A Map for the Missing(31)

And yet, her relentless ability to adapt to the new of America was what had kept him going all these years. Though he’d been the one who brought them to America, it was she who’d built the foundation of their life once they’d arrived. Of all the Chinese immigrants they knew, he and Mali were the only ones who had American friends, all because she’d been unafraid to introduce herself to their neighbors even when those greetings made up most of her English vocabulary.

He imagined her in bed by herself now, curled phone cord wrapped around her finger and letting the receiver fall over her face, so close to her mouth that her voice arrived muffled. Sometimes, it was harder to hear people when they were so close. Hanwen hadn’t been like that at all. Even now, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like to close the distance between them. If he’d pulled his chair closer to the table and allowed his knees to touch hers underneath.

He cleared his throat. “How are things over there?” he asked.

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” she said. “I think I might be coming down with something.” So that was why she was still in bed, which was unlike her. She’d usually be up by this time, already making him breakfast and talking excitedly about what she had to do at work that day. “I’m just not used to sleeping without you next to me.”

“Same,” he said mechanically. In the eight years of their marriage, he’d only slept without her a handful of times, when he had to attend academic conferences. He’d spent those evenings in hotel rooms nicer than any he would have paid for on his own, feeling lost in the wide expanses of pillows and fluffy comforters that were piled on his body. But he’d felt none of her absence when he laid sleepless moments ago; obligation, rather than need, had driven him to call her.

They spoke rapidly about the water bill before he said he had to go. Whenever they called people abroad, they talked like this to save money, so quickly that, to an eavesdropper, it would have sounded like there was an emergency. Usually this saddened him, but today he was relieved. He’d shared with her some of the day’s news, but other parts were still beyond what he knew how to say.





Eleven



Hanwen waited until his car was out of sight before she unclasped her hands. She’d hid them behind her back so he wouldn’t see her shaking. She was sure she’d successfully masked her reaction at seeing him, until that last embrace. When he’d remarked upon her home, she’d thought recklessly for a moment of meeting his eyes hard, and blurting out: Can’t you see I would give up all of this for your life, in an instant? Can’t you see that you are living the life I wanted? She’d wanted to shake him when he described his American life in those deprecating terms. He never understood how much he had, then or now.

She was hardly back inside the house when her mother was upon her and the questions began.

“Who was that?”

Hanwen had noticed her face, hovering at the edge of their front window, as she’d said goodbye to Yitian. She wondered if her mother had seen the hug.

“No one. Just an old friend. I told you.”

“Where does he work now?”

“He lives in America.”

“America?” Her mother’s voice was sharp and inquisitory, a way that she hadn’t been with Hanwen in years. She never voiced any opinions on Hanwen’s marriage, and at the first sign of a disagreement between Hanwen and Guifan, she retreated to another room. She couldn’t have been more different than how she’d been when Hanwen was young, when she’d wanted to know every corner of Hanwen’s life to make sure nothing deviated from the direction she wanted it to take.

“Miss, the car’s outside. You’re going to be late,” Ayi came to say. Hanwen checked her watch. She should have left twenty minutes ago for the restaurant the host had chosen in a small forest complex on the outskirts of town.

“Ma, I don’t have time to talk about this right now,” she said. “I’m already running behind.”

“Let me help you get your things ready, then,” her mother said.

“No, it’ll only slow me down. Don’t stay up waiting for us tonight, okay? We might be out late.”

She left her mother in the living room, clutching her hands. Her mother was at a loss for what to do when she couldn’t help around the house. Two weeks ago, she’d slipped while giving Yuanyuan a bath. Ayi had found her, sprawled prone on the floor of the bathroom, her toes dipping in the puddling water from the showerhead that had begun spraying freezing water. Since then, Hanwen had forbade her to do any household tasks, but she often still caught her mother pacing around the house, rearranging items that she’d only just nudged into place hours earlier. Hanwen encouraged her to watch television—other elderly women adored the soap operas—but her mother refused to even turn on the new color set they’d purchased for her room, saying it would rot her brain.

When she dialed Guifan’s office, his young secretary answered.

“It’s me,” Hanwen said. “Can you give Guifan a message? I’m going to be a little late to dinner, Yuanyuan threw a tantrum—”

“Oh, Mrs. Wang,” the secretary interrupted. “You better tell him yourself. He’s just about to leave.”

Guifan’s voice, urgent and impatient, came on the line before she could object.