by Lucy Tan
“This is beautiful,” Lina managed to say. Qiang looked so happy and proud that he almost seemed to become a different person.
“I might not be here when you get back,” Qiang said, “because I’m going to work for Brother Gao from now on, and that means I’ll be traveling. But one day, when we’re older, when you have your degree and Wei has his, we’ll meet again. And then the three of us can travel together. We’ll go to Africa. And Spain, and America. You know where I want to go most? The United Kingdom. I want to touch the queen’s hat. Wouldn’t that be funny?”
He was rambling because she was crying. The moment Lina felt the tears come back, she understood that her parents had not been the only people for whom she was crying. She would miss Qiang too. And she would worry about him. All summer she had felt the restlessness in him and dreaded where all that energy would go. She had long suspected that it wasn’t anywhere good or safe, and on that night she’d seen for herself the direction in which it was moving. Lina threw her arms around Qiang’s neck and he held her uncertainly until her breathing slowed.
“Be good,” she said. “Promise.”
By now, dawn had almost reached the shores of the lake and Lina knew it was time to leave. When she let go of him, he was grinning in his usual mischievous way.
“Does this mean you don’t think I’m a pest anymore?”
She laughed and hugged him again. “You have been a good friend to me this summer.” She felt his hand curl around the base of her neck as he spoke into her hair.
“Brother,” he said. “One day I’ll be a brother to you.”
13
Lina hadn’t slept well since Qiang’s arrival at Lanson Suites. During the days she felt electrified, her body carrying such voltage that she was afraid of touching anything—of pouring tea, of braiding her daughter’s hair—afraid she would give herself away. Even walking out to the living room in the morning to find Qiang’s slippers left beneath the coffee table or seeing his razor at the edge of the sink in the guest bathroom, its blades tinged with rust at either end, felt like major events.
When he’d walked through the kitchen door that first night, Lina was taken by surprise. She hadn’t expected him to remain the mischievous sixteen-year-old boy from her memories by the lake or the sullen nineteen-year-old who had attended her wedding, but she certainly hadn’t expected him to look so pedestrian. His bright T-shirt and faded jeans made him appear both older and younger than his real age.
Then she started to notice the ways in which he’d changed for the better. A length of stubble running up the jaw; the heightened angles of his cheeks. Near his left eye was a bone-colored scar that hadn’t been there when he was a teenager. It was too wide for a knife cut and too long to be a burn mark. What had happened there? Lina tried to read the topography of Qiang’s body secretly, but it was becoming harder to look away from him.
He watched her too. She’d seen his eyes follow her in the reflection of the clubhouse’s glass doors as she’d gotten up to refill her plate. Whenever Qiang studied Karen’s face, Lina imagined that he was looking for traces of herself in her daughter.
All week Lina had waited for him to tell her why he’d come. Each time they were alone—standing in front of a museum exhibit or waiting for the bill to arrive at a restaurant—she imagined him leaning forward and beginning the conversation. Here I am, he might say. I’ve come back for you. But each of these moments passed unfilled, and Lina began to doubt her initial certainty that he had come to Shanghai to see her. After all, it wasn’t likely that a man would hold on to the idea of a woman for twenty years. And yet, hadn’t she held on to her idea of him all this time? Qiang had come to Shanghai alone. If he had had a wife, surely he would have brought her.
If he had come to see Lina, it was likely that the fight between the brothers that first night scared Qiang off. She wasn’t sure what exactly had happened between them, only that when he and Wei had returned from the balcony, something was different. Lina’s first thought was that Qiang had confessed to Wei about their relationship. But no—that wasn’t it. Wei’s anger wasn’t directed at her. When she asked him what had happened, he said only that nothing had changed: Qiang was still as selfish and unaware as ever, someone who believed he could pass in and out of people’s lives as it suited him.
Wei had been working late for days in a row, sometimes meeting the rest of the family for lunch out in Puxi but otherwise not coming home until long after dinner. The coldness that he’d shown toward Qiang since that first night made Lina afraid that Qiang would leave early. Whenever she passed by the guest room, she peered inside and noted how tidy he kept it, which seemed at odds with the rusty razor and the abandoned slippers in the living room. He made his own bed before the maid showed up and kept his duffel by the door, as if he might take off any moment. She tried to make excuses on Wei’s behalf. He’s been in a horrible mood for weeks. He’s so overworked.
This morning when she woke up, she could see patchwork light coming in past the half-parted curtains and landing at the foot of her bed. Beyond, Wei stood at the window, adjusting a tie around his neck. He was usually gone by the time she got up, and she wasn’t sure whether she had woken up early today or if he was running late. Wei looked over at her and squinted. There was that forehead wrinkle again, the expression of uncertainty that had been passed down to Karen. How strange, she thought, that what you looked for in a mate could change so drastically as you aged. In earlier years of their marriage, she had been attracted to Wei’s strength. Now she was more moved by his vulnerability—in the rare instances he let it show.
