My Summer of Love and Misfortune

by Lindsay Wong

  Finally, he says, “This is your nǎinai, grandmother.”

  I stare at her. I drop the gathered flowers. I am literally being hugged by a ghost or a zombie.

  I don’t know how to react.

  I’m not sure if I should keep letting someone who might not be real hug me, or if I should pull away. What is the proper Chinese etiquette here? My parents never mentioned what to do if someone who is supposed to be your long-dead grandma puts you in a headlock. I decide not to move until Uncle Dai explains the proper custom to me. I don’t exactly know when I should clap or bow or run away. There are too many viable options to choose from.

  “So I DO have living grandparents?” I manage to sputter after she lets me go. “Why did my dad tell me that my grandparents were dead? Why would he lie about it?”

  At my words, Uncle turns even whiter. He says nothing. But he doesn’t tell the woman what I said in English. At first, I wonder if Uncle Dai is confused. Is he mixing up Ruby’s grandparents with mine? Wait, do cousins even have the same grandparents? How do family trees work?

  The woman who is supposedly my undead grandmother starts sobbing again and speaking urgently to me in Chinese. Finally, she lets go of me. But she seems to be begging me, asking me a question I don’t know. The only Chinese I can understand is my own name. As if she’s pleading directly to me.

  “What is she saying?” I say to Uncle Dai.

  “It is not important,” he says, slamming his fist into the counter. It makes a loud, horrific bang. He turns to my grandmother, his mother, and begins talking in a serious, urgent voice. My mild-mannered uncle has never seemed so terrifying before. His fist hits the counter in a series of loud, frightening bangs and I flinch.

  If he acts like this in a boardroom meeting, I can see why the students vying for a tutoring job were so scared of him!

  My grandmother stares at me, almost beseechingly. She turns to my uncle and then back at me. I keep hearing her say my name between bursts of tears and Chinese.

  I don’t understand. She keeps pointing at me. Does she want me to do or say something? Am I somehow being rude?

  Am I the reason they’re arguing?

  Sobbing, she embraces me again and I feel her slip something into my fingers. I freeze. But only for a moment. What she hands me is smaller than a bill and lighter than a gram of weed, but I smoothly slip it into my high-heeled boot. My uncle starts speaking again and her face crumples, like an aluminum can.

  Her pupils are wet and she’s still looking at me, as if she’s trying to communicate a message.

  I stare at her, but unfortunately, I don’t have ESP.

  Are her eyes saying Follow me? Are they saying I’m sorry?

  Is she saying that I’m hallucinating? I’m still in shock by this totally unexpected encounter.

  My grandmother starts trying to say something important to me, but I honestly don’t understand. Sobbing, she finally flees the apartment. The door slams.

  I wish there were subtitles to this dramatic scene.

  I wish I knew how to understand Chinese, at least! It would make trying to guess what everyone is saying or doing so much easier. It would make things way more simpler if I knew what my aunt, uncle, or cousin was really trying to say.

  Reading facial features and body language isn’t one of my greatest strengths.

  Beijing has taught me that I definitely do not have powers of ESP.

  Shocked, I pretend to be busy cleaning. But my mind spins like an Olympic figure skater who fails at doing a triple axel and lands facedown. I’m making myself dizzy from my own brain-boggling thoughts. How is that possible? I never overthink or cause myself to stress out. Baffled, I bend down and continue picking up the flowers and broken shards of glass.

  Isn’t my grandmother supposed to be dead?

  My dad lied about having a brother, but why would he continue to pretend that the rest of his family wasn’t alive? Does he not want me to actually meet my grandparents in Beijing? What is my father so afraid of?

  Why should I be surprised by anything my parents say or don’t say? My family members obviously cannot be trusted. Uncle Dai could be lying about my grandparents. I’m surrounded by a family of Dragons, Goats, Monkeys, and liars! Lying is apparently a genetic, transcontinental trait.

  “Weijun, just leave glass for maid,” my uncle says, suddenly sounding exhausted. He has stopped beating up the counter. He sighs deeply and surveys the room.

  I continue pretending to be cleaning. Normally, I’m never so diligent about tidying my own room.

  “Stop cleaning, Weijun.”

