by Helen Hoang
“Happy birthday.” Anna jumps out from the kitchen, lifts her violin to her chin, and plays in front of me for the first time ever, a huge smile on her face.
It takes me a few seconds, but even as tone-deaf as I am, I recognize it’s “Happy Birthday to You”—probably the most elaborate rendition of it ever played. So much happened today that I forgot it was my birthday. But Anna didn’t.
The significance of what she’s doing, the fact that this is the first time she’s playing for me, hits me. If I wasn’t already in love with her, I’d fall now.
When the song ends, she puts her violin away and smiles at me self-consciously, and I crush her to me with a tight hug and kiss her over and over. “Best fucking birthday ever. You played that whole thing. So proud of you. Love you, love you, love you.”
She wipes the moisture away from my face with her thumbs and kisses me slower and deeper. “Love you.”
Her hands slide down my chest to the waist of my pants, and my fly comes undone.
“Are you sure?” I ask, even though I’m praying for her to say yes. I want her so bad I could climb the walls. “We don’t—”
“Birthday sex,” she says, pulling her dress over her head and tugging me toward the bedroom.
It’s been so long for both of us that birthday sex only lasts five minutes, but you can bet your ass those five minutes are downright epic. I tell her about LVMH afterward, and she squeals with excitement. Then we have cake for dinner. It makes us feel sick, and we eat leftovers to settle our stomachs, laughing with each bite.
Truly, the best birthday ever.
FORTY-SIX
Anna
I decide it’s time to return to the Richter piece. But this time, I give myself a hard talk first. I can see now that I can never go back to the way things were. It was foolish of me to think I could find a magic key to turn back time. The truth is art will never be as effortless as it used to be, not now that people have expectations of me. All I can do is go forward, and to do that, I must stop chasing perfection. It doesn’t exist. I can never please everyone. It’s hard enough just pleasing myself. Instead, I must focus on giving what I have, not what people want, because that is all I can give. I don’t mask anymore if I can help it.
I begin the Richter piece for the last time. Practice is slow and arduous. I make many mistakes and I go back and correct what I can, but I don’t go all the way back—except for one more time, which I regret. I hear the voices in my head, criticizing me, judging me. Oftentimes they get the best of me, and I finish practice feeling despondent. But I keep going anyway. Fighting the compulsion to start over, to seek perfection, to outwit the voices, is exhausting, and most days I can only manage for a few hours before I know my brain has had it. This is a necessary thing for me to learn, though. If I’m sensitive to my own resource levels, I can keep myself from falling sick again. A slow me is much better than a sick me.
In this manner, I make it to the end of the Richter piece. When I tell Quan, he pops a bottle of champagne and celebrates with me, even though I still have many other pieces to prepare for this record and upcoming tour. But one by one, I get through those as well. I go to the studio, and I record them, permanently saving my renditions in digital format even though they’re not one hundred percent flawless.
It never gets easier. I fight every time I set my bow to the strings, but I stay true to myself.
I play from my heart.
EPILOGUE
Anna
Today’s the day.
I’m performing for an audience today.
It’s been over two years since my dad’s funeral. It took me that long to heal and to fight. I often despaired that I’d never make it.
But here I am, behind the stage.
The crowd is small, only fifty people, but I’m so nervous there might as well be thousands out there. These are my people, though, the select few who came from all corners of the country (some farther) to hear me. They are honoring me with the precious gift of their time. As much as I battled through these pieces for myself, I also battled for them. I treasure this small group of people who understands me.
I hope my art makes them feel. I hope it makes them think. I hope it has an impact.
I get the signal that it’s time, and I swallow my nerves and carry my violin onto the stage.
The lights are bright, and I don’t let myself look up at them. There, in the front row, is my honey, Quan. He’s beaming at me, holding a bouquet of red roses in his lap, and I’m so overwhelmed with love for him that I feel like my chest is going to burst open. Next to him is my mom. She’s wearing an evening gown and her finest jewelry and proudly sitting with a group of her posh friends. On Quan’s other side are two faces that I’ve never seen in real life, but I recognize them right away. Rose and Suzie, my good friends who tried to be there for me and didn’t fault me for disappearing when my life got too hard. I’m excited to go out to dinner with them after this performance.
This group is small, but it’s good. It’s all that I need.
