by Kathy Wang
In regards to my personal life, I have discovered how much I have become settled in my ways. I am accustomed to peace and quiet and selecting my own meals and bedtime. I think it may be too late for me to change these things about myself. So for now I am still alone, although I have recently become more open to the idea of one day having more friends and relationships. Though I don’t think I’ll be married again. These days it seems like even young people don’t need to get married, and I’m already an old woman.
I have shared more than I have in past years, which was my intention. Lately, few experiences bring me more joy than reading updates from old friends. I wish you all well.
Best regards,
Linda Liang
PS: Many of you may remember my ex-husband, Stanley Huang. I’m sorry to report that he passed earlier this year. Everyone, please remember to exercise and to eat vegetables (I myself have switched exclusively to organic produce).
She didn’t cry when Stanley died. Right before it happened she’d suffered an allergy attack, an inconvenience, really—she was so old and still having allergies?—and retrieved some tissues to keep her face neat, and then her children had seen and comforted her and she’d let them, because it had been so long since she’d been touched by either. But she hadn’t really been crying. It was how it was always going to end, for all of them, though naturally Stanley had never believed it for himself, and that was his own fault for not taking to heart the ample hints sent from the universe. Stanley, who never denied himself the natural inclinations of the human existence but who refused to believe the biggest and most inevitable truth of it all.
For the longest time she’d hated him. Had loved then hated then pitied then finally in the last moments before his dying come close to loving him again, but in the way you might an errant child, or a teacher a poor student. Though Stanley had taught her things too. Taught her the ways of marriage, at least the only marriage she’d ever known—and afterward, the silence of divorce. Shown her how life could reward the places where you least exerted effort, while denying what you desired and worked so ardently toward most.
And revealed to her the true nature of men.
Men with their grasping ideals, their need to have a legacy, still such a stupid word, to be remembered for something larger and more important than themselves. But what could be more important than one’s own self? As surely Stanley had considered his own body and desires sacrosanct above all else, and she had loathed him for this disloyalty, but in the end she had reserved the lesson for herself to keep. Moved in with her daughter because she felt safe there at night but kept her own house, continuing to pay for its maintenance so she could have the luxury of privacy. Gone to Stanley’s funeral and accepted the condolences accorded to a wife, one who spent thirty-four years building the lifestyle he enjoyed so much afterward. And allowed herself the moment of hot humiliation that came when she learned of the true nature of Winston. Kate and Fred coming to her with downcast eyes, both still so timid when sharing the inconvenient or ugly, which had exasperated her until she understood that this time, the truth was about her.
“He’s a scam, Ma,” Kate said. “Your boyfriend, the one you met online. Winston, right? He’s not real.”
“Not real?” She’d immediately tensed, as a searing pain ran through her shoulders. She didn’t understand what Kate was saying. She had spoken to Winston, seen his face, held him. How could he not be real?
“I mean, he’s a fraud. He was part of a bigger scheme, the same one Fred got caught up with.”
Linda felt herself relax. A fraud. A man guilty of wrongful deception. That wasn’t so terrible. If that was the worst-case scenario, she could certainly manage it.
Of course, she rid herself of him immediately. Performed the shameful calculation of what the experience had cost her, ultimately judging it inexpensive at a few thousand for months of conversation. Next, she took care of the task at hand. No phone call, no video chat, a simple message, as succinct as she always was:
Please do not contact me again.
A month later a package arrived from Van Cleef & Arpels, marked as sent from Raymond Chou. AKA WINSTON CHU was printed below, with no return address.
She sent it unopened to the agent Josh Stern, who called to thank her. “You’re very responsible, Mrs. Liang. Not everybody would have returned these items.”
“I don’t want them. I want to be rid of all these things.”
“We’re very sorry this happened to you. You seem like a nice woman. You didn’t deserve to lose that money. Though if it makes you feel better, what you lost is nothing compared to other cases we’ve seen.”
It didn’t, because the money had never particularly mattered to her to begin with. She had more than enough, didn’t she? Enough wealth, companionship, freedom. The life spark to move and do as she wanted, to enjoy a long nap on her sofa or savor a favorite meal by herself, when the mood struck, in the middle of the afternoon.
