The Wangs vs. the World(69)

“Oh, just changing up my style a little bit. I decided to go southern gentleman.”

“Shut up! No, really.”

He shot her a look. “Gracie, give it up. I’m just wearing it. It’s just a shirt, don’t worry about it.”

“I thought I cared about you not looking ridiculous, but I guess I won’t.”

“No fighting! We all together again, almost whole family. Andrew, did you spend night with that ugly woman?”

Andrew flinched. “Dad, she’s beautiful.”

“Who are you guys even talking about? That lady with the red hair?”

“Dorrie,” said Andrew.

Protective. That’s how he sounded. Which was totally weird, but kind of understandable coming from Andrew. Andrew, who got to go off with some older lady without any questioning from Dad. It was so unfair—if she’d wanted to spend the night with one of those cute boys from the wedding, it would have been a federal case. “Isn’t she kind of old?”

“No! Why does age matter?”

Their father put a hand on Andrew’s shoulder. “No worry. Andrew not going to marry her or something. Not so serious, just fun.”

“Well, actually . . .”

All four of them waited, wondering what he was going to say. God, Andrew really did look stupid in that shirt. Was it a girl’s shirt? Was he going to marry that lady?

“Actually, I think I’m going to stay here for a while. With Dorrie.”

“What? You’d leave me alone?” asked Grace.

He looked down at the counter. “I’m sorry, I just, I think I might be—”

Their father stood over him, protesting. “No, no, no. Is this because of what you say last night? Now you think that you are in love? So you have sex, so what? It is okay!” He looked over at Grace. “Not okay for you. Different for boy.”

And Babs, too. “Andrew! Don’t be so stubborn. Don’t throw away your life on an old woman just because she sleep with you!”

Even Uncle Nash joined in. “I’ve known Dorrie since she was a girl, Andrew, and she’s not the person you think she is. You should stay with your family.”

They talked at him, and Andrew protested, and Grace registered it all, but she couldn’t say anything. It was like there was a drumbeat in her head, except that each beat was a pulse of blood that just said, Gone. Gone. Gone. She’d never see him again. She was thrown in school and now she was yanked out of school and whatever adults wanted just happened. Nobody cared and she was alone and Saina never even answered the phone. She was going to be an adult soon and then could do whatever she wanted without any of them.

The talking turned to shouting, but finally Andrew ended it by just walking out the door, with the adults following him, without even saying goodbye to her. Without even seeing her. It didn’t matter. He was gone anyway. There was Dorrie, sitting in an old sports car with the frizziest hair Grace had ever seen, not looking at her father or Babs or Uncle Nash as Andrew got in the front seat. Uncle Nash ran around to the driver’s side of the car and yelled, but Dorrie, who was supposed to be his niece or second cousin or something, smiled and stared straight ahead and zoomed off like the Snow Queen.

The three old people just stood there in the sun, and Andrew was gone. Useless. Everyone was useless. Suddenly, Grace just wanted to go to sleep. Forget taking up arms against a sea of troubles—what was wrong with just lying down and going to invisible sleep?





三十

Helios, NY


LOVE SAYS YOU. That’s the thing no one told Saina. Or maybe they’d tried, and she’d been too preoccupied with learning that an unconventional life was the only option to hear it. Maybe that’s what crazy Republicans meant when they talked about liberal brainwashing and ivory-tower schools that created unrealistic expectations.

Because this was what she’d been taught: To choose marriage and babies over a glamorous career as an artist would be an unthinkable failure. Love was supposed to be a by-product of a life well lived, not the goal.

And this is what she’d realized: Everything she’d been taught was wrong.

Sometimes, Saina blamed her mother. It wasn’t just that May Lee had died so suddenly and ridiculously, it was that she’d lived that way, too. Even as a child, Saina had felt that there was something wrong in the way that her mother’s mood had shifted based solely on her father’s attentions. In second grade, when the class was learning how to tell time, Saina remembered a worksheet that asked you to write down what your parents did all day. Her Father chart was jammed with entries.



6 a.m. to 7 a.m.—He plays tennis.

7 a.m. to 8 a.m.—He talks on the phone.

8 a.m.—He leaves for work.

8 a.m. to 7 p.m.—He makes makeup at his factory.

7 p.m.—He comes home.

7 p.m. to 10 p.m.—He plays with me and we all eat.



Her Mother chart barely had two.



6 a.m. to 11 a.m.—Sleeping.

11 a.m. to 7 p.m.—Shopping. Wait for Daddy.



She hadn’t realized that other people’s mothers had hobbies and charities and jobs. That they didn’t just wait, inert, for their husbands to come home and bring them back to life.

Love saves you, as long as there’s a you to be saved.