  Lao Huo had never said a word to them. Each time they’d passed him when they exited the compound at night, his hat was positioned low on his forehead so that no one could tell if his tiny eyes were open. His hands over Sunny were quick, but thorough—the movements of someone used to taking his share of pleasure before deciding whether he wanted it to begin with. Afterward, she could still smell Lao Huo’s cigarette fingers on her uniform.

  “What’s the point of all this checking?” Sunny asked once they were outside again. “Even if we did take it, wouldn’t we have sold it or hidden it by now?”

  “This is just the way it goes,” Rose said. “It’s to scare us. They’ll do this until the Zhen woman stops complaining.”

  “Let me ask you something,” Sunny said suddenly. “Would you ever consider becoming an ayi?”

  “For one of those ladies? It would be good money. But you’d have to deal with their personal lives. And if you think the security checks are bad, imagine what it would be like if the husband wanted you in bed. I’ve even heard of wives getting those kinds of ideas.” Rose pursed her lips, the way she did when readying herself for a rant. But then she caught Sunny’s expression. “Why, has someone asked you?”

  “Zhen Taitai did. Just for this summer.”

  Rose stopped walking. “Zhen Taitai?” There was something babyish about the surprise on her face and the way her features stilled. Then came a long pause. “How much?”

  “Five thousand.”

  “A month?”

  “I haven’t said yes.”

  Rose blinked. She turned to look back in the direction of the hotel.

  All day, Sunny had been desperate to share this news. She had taken her urgency for excitement, but now she realized it was also because the offer had made her uneasy. A career change for Sunny would be a boost for her, but it would also put Rose further at risk of losing her job. If the Zhens hired Sunny, it would be as good as saying to management that Rose was the only maid the Zhens suspected.

  “I don’t know why she’s so sure I didn’t take the bracelet,” Sunny said. And that you did. She turned to stand side by side with Rose to look up at the hotel and its dull neon glow. The tops of those towers felt as remote as the moon that was starting to appear behind them.

  “Of course you should say yes,” Rose said after a moment. “Congratulations.”

  “Don’t congratulate me. We deal with enough of their shit as it is. I don’t know what other kinds of accusations Zhen Taitai could come up with when it’s just me in the house.” She looked down at her feet and found that she’d been too distracted to change out of her work shoes. “Plus I don’t want my taking this job to affect you.”

  “Aiya,” Rose said. “Forget about it. I’ll be fine. Really, this is too good to pass up. Once you become an ayi, you can tell all the other rich ladies about me.”

  They walked silently.

  “Why do they need an ayi all of a sudden?” Rose asked. “Their girl is as good as grown.”

  “I don’t know,” Sunny said. “Boss Zhen’s brother will be in town. He’s coming to see the Expo.”

  “Do you think you’ll get to go with them?”

  The thought hadn’t occurred to Sunny until that very moment. For months, she and Rose had talked about the World’s Fair and how much they’d like to see it. All those nations traveling so far to set up exhibits, not only in the women’s country but in their very city! It was a chance to experience the world without leaving home. But it would be difficult to scrape together the price of a ticket and even more difficult to get a day or two off.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “If I took the job, then I guess—maybe.” And suddenly she wished she hadn’t said anything at all. Rose started walking again. After a moment, Sunny followed.

  It had always been this way, Rose in front, Sunny behind. On the mornings when they worked the same shift, each servicing one of the two units on every floor, they filed down the service hall together. Rose pressed the button for the elevator and Sunny pushed their cart inside. Their cleaning routines had become so synchronized that they both finished their units with time to spare. They loitered in the laundry hall afterward, talking about the residents. Could you hear what she was saying on the phone? No, but do you think she was talking with her doctor? Couldn’t be—the conversation was in Chinese and her prescription bottles are in English. Have you seen that new Céline shopping bag on the nightstand? Ha! Her husband probably messed up big this time.

  When Sunny worked her shifts alone, she was less interested in the inhabitants than in their things. She loved dusting the little wooden cabinets full of porcelain figurines and straightening the silk ties that hung in rows, each dizzying pattern just barely touching the next. In the bathroom, Sunny unscrewed jars to smell their contents, held them up to the vanity light. Her favorite ones had the heft and feel of an abalone shell. Five thousand a month. If she could get a long-term gig like that, she could move out of her shared room. She could even buy a container of one of those ointments for herself, just once—just for the jar.

 
Sunny lived on the outskirts of Shanghai in a qunzu fang—a group-living facility—in the Hongkou District. She liked to get back as late as possible, when her five other roommates were already in their bunks. By then, the bathrooms were usually free and she could shower and get ready for bed without waiting in line for a stall or a sink.

  The reek of incense masked the bathroom’s usual smell of boiled cabbage, urine, and copper. Yang Zifei had posted a sign on a wall that said: INCENSE BOUGHT FOR PUBLIC USE BY YOURS TRULY, YANG ZIFEI. DON’T STEAL.

  A few sticks of incense lay neatly on a window ledge, untouched, but the burner was nowhere to be found. Typical. Sunny stepped into the shower, undressed, laid her clothes on top of a chair just outside the stall, and turned the water on.

  She probably should have been living someplace nicer. The money she sent home was more than acceptable coming from a single woman her age, and no one in her family would begrudge her funds for a little extra privacy, a little comfort. But living less than comfortably meant that Sunny was forced outside and into the streets, which was where she found herself truly at home in Shanghai anyway. She liked people-watching and tracking the progress of new architecture. She liked getting lost in crowds. Being a nobody here was still better than being nobody in Hefei. Here, there was camaraderie among the nobodies—although maybe that was just her imagination. At home, Sunny never felt lost in a crowd, but she did sometimes feel at risk of dissolving. Just one member of a family of people who studied, worked, married, birthed, parented, and grandparented, she took on everyone’s daily grievances and victories, illnesses and successes, and they took on hers. When she was younger, she could sometimes forget that there was any difference at all between herself and her little sister, Yan. They both had hair so black it was almost blue, they both told the same jokes, and they both could eat more than their brothers. But then Yan had gotten married, and suddenly Sunny felt too old and too young at the same time. Too old to be living at home and, because she was unmarried, too young to be treated like an adult.