“Good morning,” she said, flinging off the bedcovers but not getting up. As Wei fastened his cuff links, his eyes followed the line of her bare legs. Then he reached out and grasped her foot for a squeeze. “I’m late,” he said and walked to the bathroom.
Lina lay in bed for a few moments longer, then got up to part the curtains the rest of the way, expanding the view to the full width of their bedroom. Having new maids replace Sunny and Rose meant that their room had changed. Lina’s makeup was lined up across the length of the mirror on her bureau, her hairbrush set to the left rather than the right. If circumstances were different, Lina might have taught the new maids what went where, showed them how to place the towels the way Sunny used to—a few centimeters farther from the shower so that when one was plucked from the pile, the rest didn’t come tumbling down. But now she didn’t bother. These small changes to their living space seemed to foreshadow some larger, lasting change, one that Lina would not be able to control. She followed her husband into the bathroom.
“What’s on the schedule for today?” he asked, patting on aftershave.
“I don’t know,” Lina said. “Probably something low-key. I need to stop by the wet market in the morning and the Shangri-La after lunch. In the afternoon, I was thinking of taking Qiang to Yu Gardens. I mean, it’s always crowded, but I thought if we—”
“Sounds good.” This was a new habit of his, cutting people off. The other women at Lanson had shared tales of their own husbands’ egos expanding to fit their titles, but Wei wasn’t like that. Even as Medora’s profits increased and he gained more attention in the news, Wei showed little interest in fancy cars and restaurants. But here’s where he had changed: He now expected people to run on his schedule. When he felt that something wasn’t worth his time, he rushed it along. Sometimes Lina felt like a program he was watching on the DVR that, every once in a while, he fast-forwarded.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come meet us for lunch?” Lina tried again. “Bear the burden of conversation with your brother for a little while?”
“I can’t,” he said. “I have a twelve-thirty meeting.”
She watched him fuss with his tie.
“You have to spend time with him. You can’t keep avoiding him.”
“I have work to do, Lina. I’m not just saying that.”
She watched his face in the mirror, his distracted irritation, an
d wondered what had happened to his generosity. When they lived in America, he had once helped the Chinese cashier at their local grocery store file his taxes. On winter mornings, he used to run around the bedroom with her clothing draped around his neck so that her clothes would be warm by the time she put them on. Now she couldn’t get his attention long enough to make plans for lunch.
“Whatever it is between the two of you is not worth it,” Lina said. “Qiang’s come all this way. He’s asking for you to forgive him.” It wasn’t a conversation she’d meant to have with him now, but she wasn’t sure she would get another opportunity.
“You don’t have to tell me that,” he said. “I’ll handle it.”
How to make a person understand that family members were not things to be handled? That people were not problems, and the thing to fear wasn’t whatever his brother had done in the past or whatever urgent meeting he had waiting for him at the office. It was right there between them. It was what she might do to their marriage today, or tomorrow.
“Are you coming back for dinner?”
“I don’t know,” Wei said, administering the final touches to his hair.
“When will you know?” She knew she was pushing him. She could see him losing patience.
“I’m not sure yet. I’ll check in with you around five.”
Lina gave a dry laugh. “Sure, check in with me. While you’re at it, why don’t you set up a time for my midyear review?”
She hadn’t meant her words to come out as caustically as they did. But it had worked—when she met Wei’s eyes in the mirror, it was clear that she finally had his attention.
“I just have to get through this week,” Wei said quietly. And then, with a touch of condescension, “On Friday, I’m all yours.”
“Gold star for effective planning. On Friday, you can cross two things off the list at once: the Expo and family time.”
He looked at her in surprise. “I don’t even want to go to the Expo,” he said.
“You speak to me like I work for you. You can’t even tell the difference between your family and your office staff. It’s your brother who’s here. Not mine. You should be ‘checking in’ with him. I’m not your go-between.”
Wei closed his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that. I talk a certain way at work and I bring it home. I know I shouldn’t.”
Before when they used to fight, they’d both flare up like this and finish feeling spent, emptied. Like sex, it had been an act of letting go and bringing themselves to the same plane. Nowadays when they fought, Wei kept his cool. It was as though he no longer wanted to win, only to outlast her.
“You’re not the only person in this family, you know. I think you like to pretend that everything you do is for us—late hours, whatever. It isn’t. You’re the sole reason we’re here. You’re the reason your kid goes to school halfway across the world—”
“You knew how demanding this job was.” Wei lifted his hand as if to make a point, then let it drop to his side. “We agreed to come here together. Every step of the way, we agreed.”
“You’re doing it again,” Lina said. “You’re talking about our marriage like it’s a contract.”
“It is a contract.” His eyes flashed, and for a moment she wondered if he meant the words as a warning. He’d seen Lina flirt with men before, out of boredom—the male waitstaff, friends at Lanson Suites. Harmless flirting, but she knew it bothered Wei. With Qiang, the attraction was neither playful nor harmless, and she was pretty sure she’d kept her feelings hidden. But it was still possible that Wei had picked up on it. Lina cast about for a way to change the subject.
