by Kim Fu
“Bonnie went to Europe,” I said.
“To visit Adele?”
“Not only that. But yes.”
“That’s nice.”
I paused, uncertain what I wanted to say.
“You know,” Helen said, “even though it was hell most of the time, I kind of liked having Bonnie live with me, back in Los Angeles. Christ, that was a long time ago, wasn’t it? I had this stupid idea, when I bought the house, that . . .” She trailed off. “Never mind.”
“No, what?”
“I thought . . . I figured someday I’d buy an even bigger house, and that house, the one in California, it would be our summer place. All four of us. Like, maybe we’d retire there, a bunch of randy old ladies on the beach. It was that kind of place.” Her tone curdled. “It was all wrong for me. Too far from the city, too many little rooms. The yard had all these motherfucking flowers—”
“I had the same idea,” I said.
A beat passed. “It doesn’t matter now,” she said. “I sold it.”
The land between us, five states, the Eastern Seaboard, a border. Helen felt near, a voice in the dark.
In John and Eileen’s bedroom window, I thought I saw a flicker of movement. I shivered. “I should go.”
“Sure. Good night.”
The light came on in their room. They were probably wondering where I was. They’d looked younger asleep, their faces smooth in the blue and green blaze of idling electronics. The right people to help me, to guide me through whatever came next. And yet. “It’s not just about that,” Eileen had said. Not just about me and my body. There were marches, vigils, hate crimes, unjust laws, a world that needed education. There were other people like me and Claire and Dana. There were the forces that had crushed us.
I walked down the stairs. It was still just about that, for me. Let them fight their war. I appreciated it. But I’d fought long enough. I wanted to go home. I would send them a letter, apologizing for this last act of cowardice. I would send them a picture.
Guangzhou and Beijing. Father in an airport, after his father bribed a doctor and a bureaucrat and a friend in Hong Kong who pretended to be a relative. The waiting plane gleams on the tarmac, propellers roaring, louder than God. Go, his father says. Go and be reborn.
Four grown women sit in a pub, raising their tourist steins to the camera. The waiter who holds the camera comments on how much they look alike. “We’re sisters,” Bonnie says. “Wir sind Schwestern. This is Adele, Helen, and Audrey.”
Acknowledgments
Thanks to:
Keith Maillard and andrea bennett, my ideal readers, who understand me and my work as every writer longs to be understood; Linda Svendsen, Andreas Schroeder, and Kaitlin Fontana, for their practical advice and sustaining faith, and for repeatedly putting their names on the line; Ben Rawluk, Erika Thorkelson, Tetsuro Shigematsu, Bill Radford, Melissa Sawatsky, Kevin Spenst, Karen Shklanka, Meredith Hambrock, Margret Bollerup, Lauren Forconi, Emily Urness, Indrapramit Das, Emily Davidson, Chris Urquhart, Sigal Samuel, Michelle Deines, Taylor Brown-Evans, Anna Maxymiw, Jay Torrence, Nancy Lee, Ray Hsu, Deborah Campbell, Steven Galloway, and all the staff and students of the UBC MFA program for their talent, support, friendship, humor, alcohol tolerance, long hours, and all-around brilliance. I love you all.
Lauren Wein, Lorissa Sengara, and my agent, Jackie Kaiser, who saw the book as I wanted it to be, helped me get it there, and fought for that vision at every step; Tracy Roe, Stephanie Fysh, and everyone at HMH, HCC, RHA, and WCA; the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, for their financial support.
My loving family, who set an incredibly high bar for excellence just by living, and understand when I need to approach the bar sideways; Tim Mak and Jacob Sheehy, whose thought-provoking conversation and lifelong, globe-hopping friendship inspired much of this book.
My husband, John-Paul Lobos, who is everything.
About the Author
KIM FU was born in 1987 and holds a master of fine arts degree from the University of British Columbia. She lives in Seattle.