  I act as if I don’t hear him. I scoop the glass into a large pile and half attempt to haphazardly sort the pieces by size and shape.

  “Weijun!” he finally says, and I stop immediately.

  His face is twisted into something painful and unrecognizable. At first I witness anger and indignation, and then his expression softens into fear and shame. Like how I felt or still feel about failing my entire senior year. How I feel about being a loser to my lying but loving and mostly devoted parents.

  If I’m completely honest with myself, I don’t even want to admit that I really don’t know what to do with myself.

  But I have never been remotely good at real life.

  But this whole episode with my grandmother is just so terrifying, and I honestly don’t know what to do. Seeing my panic-stricken face, my uncle relents and says in a softer tone, “Weijun, you can never see your grandmother again. Your daddy does not want you to see your grandparents. Please do not tell him what happen today.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  Suddenly, Uncle Dai grabs my arm. “Do you understand what I’m saying? This very important.”

  I say nothing.

  “You promise, Iris?”

  It’s the first time that he uses my American name.

  “It will break him,” he says.

  Break him?

  Uncle Dai is looking very intense and serious, and I can’t imagine what would happen if I didn’t say yes. He no longer looks like a kindly Rich Uncle Money Bags. There’s a fiery toughness in him that I don’t recognize. A ferocious Dragon hiding under a benevolent Santa Claus disguise. Uncle Dai has actual teeth, claws, and scales underneath his Armani three-piece suit.

  “Your father cannot EVER know that you saw your grandmother,” he says.

  “Why?” I say.

  “He make me promise.”

  “Why?” I ask again.

  “Stop talking,” he says. “And promise.”

  “Sure,” I manage to squeak out, but I keep my fingers crossed behind my back. It’s not technically lying if I pretend to agree with him and then secretly find the truth out later. There’s no rule about investigating after a promise. Why else would you cross your fingers? Isn’t it for luck?

  When Ruby gets home from “Hanyuan Language School,” I decline eating dinner with them at Han Wa Ju, a popular Sichuan-style restaurant that is famous for mouthwatering dry-fried green beans and Mapo Doufu, a simmering spicy meat and ultra-soft tofu stew.

  “Weijun not feel well,” Uncle Dai tells Ruby, and they turn to leave. But not before he gives me a worried look and hands me a humongous wad of yuan.

  Is this a bribe?

  I excuse myself to use the bathroom and I stick my flaming face under the taps, cooling my cheeks with icy water. Three stubbly new hairs have sprouted above my upper lip, and one particularly thick one is struggling to emerge from my cheek. I grab my Nair Wax Ready-Strips and rip them away, feeling confused and uneasy. I still don’t understand what is happening.

  When I finally finish waxing, Uncle Dai and Ruby have not left the hotel yet. They are immersed in frantic, serious discussion. I pause, unsure if I should interrupt or just sneak past them. They don’t notice me, awkwardly standing in the living room like a floor lamp. Should I fake cough? Loudly declare my presence by belting out a song?

  But I notice that Ruby’s face has turned into a full-on sn
eer. She stomps her feet, like a hurt toddler. She’s wearing neon-blue Louboutin sandals, and I’m honestly disappointed that she still doesn’t like me enough to ask me what’s going on. Instead, she erupts. I can see why Uncle Dai has a bad temper due to his Dragon nature, but Ruby is supposed to be an easygoing Monkey. A little mischievous, but not a chimpanzee having a full-blown meltdown. I don’t understand why she’s so wounded about Uncle Dai giving me more money. Is it because she already thinks I’m spoiled? She can have the money if it makes her stop yelling at me.

  “What did Iris do to deserve it?” she says, starting to cry. “All she does is sit around and mooch off our food and spend all our money on ugly clothes. She doesn’t know about our lives before Beijing.”

  Uncle Dai speaks sharply to Ruby in Chinese.

  In English, he says, “It is my money, not your money. Please. No more talking.”

  “No!” she replies, sniffling. “I won’t be quiet. You need to send her away. I don’t want a cousin. My life has been terrible since you let her live with us. Why do you insist on being nice to a half brother who wanted nothing to do with us before? He never helped us, Grandma, Grandpa … he practically abandoned us.”

