American Panda(61)
Cluck, cluck. How I hated that tongue.
“I risk everything to come see you, and you act like this? Have you not learned your lesson? Maybe I should leave.”
“I’m just hungry. And it’s not like I’m a fugitive. I’m your daughter.”
“To Bǎbá, you’re nobody. He changed our will. Yilong will get everything now.”
The words brought tears to my eyes, but I blinked rapidly, refusing to let her see. “You have no kids left. What does that tell you about your parenting style? You raised us. If we’re so terrible, aren’t you to blame?”
My mother clutched her chest, signaling that I had hit the nail square on the head, straight into her heart.
I continued, hoping to break through before the opening closed again. “Xing and Esther are happy. Are you really going to be absent from your grandson’s life because of something so outdated? They’re married. It’s done. Not to mention, you don’t believe in divorces. And she’s even giving you the grandson you wanted so bad! Isn’t it time to move on? I don’t think you even feel that strongly about all this. I think it’s more Bǎbá.”
I talked slower, wanting my words to sink in. “Mǎmá, ask yourself what you want. Bǎbá’s way isn’t the only option. You could have a say, and you should. You should get to decide your own opinions, your own actions.”
My mother’s face contorted as if she were tasting a lemon. Before, I would have backpedaled, pulled out the Mandarin to wipe the disapproval away, but now I merely sighed, then looked at her with empathy. “You need time, and that’s okay. I’ll be here when you’re ready. I just hope we’ll be on the same page someday. Think about what I said. There isn’t just one way to parent, one way to live. We all have options. You have options.”
She shook her head as if shaking my ideas out. “There are no other options. Not with Bǎbá. There’s just his way. Please, Mei, it’s up to you now. Do what he wants so we can be a family again. He only wants the best for you. Win-win, right?”
“I believe he wants the best for me, but he doesn’t know me well enough to know what that is.”
My mother was silent. When her phone rang, she jumped, spilling the winter gear beside her onto the gross, sticky floor. “It has to be Bǎbá. No one else calls my cell phone. I have to get back. He doesn’t want me here.”
“When will it be what you want?”
Her muscles stiffened only for a second, but she heard me.
Latest on Ying-Na through the grapevine
Ying-Na had sex once and got herpes. Now she can’t nab a rich husband to support her.
Even Ying-Na’s jobless boyfriend who majored in art history dumped her because her eggs are getting old.
Ying-Na said if she could go back in time, she would not have sex, not drink, and be premed.
Ying-Na can only make money by demeaning herself for laughs.
CHAPTER 25
FUTURE MEI 2.0
I SIPPED MY COKE, WHICH had absurdly cost five dollars. The flyer on my table at the comedy club read: CHRISTINE CHU, ONE NIGHT ONLY. LEAVE YOUR ANCESTORS AT HOME.
I had tracked down Ying-Na. It wasn’t easy—she no longer went by Ying-Na; she was Christine now—but Xing knew someone who knew someone who was still friends with her. I was simultaneously excited and terrified to see future Mei 2.0.
An abstract picture of Ying-Na was artfully splashed across the flyer. Her features were blurred such that the focus was on her red, skintight qípáo and the slashes cut into the chest, stomach, and sides.
Slicing my qípáo or the goddamn sweaterdress would be so therapeutic, I thought. I wondered if Ying-Na had cut hers in anger or for the flyer.
I leaned back in my seat. Even though most of the chairs were filled, the club was so tiny there couldn’t have been more than forty people. I appeared to be the only unaccompanied spectator, but for once I didn’t feel alone. Part of the group, but separate enough to sit back and watch—a peaceful change from the recent norm.
The lights dimmed, and I sat up straighter. A male announcer in a collared shirt took the stage.
“Welcome, everyone, and please, give it up for the fabulous, hilarious, and ballsy Christeeeeen Chu!”
The way he dragged her name made me think, She’s the real deal!
Amid the applause and whistles, Ying-Na clicked onto the stage in four-inch heels. Her slashed qípáo hugged her body perfectly, and the waist-length hair I remembered from childhood was lobbed into a stylish pixie. Her baby fat was gone and her body had developed curves, but the most striking difference was her confidence, which radiated from every pore.
She moseyed to the microphone and detached it with experienced hands, like it was a daily routine. Then she jutted a hip out. “So what’s the deal with Panda Express?”
Pause. She relaxed her stance. “Just kidding. It’s not going to be that kind of show.”
She smiled at the audience in a way that made me feel like the grin was just for me. “Thanks for the warm welcome, everyone. I knew you’d be a great crowd. I begged The Laugh Den for tonight’s slot because my Chinese Farmer’s Calendar told me that today would be a funny day for Chinese zodiac mice, which I am. I just wish it would also tell me when my period would actually come, and which cycles would be an uber-bitch.” She pretended to flip through a calendar. “December nineteenth, female mice beware. Your ovaries will try to kill you today. Stay home from work no matter how uncomfortable your male boss is with menstrual cramps.”