The Stand-In(102)

“We’re sisters?” she repeats, hands splayed over the photo.

“It looks like we are.”

Fangli turns the pages until she gets to the one of Mom and Dad. “That’s her?”

“Yes, Agatha Wu Reed. Her Chinese name is Wu Miaoling.”

“She’s not dead? My father said she was dead.”

“Not dead,” I assure her. “Her Alzheimer’s means she drifts in and out so it was hard to get the whole story. I might have misunderstood parts, and we should get a DNA test to confirm it.”

“How sure are you that we’re sisters?”

I don’t hesitate. “Almost one hundred percent.”

Fangli slams the album shut and sets it down with trembling hands. I don’t know what to say or if I should reach out. I know how difficult it was for me to understand and Fangli is coping not only with a new sister but a living mother.

I shift on the edge of my seat, silent for fear of saying the wrong thing when Fangli opens the book again. She analyzes every page, her eyes fixed on the mother who left her. Her hands run up and down the pages and I watch them. I have Dad’s broader hands but Fangli’s are like Mom’s, with long, smooth fingers. She even wears the clear polish Mom always favored.

“Tell me again what she said,” Fangli says, flipping another page.

I go through the story again, right from Mom thinking Sam was her brother. She doesn’t look up from the book but I can tell she’s listening to each word, testing it for truth.

I finish the story as Fangli reaches the last page. Finally she looks up. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears.

“She left me?” Her voice breaks. Then she repeats it, changes the tone. “She left me.”

“I’m sorry.” This isn’t a trauma I can help with because I imagine it wounds Fangli to her core. I can only sense the edges around my own pain of all the things Mom stole from me when she decided to keep her secret. I also can’t fault Mom for trying to do the best she could, but I won’t blame Fangli if she can’t do the same. She’s just heard what must be one of the most painful rejections a child can know. No matter how much Mom might have loved Fangli, she chose to leave.

Fangli stands and then sits again. “My father kept this from me as well.” Her laugh is more of a bark. “Everyone lied to me.”

“Should I have told you?” Now I’m uncertain I made the right decision.

“Yes.” She’s sure. “This isn’t your fault.”

“I know. I guess I feel…” I hesitate, trying to name the emotion. “Guilty?”

She puts the album down on the coffee table. “Is that drink offer on?”

“Fuck, yes.” She follows me to the kitchen, where I skip the beer and wine and grab a bottle of gin from the cupboard. I pour us two very generous drinks, dump in some ice and soda, and we toss them down like water.

“Guilty.” She says it slowly. “Why?”

I shrug but when I go to pour myself another drink, she puts her hand on the bottle. “Later,” she says. “After we talk.”

She’s right. “I feel bad I had time with Mom that you didn’t.”

When she laughs this time, it sounds more like Fangli. “Not much you could do about that.”

“I’m mad at her, too,” I burst out. “I’m mad and I can’t be because I know she tried and she’s sick and what she did to me is nothing to what she did to you and I don’t understand why no one told me and—”

My big sister steps forward to enfold me in a tight hug. I clutch onto her, feeling her warmth under my hands as she simply lets me be safe in her arms. As we stand there, I feel her shake and she exhales, thin and unsteady.

“It’s okay,” I tell her and feel her nod hard against me. “We’ll be good.”

“Right,” she says, laying her head on my shoulder. “Fine.”

When we untangle, we look at each other. Fangli’s a mess, with a red nose and swollen eyes and creases along her cheek from pressing into the seam of my shirt. I assume I look as bad. This time, she doesn’t stop me from pouring another shot and edges her glass forward when it looks like I’m going to stop pouring.

“You don’t drink,” I remember when she refuses more ice. “I was never allowed to drink wine when I was out as you.”

She takes a sip. “Because it’s too hard to control my words when I drink. No filter. This, however, is a special occasion and a time for honesty if I’ve ever seen one.”

We go back to the living room. Now that we’ve reached the first base camp on Mount Reconciliation, I’m not sure if I need a break or want to power on.

Fangli paces around my space. “I have so much to say and I don’t know where to start.” She sits down and drains her glass before clinking it down on the table. “No. I’m going to say it. Next topic is Sam.”

We’re climbing again.

“Right.” I hold up my hand. “I need to…” Congratulate you on your engagement. I can’t get the words out.

“Did you see the announcement? That we’re getting married?”

“I did. Congratulations.” There, I managed it with a smile.

“A lie,” she says vehemently. “That snake Lu Lili told that story.”