  “What are you talking about?” I interrupt, and both of them seem shocked to see me. Ruby flushes a deep burgundy-orange color, looking mortified. She wipes her eyes and nose quickly and refuses to acknowledge my question.

  My mouth is dry like a fourteen-day-old chocolate cake. And my heart beats faster at this new development.

  “Ruby, you talk too much,” Uncle Dai says. “Go to car NOW.”

  “What do you mean my dad abandoned you guys?” I say, shocked. “My dad would never do that to family?!”

  I feel a sudden protective urge to defend my dad.

  “Weijun daddy is my brother, Ruby,” Uncle Dai says. “It is all the past. Big mistake lead to bigger misunderstanding that last too many year. We already talk about it when I hire detective and lawyer to help find family in America. Problem over. Sometimes angry people make mistake. He say sorry, I say sorry. Enough.”

  “Your dad and you are ungrateful mooches,” she says to me softly. “Just leave Beijing and go back to the United States.”

  My face burns. Like she’s splashed a cup of scalding espresso on me.

  I flinch.

  I know when I’m not wanted or welcome.

  “Just take money, Weijun,” Uncle Dai interrupts, and slaps another huge wad of yuan into my palm. He doesn’t say anything else to defend my dad or chastise Ruby for her nasty accusations. He just leaves the apartment, stomping like a war general as he exits. Head held high, Ruby follows him, not even looking back.

  The hotel suite suddenly feels empty, dark, and silent. Homesickness overwhelms me like a three-month case of mono.

  I feel seriously sick.

  Anxiously, I painstakingly count out 8,000 yuan. 8,000??! What’s a girl to do with so much money? I could run outside and go shopping and immediately forget about meeting the ghost of my not-dead grandmother. At least I think that’s what Uncle Dai hopes I’ll do.

  I could even take the money and buy a return ticket home. 8,000 yuan could be a remedy to this truly shitty cultural experience.

  Suddenly, like a horrible conscience, my phone dings nonstop. I can’t bring myself to tell my dad the truth.

  WECHAT GROUP (#1WangFamily!!!)

  IrisDaddy: Everything okay today???

  Iris: Yes.

  IrisDaddy: Anything interesting happen???

  Iris: No. Just learning Chinese.

  IrisDaddy: Who are you and what have you done to my daughter?

  Iris: Very funny, Dad.

  IrisDaddy: Hahaha.

  IrisDaddy: Study hard. We love you.

  IrisDaddy: Do you love us too?

  Iris: Yes.

  IrisDaddy: Yes, what?

  Iris: Love you guys too.

  IrisDaddy: Oh, Samira’s mommy and daddy came over with Samira today for a surprise visit. They brought over your favorite chicken samosas and coconut curry. They kept asking about you … They seem to think you are out of the country. Why is that?

  IrisDaddy: They kept trying to ask which college you got into, and your mommy finally told them it was none of their business. They were shocked. We won’t be talking to them at the country club anymore.

  IrisDaddy: We really miss you.

  Iris . . . . . . . . . . . .

  Iris: Then why did you send me away??????

  IrisDaddy: It was not an easy decision. You will understand when you grow up.

  Iris: ???

  IrisDaddy: We only want the best for you. A new place is good for a new personality.

  Iris: You want me to get a new personality??

  IrisDaddy: No, we want you to learn to work hard. Learn from your uncle, aunt, and cousin.

  Iris: If I was miserable here, would you let me come home?

  IrisDaddy: What’s wrong??

  Iris: Please let me come home!!! [Retracted message]

  Iris: Nothing … just really miss home.

  Iris: BIG question: why didn’t you tell me that Grandma and Grandpa were alive??? [Retracted message]

  Finally, I decide to stuff the 8,000 yuan inside my wallet so I can’t see it.

  If it’s out of sight, I can ignore it, right? After all, my dad just said that he loves me. My dad can’t be the bad guy in this family situation. Despite our recent problems, he’s always understood me more than my mom has.

  Curious, I take out the mystery item from my grandma in my boot. It’s a tiny gold envelope for the Red Mandarin Hotel, the kind that clerks give you when you check into a hotel. There’s a room number 33245 and a white plastic key card.

  I stare at it, confused. Does my grandmother want me to go to the hotel? Was this an open invitation or a mistake? But slipping her room key into my hand seemed to be deliberate. I examine it for the longest time.

