The Wangs vs. the World(93)

She drove and drove and felt like she was shrinking in her seat, shrinking until she was a tiny thing with fur, paws on the steering wheel, heading straight north. She saw herself on a hand-drawn map, one creature in a world of billions, a tiny light heading slowly north as the world spun below her. Somewhere in Pennsylvania, as the sun set and no moon rose to take its place, Grace knew with a calm certainty that her life was going to ripple ever outward until it encompassed the entire world.





三十九

Helios, NY





3,561 Miles


SAINA HAD JUST given up on flaking the filet of smoked whitefish neatly with a fork and had begun to wiggle her finger under its cold flesh, working along the delicate spine, when she heard a car horn blaring in the driveway. She dropped the fish, half torn, into a bowl that already held a pile of capers, chopped egg, and finely diced onion, and ran for the door. Halfway there, briny hands up in the air so that they wouldn’t drip, she stopped and turned back, guilty. Leo was still in the kitchen, searching her cupboards for the rye crackers that he liked. For a minute, she’d forgotten him entirely.

From outside, car doors slammed, and a second later Grace was banging on the front door.

Saina looked at her boyfriend. “Are you ready?”

“You know what? I’m actually a little nervous.”

She felt a flash of love for him—why do people’s vulnerabilities stab at our hearts?—but before she could say anything, Grace was in the front hall, shouting Saina’s name.

“You go have a family hello first,” he said. “I’ll open a bottle of something.” So she turned again and ran, and found that she couldn’t wait to throw her still-damp hands around her little sister.

They hugged, and then they hugged again. And then her father came in and slung an arm across her shoulders and surprised her by resting his cheek against hers, sighing. “It was a long trip. America is very wide.” Barbra, next to him, held his hand. Her left wrist was bandaged and a thin red scar snaked up her arm. She looked sweet and forlorn, and Saina gave in to the urge to embrace her, too.

“Oh, look at you guys! You’re all banged up! Dad, let me see your eye.”

He waved her off. “No problem! I have ice pack. Don’t worry.”

“Are you guys really okay?”

Charles, Barbra, and Grace crowded close to each other in the vestibule. They all nodded. “We are alive, so we are okay,” said her father.

She eyed them, skeptical. “Well, you must be so tired. Here, let’s leave the bags, Leo and I will get them later.”

As she shuffled them into the living room, Grace went back outside and returned with a flat cardboard envelope. “This was on the porch. Is it important?” Saina took it and, her attention on the meeting to come, peeled off the scored strip that zipped the whole thing shut. As soon as she lifted the flap, she realized what it was.

Coming in from the kitchen, Leo set down a tray with wineglasses and a bottle of bubbly rosé, then crossed the room with his hand extended, as if he’d met her father a thousand times before.

Still, she cringed. There was something about introducing a new boyfriend to her family that always felt rude, like she was putting her sex life on display. Greetings safely executed, Leo passed out glasses and poured them each a gorgeous, generous pink swig of wine, delighting Grace by not even hesitating over her glass.

“To you guys making it here,” Saina said, and waited until everyone had clinked glasses with everyone else—twenty clinks, she calculated nervously—and taken a sip before she let herself pull out the magazine.

It wasn’t a cover. It was never going to be a cover story; Billy must have written it on the train back to New York for him to turn it around so quickly. In the end, it was one in a portfolio of failures—Eliot Spitzer was the cover, and she was one of four other profiles, two thousand words running alongside the more flamboyant failure—something else that Billy probably knew before he smoked her out. She felt a faint, arrogant bit of disappointment at that before flipping to the paper-clipped page. A folded piece of notepaper was attached.

Grace crowded in, reading the headline over her shoulder. “Oh my god, what? Is this about you? ‘The Search for Saina Wang.’ Whoa, that is so cool!”

“Who need to search? I find you. You are right here!” Her father grabbed her arm and then patted her on the head.

“Are you going to read it?” asked Barbra.

For a moment, she considered putting the magazine back in the envelope and tossing it in the recycling bin.

Impossible. Who were those people who insisted that they never read any reviews? It seemed preposterous. “Here, Grace. You read it to us.”

“Wait, aren’t you excited about this?”

“I guess we’ll see.”

Grace nodded back, not looking at her. “Okay, if you’re sure.” She started to read.



THE SEARCH FOR SAINA WANG



Schadenfreude? Gesundheit! Billy Al-Alani on the psychology behind a New York ‘It’ girl’s fall from grace.

It is sometime around April when I first realize that Saina Wang is gone. I try her cell and get sent straight to voicemail.

“It’s Saina. Leave a message.”

She sounds warm, but distant. Trademark Saina. I leave a message, but she never calls back.