The last time she saw Stanley he lay with his eyes closed and mouth open, the way he had looked all those years as he slept next to her, the last time she ever really shared her bed. Good-bye, Stanley, she’d said, and closed his palm for him. Thirteen years had gone by since their divorce; nine months since his passing. And in that time, she hadn’t missed him. She’d kept the best parts of him, anyway. And that had been her final gift from Stanley—to accept and cherish all that she had managed to create for herself, in her short and precious life.
Linda opened the door to her garden. It was a magnificent day; she would spend it outside.
Acknowledgments
My agent, Michelle Brower, and my editor, Kate Nintzel.
Ana Giovinazzo, Andrea Molitor, Andrea Monagle, Andrew DiCecco, Alison Law, Carla Parker, Dale Schmidt, Katherine Turro, Lauren Truskowski, Liate Stehlik, Lillie Walsh, Lynn Grady, Mumtaz Mustafa, Nyamekye Waliyaya, Sharyn Rosenblum, Vedika Khanna, and the team at William Morrow/HarperCollins.
The Wang Family, near and far.
Tom, for his enduring encouragement and support, and Daniel and Vivienne, for giving it all meaning.
About the Author
KATHY WANG grew up in Northern California and holds degrees from UC Berkeley and Harvard Business School. She lives in the Bay Area with her husband and two children.
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Praise for Family Trust
“Family Trust reads like a brilliant mashup of The Nest and Crazy Rich Asians (with a soupçon of Arrested Development for good measure). It’s dark and funny and entertaining and thoughtful all at once. The best kind of family drama. I loved every page.”
—Cristina Alger, author of The Banker’s Wife
“A globe-trotting, whirlwind, tragi-comic family saga that wrings tears from absurdity and laughter from loss. A joy to read from start to finish.”
—Andrew Sean Greer, author of Less, winner of the 2018 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction
“Wang speaks with authority, insight, and irony about the ethnic and socioeconomic realities at business school, in Silicon Valley, in mixed-race relationships and marriages. A strong debut.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“All hail Kathy Wang! Not only does Family Trust deftly weave together a rich family drama, biting corporate satire, and deeply felt immigrant story, Wang tackles the big questions: Does my life have meaning? Who will remember me when I’m gone? What’s the ROI on a Harvard MBA? A sharp, spirited, and wholly original take on the American Dream.”
—Jillian Medoff, bestselling author of This Could Hurt
“A wicked and witty send-up of Asian-American Silicon Valley elite, a delightful debut that Jane Austen would have approved of.”
—Micah Perks, author of What Becomes Us
“Astute. . . . [Wang] brings levity and candor to the tricky terrain of family dynamics, aging, and excess [and] expertly considers the values of high-tech high society.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
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“Funny and compelling.”
—Southern Living
“A family’s past and present, as well as their hopes for the future, are thrown into blistering focus after a cancer diagnosis threatens the Huang patriarch. Family Trust offers an exquisite rendering of the way relationships evolve and are nurtured over a lifetime, and of the circumstances that either draw individuals closer or drive them apart.”
—Meghan MacLean Weir, author of The Book of Essie
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
family trust. Copyright © 2018 by Kathy Wang. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
first edition
Cover design by Mumtaz Mustafa
Cover illustrations by Emily Isabella (flowers); Nergis Mustafa Art (background and gold texture)
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Wang, Kathy, author.
Title: Family trust : a novel / Kathy Wang.
Description: First edition. | New York, NY : William Morrow, [2018] |
Identifiers: LCCN 2018029406 (print) | LCCN 2018031023 (ebook) | ISBN 9780062855275 (ebook) | ISBN 9780062855251 (hardback) | ISBN 9780062855268 (paperback) | ISBN 9780062874764 (international paperback)
Subjects: LCSH: Domestic fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Literary. | FICTION / Family Life.
Classification: LCC PS3623.A45694 (ebook) | LCC PS3623.A45694 F36 2018 (print) | DDC 813/.6--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018029406
Digital Edition OCTOBER 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-285527-5
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-285525-1
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