  Unable to relax, I pull up high-res photos of the Red Mandarin Hotel, a spiraling glass palace in the shape of a flying dragon, on my iPhone and realize that it’s one of Uncle Dai’s famous seven-star hotels, built only a few years back for celebrities and the world’s top 3 percent. The Red Mandarin Hotel is award-winning for hospitality and received Beijing’s top architectural medal. I’m impressed that Uncle Dai is responsible for such a fantastic feat.

  I realize that even if I found a way to the hotel, I wouldn’t be able to communicate with my grandmother. How would she be able to tell me the truth about the past? No one told me that growing up and learning family secrets in another language would be practically impossible. I am honestly disappointed in myself, almost ashamed that I never tried harder to learn one simple greeting. I can’t even say “grandmother” in Chinese. My fear of studying and failing means that I might never be able to speak to her. I keep seeing her stricken expression over and over again. Would my grandmother say that I wasn’t Chinese? If I don’t understand her, will she think that I’m not part of her family?

  Not speaking Chinese has already made me an ugly centipede in my Beijing family of silk caterpillars.

  All this unexpected sleuthing is making me ravenous, and I realize that my appetite is back. To cheer myself up, I order room service: strips of raw mutton to be instantly boiled in a cauldron of hot water, shredded pork tenderloin in green sweet-spicy bean sauce, and zesty soybean noodles piled with lightly stir-fried vegetables.

  What would my parents say if I flew back to America? What if I told them that I just couldn’t learn Chinese? That I tried to be ethnically, culturally, and politely Chinese, and I completely failed in every way possible? Nothing is stopping me if I used Uncle Dai’s wad of yuan. They wouldn’t legally be able to kick me out, would they? But then I imagine the shock, red-eyed fury, and nonstop disappointment that they would feel if I disobeyed them again. We might never recover as a family. I just want things to go back to pre-failing-senior-year days. I want us to be happy and normal and ordering seven-layer ice-cream cakes t
ogether from Dairy Queen.

  I used to think being Chinese meant that I had to be a boring geek like my dad or a super-high-achieving CEO like my mom, but in reality, I just didn’t know the definition.

  But in this city, there seems to be more to being Chinese than politeness, hard work, and pan-fried noodles. Whether I like it or not, I am connected to a long legacy of real and complicated people who have ugly secrets. At the same time, I am not used to being an outsider, a hopeful loner, or an unlicensed detective who has to use her IQ to solve serious life problems.

  Why does Generation Z have to solve the issues of all the past generational alphabets? Is it because there are no other letters after Z?

  I take comfort in the fact that if we were still friends, Samira and her dad would be so wildly jealous that I have my own real-life soap opera.

  Instead of watching TV, I surprise myself and find the Mandarin language textbook from Uncle Dai that I hid under the bathroom sink. Feeling determined, I flip it open and ignore the escalating panic that typically takes over my mind whenever I have to study. “Nǐ hǎo, nǐ hǎo ma,” I keep repeating, even though I’m not sure how to properly say it. How are you? I want to ask my grandmother. I practice saying it at least a hundred times, in four different voices (soprano, alto, tenor, and bass) because I’m not sure which tone improves my accent. And then I move on to “Wǒ jiào Wang Weijun.” My name is … “Wǒ shì nǐ de dà nǚ’ér …” I am your granddaughter. There are at least a thousand phrases in the book. If I learn three a night, I could be fluent in Mandarin (I use the calculator on my phone) in 333 days. That’s practically a whole year. Why does mastering a language take so long??!!

  In one year, I could also find out that I have another identity and all this learning might have been for nothing. What if instead of Chinese, I am supposed to be learning Korean or something obscure like Latin?

  If I am truly Chinese, shouldn’t I somehow find learning Mandarin easier based on my genetic makeup? If I’m truly ethnically, culturally, and politely Chinese, isn’t there a special cheat code to level up?

  All night, my mind goes on fast-forward, images of my grandmother, Uncle Dai, and Ruby blending together in a confusing dream montage. Wǒ jiào Wang Weijun, I keep saying to everyone, but no one can understand me. Finally, nightmare Ruby tells me that I’m not Wang Weijun. I’m just an impostor who doesn’t belong.