Feeling emotional and very much alive, I lift my violin to my chin, and I set my bow upon the strings.
I play.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This book is a work of fiction, but it’s also half memoir. To date, it’s the most “me” book that I’ve written. That’s why it’s in first person rather than third, like my other books. The words came out easier when I said “I” instead of “she.” But the personal nature of this book made it harrowing to write. Anna’s struggles were mine. Her pain was mine. Her shame was mine. And I relived it every time I sat down to write. All in all, for reasons ranging from writer’s block to autistic burnout, it took me more than three years to finish, but regardless of how this book is received, I’m proud that I made it through and proud of the story I told. Writing this author’s note is a momentous occasion for me.
At the same time, however, writing this note is a bittersweet experience, too. I wrote the author’s note for The Bride Test while I was in my mom’s hospital room, keeping her company as she struggled from complications related to her lung cancer treatments. Even as sick as she was, she tried to talk to me, to connect with me. She made the time count. But that night was the last time she was really “herself.” After that, her illness consumed her. Out of love, my family took her out of the hospital and brought her home, where my siblings and I cared for her around the clock. As my mom’s sickness worsened, I suffered from suicidal ideation. I’m not sharing this because I want anyone’s sympathy. I’m sharing this because I want people to know how real and serious caregiver burnout is. I’m lucky to be alive.
I feel like there’s a conversation about caregiving that society isn’t having. It’s not something that people can freely talk about. No one wants to be seen as “complaining,” and no one wants to make a loved one feel like they’re a burden. But the truth is caregiving is hard. Not everyone is suited for it. I most certainly am not, and it has nothing to do with my being on the autism spectrum. There are many autistic people who work as nurses and doctors and other types of healthcare providers and derive meaning and satisfaction from it. Even those who like this kind of work can get burned out from the heavy physical, mental, and emotional tolls it takes on them, as we’ve seen among frontline workers caring for patients with severe COVID-19.
As a society, we need to have compassion for all people affected by illness and disability—and that means those who receive care as well as those who give care. We all matter, and no one should feel like they can’t ask for help when they need it. If someone says they’re hurting, please listen. Please take them seriously. Please be kind. If you’re hurting, please be kind to yourself.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (United States): 800-273-8255
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you, readers, for waiting for this book! For reasons that I suspect you can guess after reading The Heart
Principle, I wasn’t able to finish writing on time to publish last year. I’m sorry for any disappointment I may have caused—but also perversely happy if anyone likes my books enough to be disappointed when they don’t release on schedule. I hope the wait was worth it.
This book was a long time in the making, so there are many people I need to thank individually or by name. First of all, thank you, thank you, thank you to my husband. I seriously wouldn’t have made it here without your support. You lifted me up when I felt down (which was often—I’m sorry). You let me talk your ears off about this book even though I’m sure you were bored. You hugged me, fed me, managed our kids’ pandemic schooling so I could write, and covered our tiny yard with milkweed and passion vine so I could watch the butterflies. I love you with all my heart.
Thank you to my baby sister, 7. I’m so lucky Mom and Dad accidentally conceived you during that Bermuda vacation, so I could have my best friend at my side my entire life (except for the one year, one month, and one day that I lived alone before you were born). Thank you for the dinners, donuts, butterfly cage, and the millions of thoughtful things you do. Most of all, thank you for you. Love you, em.
Next, I need to thank my writer friends for being there throughout this process: Roselle Lim, you are funny and wise and kind. Pictures of your cat give me life, lol. Suzanne Park, I’m inspired by you. How you manage to achieve all that you do and still be such a considerate friend is mind-boggling. A. R. Lucas, I treasure you. You tell me the hard truths that I need to hear, but always with kindness and compassion. Gwynne Jackson, I’m grateful for all the times you’ve listened to me pour my heart out without judgment. Talking to you is like getting a big hug. Rachel Simon, I’m so glad we’ve gotten to know each other over the past few years. Your friendship, honesty, and thoughtfulness mean a great deal to me. Mazey Eddings, your vivid personality made this past year much more bearable. Chloe Liese, I have such respect for you and your work. You make this world better. My mentor, Brighton Walsh, I wouldn’t have had the confidence to hand this manuscript to my editor without your help. Thank you, as always, for your guidance.