“After Qiang pointed out that photo of Karen in the dining room, I counted how many days we’ve spent with her since it was taken. Summer break plus winter break is about ninety days. Ninety days a year for four years.”
His face clouded over; she had gone too far.
“I don’t know what to say.”
She hadn’t been trying to hurt him. All she was looking for was some acknowledgment that things were not fine. I’m sorry, she wanted to say. I’m sorry for everything. And here was the thing: If she did say it, if she did confess to everything—to needling him to fulfill her own need for attention, blaming him for everything that felt wrong in their lives, resenting him for working, even lusting after his brother—he would forgive her. The forgiveness wouldn’t come easily, but it would still come, and too quickly for Lina’s liking. It bothered Lina that it wouldn’t occur to Wei to behave any other way. His need to forgive was greater than his need to understand. He would rather move past pain by shutting it out than by determining its source.
She wanted to protect him, but she couldn’t protect them both at the same time. She thought about apologizing but didn’t out of dread of their choreographed reconciliation—her cheek on his chest, his hand stroking her back in a way that seemed so infuriatingly perfunctory to her, though of course he never meant it that way. In the end, she just looked up and said, “Suan le. You should go.”
Wei stood there for a blundering moment, smoothing his tie. Then, not knowing what else to do, he left the room.
The fight left Lina rattled. She sent Sunny, Karen, and Qiang down to breakfast without her and paced around the bedroom. By the time she composed herself and went downstairs, Qiang was the only one sitting at the booth. Lina readied herself and joined him.
“Zao,” she said, bidding him good morning as casually as she could manage.
“Zao.” When he saw her face, his smile recalibrated. “Sunny and Karen left with Little Cao already. They had a movie to see. He’s coming back to pick up the two of us afterward.”
“Oh. Sorry…I got caught up.”
“They said they were closing up the buffet. I saved some food for you.” He pushed a plate of melon balls in her direction. He had also collected a plate of eggs, mantou, and a small dish of condensed milk. It touched her to think of him choosing food just for her.
“How have you been sleeping?” she asked as she signaled the waiter. “Are you comfortable here?”
“I am,” he said.
“Really? The mattresses aren’t too soft? They order them from this European company…”
“I have a Western mattress at home,” he said. “I’m used to it.”
“Oh.” She had imagined his bed at home to be an entirely different sort—a simple Chinese cot on the floor of a room in his Kunming apartment. She could see him lying on it in midafternoon, his hands behind his head, looking out a window. But what she had imagined—his carefree posture, his simple tastes—was only a memory of him at the lake superimposed over present-day circumstances.
A waitress brought over Lina’s latte and for a few moments the three of them were occupied with rearranging plates on the table to make room for the cup and saucer.
When they were alone again, Qiang reached over and placed his hand on top of Lina’s. She thought she could feel his heart beating through his palm, but that wasn’t possible, was it? The skin at the tips of his fingers looked rough and callused, as if it would catch on the tablecloth if he moved too quickly. Lina slid her hand out from beneath his and tucked it under the table.
“Are you all right?” Qiang asked.
“Yes. Fine.”
It was enviable, the way men shamelessly went after what they wanted. What did Qiang care that they were in public? He would touch her like that if he wanted to. Women were the ones left to exercise caution, to pretend things were fine when they were not.
“So, I meant to ask you the other night…” He still looked concerned, and she feared he would say something about Wei or Karen, something that would push her to tears. “Out of everywhere you’ve traveled, what’s been your favorite place?”
Lina was so relieved, she almost laughed. “Copenhagen.”
“Why?”
Why? It was simply where she imagined herself whenever she thought of peace and happiness. “People seem relaxed there. The air’s clean, they ride bikes around
the city, there are parks everywhere…”
“It sounds kind of dull,” Qiang said, and she couldn’t tell if he was joking.
“It’s a nice place to visit.”
“When did you go?”
How funny it was that their roles had switched. Now Lina was the one who knew more about the world, having traveled so much with Wei. But most of those trips had been related to his work, and she often felt that the experiences had been crafted for their benefit. The winter they had gone to Kenya for the Medora Group yearly management retreat, they had left the hotel resort exactly twice, once to go to a tourists’ market and the second time to go on safari. In the African desert, they had been shuttled around by a driver and an English-speaking tour guide who’d spent half the trip snapping photos of them against the vermilion sunset. At the end of the safari, he’d tried to sell the photos to them at twenty bucks apiece.
And so she didn’t feel like a real traveler. Everything—from the catered food to the all-day pool passes—lacked the feeling of true exploration. It was embarrassing to know that her wandering, after all, had meant nothing more than a series of tidy choices: dessert set A or dessert set B?
Had she been a little more like Qiang, maybe she would have seen less traditional options, something other than what was directly in front of her. From the very beginning, she could have chosen to marry neither Qiang nor Wei. She could have stayed in Wuhan and tried her luck as a linguist or earned a graduate degree in history and one day taught a subject of interest to her. She could barely remember which career paths had excited her back then. Surely, it would have been easier to imagine a different outcome for herself at that age than it was now, when half her life had already been lived.