When I was struggling fiercely to write this book, Julia Quinn advised me to give myself time, to take a year off if I could and let myself slowly rediscover my love of writing. It was precisely the advice I needed, but more than that, I felt seen and understood and unspeakably touched that someone like her would even speak to me. It was a small thing for her to do, but she positively impacted my life. THANK YOU, JQ!!!
Later on, I reached out to another romance writing idol of mine, Jayne Ann Krentz, asking her how she managed to fill bookshelves with so many wonderful books of her own, and she, too, shared helpful advice with me. From her, I learned that I need to trust myself when I write and if there are recurring themes in my books, it’s okay. I don’t need to reinvent myself with every book so I can be fresh and new. In fact, those recurring themes may be the precise elements that inspire readers to connect with my work. I needed to hear these things, and I took them to heart as I drafted this book. THANK YOU, JAK!!!
Many thanks to Rebecca Ong, Nancy Huynh, and fellow wuxia fan Yimin Lai for helping me with the Chinese American representation in this book. It was a privilege to interview you. I’m sorry I was so annoying and bothered you with random questions at odd hours of the day.
Thank you to my old tae kwon do friend from college who is now a cardiothoracic surgeon, Dr. Burg, for connecting me with your urologist colleague, so I could ask him all my questions regarding testicular cancer and radical inguinal orchiectomy. Thank you, Dr. Witten, for sharing your time and expertise with me.
Thank you, Kaija Rayne, for reading this manuscript on short notice and offering feedback. I appreciate it.
Thank you to my agent, Kim Lionetti, for doing what you could to support me through my journey with this book even though your life was challenging as well.
Last but not least, thank you to the publishing team at Berkley—Cindy Hwang, Jessica Brock, Fareeda Bullert, and others—for being so understanding and patient with me. I plan to return to being a professional, deadline-keeping kind of author from here on out. I’m beyond grateful that you were as kind as you were when I dropped the ball, and I’m excited to work with you on coming projects.
READERS GUIDE
THE
Heart
PRINCIPLE
Helen Hoang
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
Anna is a pro at “masking,” the process whereby autistic people intentionally observe and mimic their peers in order to fit in, but perhaps autistic people aren’t the only ones who do this. How much masking do you do on a regular basis? What kinds of things do you do that could be considered masking? Do you think masking is an important social behavior and what does this mean in the context of the book, where Anna is trying to do less of it and be a more genuine version of herself?
Anna believes her success was an accident, that she didn’t earn it based on her talent and skill, and this is a source of pain for her as she struggles to “earn it for real” with her future performances. In your opinion, does she have imposter syndrome? Why? Have you experienced something similar?
Is it possible to achieve perfection with something as subjective as art? Which works—literature, music, paintings, etc.—are perfect in your opinion? As a reader, do you want writers to tailor their writing to your personal preferences or do you want to see what they’re inspired to create on their own?
In the book, Anna thinks she can find the courage to speak up for herself if she’s with someone she’ll never see again. What are your opinions on achieving empowerment through the one-night stand?
Anna feels that her position in her family’s hierarchy (youngest) resulted in her having less rights at home, especially the rights to speak up for herself and say no. Is this your experience within your own family? Does birth order influence the rights and responsibilities of siblings relative to each other? If so, how?
According to AARP, there are nearly 53 million Americans providing unpaid caregiving labor for family members. The majority of them are women, and they’re at a higher risk of experiencing the fallout from caregiver stress. They’re also more likely to live in poverty than non-caregivers because they have to leave the workforce to tend to those in need. What can society do to better protect these caregivers?
Is it possible to forgive someone when they won’t apologize? How?
How do you define success? Do you have to “win” to be successful?
There are men who link their masculinity to their testicles and ability to father children. Do you agree with them? In your opinion, what makes a man a man?
The book ends with Anna playing before an audience once again. Do you wish you knew how people reacted to her performance? Why does the book end before she finishes playing?
Photo by Eric Kieu
Helen Hoang is that shy person who never talks. Until she does. And then the worst things fly out of her mouth. She read her first romance novel in eighth grade and has been addicted ever since. In 2016, she was diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder in line with what was previously known as Asperger’s syndrome. She currently lives in San Diego, California, with her husband, two kids, and a pet fish.
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