Chapter 16

America was many things at once, yet nothing at all. I step out onto the streets, expecting something – anything – to strike me with wonder, to shake me awake and remind me why I am here. Instead, I am met with something dull, something lifeless. The city is bustling, full of people with quick steps and quicker conversations, but none of them look at me. None of them speak to me.

The war is long over, and unlike China, America is blossoming. The streets are lined with new cars, chrome shining under the afternoon sun. Storefronts display advertisements for appliances I have never seen before – refrigerators, radios, televisions, things that promise a future bright and clean, free of dust and ruin. The people move like they belong here, with easy smiles and well-fed faces, dressed in suits and dresses that look so smooth, so perfect, I feel like a smudge against their backdrop.

I do not belong here.

The language is sharp, fast, slipping through my fingers before I can catch its meaning. I walk past a group of men in uniform, their laughter booming, their voices rising and falling in rhythms I cannot follow. A woman brushes past me, her perfume lingering in the air, her heels clicking against the pavement. A boy shouts something to his friend across the street. Words swirl around me, but none of them land. None of them are mine.

In China, I was always speaking. Even in the hardest times, I always had someone to talk to: Qianqian, the men at the market, the neighbors who poked their heads through open windows to gossip about the latest news. Here, silence presses against me like a heavy hand on my shoulder. I open my mouth to ask for directions, to say something, anything, but the words shrivel in my throat.

I shove my hands in my pockets and keep walking.

Bella told me this was the land of opportunity. She told me I would find work easily, that I would have a better life here. But now, as I wander through streets filled with people who do not see me, who do not hear me, I wonder what kind of life she meant.

At home, I knew what each day would bring. I knew the weight of my work, the feel of Qianqian's voice calling me back when I stayed out too late, the warmth of a meal waiting for me, even if it was simple, even if it was barely enough. Here, I do not know what tomorrow will look like. I do not know where to go, what to do, how to start.

The city hums around me, full of movement, full of life. But I am a ghost, drifting through a place that does not see me.

As a ghost, grief, as I learned many times, is a wave that ebbs and flows. We are the children of war, you think I would know enough about death, and mourning, and knowing the absence of someone more than I knew them, but it seemed I still had more to learn. 

The apartment Bella bought for me, an act of goodwill she insisted upon that I could do little but accept, was…sterile. The walls were bleak, starched clean and scrubbed of any sign of life. Although it was nearly the size of my house back in China, there was nothing there. Cluttered in the corners of my old home would be Qianqian's spare sewing needles or thimbles that she lost, wrappers of our favorite candies that we were too lazy to throw away, and playing cards gathering dust, reminiscent of the nights we used to simply play endless rounds together. The kitchen had the toaster that Qianqian ferociously bartered for at a garage sale, the one with the spring that would only work when you jammed it twice. The bathroom had matching cups that I found for us nearly a decade ago, with some overly-colorful flowers for Qianqian and matching butterflies for mine. It was far too ridiculous, a sight I would never let anyone else see, but the beaming laughter from Qianqian when I showed her still remained one of my most precious memories.

Here? There was nothing here. The bathroom had a standard toothbrush that was stiff from use, making my gums bleed. The entire counter was so clean, so polished, that I could faintly see the outline of my own reflection when I stepped closer. There was lackluster furniture, the bare minimum that I owed Bella everything for, and most of all, it was only me. I've been so used to having people in my life, people everywhere, every time, that this was my first time being alone.

It was the little things, in the end. I would keep myself awake during the daytime to adjust to the jetlag, nibbling on the snacks that Bella brought over, and realize that I would never taste the tang of Qianqian's broth ever again. I would walk along streets and supermarkets far too clean for my taste, stores that were shiny with letters I could barely understand and see bars of chocolate, and I would remember the first time that Qianqian brought home the delicacy for us to share. It was her favorite food– yet she was just as willing to split the bar in half, and give me the bigger portion. Sometimes, I will catch myself staring at empty spaces in my apartment, and remember how Qianqian and I would plan out where to put new drawers, couches, or tables. We would argue like little kids over aesthetics that didn't matter in the end, debating pointlessly about angles and corners, knowing that in the end, what mattered was that we were together. 

I would never know the warmth of her hugs, I would never know the weight of her hands on my arms, I would never watch her smile when she saw me, I'd never get to hear her voice telling me to go to bed ever again. One day, I would forget the sound of her laughter, I would never get to watch her grow old, I would never get to see her have the children I promised her, I would never get to watch her hair grey as we had once sworn each other, to outlive the trauma of our fathers and mothers, to make our lives into something meaningful. 

And there was nothing I could do. I was in America, the goldmine of opportunities and land of the dreamers, and yet I had now lost the first dream I ever had. 

Her. 

I cannot sleep. When I do, it is in bits and pieces. I try to blame the jetlag, the time difference, but I know that it's something else. 

I am afraid to sleep. Afraid to dream. Afraid to let down my guard, for fear of what will happen. 

Red silk drapes from the rafters, swaying with the wind that slips through the open courtyard, carrying with it the scent of jasmine and burning incense. None of us could afford an expensive venue, as much as I hated to tell Qianqian, but she never cared. She simply shrugged, making a face and shaking her head. 

"Why do I care about some fancy pagoda? Marry me on the hill where I met you for the first time, Taihan. I'll look at your stupid face and fall in love with you all over again."

And so I did. 

Red lanterns flicker above us, their golden glow illuminating the faces of the people I have known all my life, their laughter ringing through the night like music. Thanks to the work of Wang, Yi Shaan, Ha Rou, and so many others, they had spent hours collecting scraps, setting up decorations. Such beautiful lanterns, the firecrackers waiting to be lit, the flowers decorating a frame – Yi Shaan was the one to buy all of them, and as much as I expected him to, he never brought up a word. Ha Rou's face is covered in tiny bandages, unfortunate consequences of falling out of a tree when attempting to hang up a banner. I realize that deep down, they were with me through thick and thin; we grew up together, from schoolboys, to lost dreamers, to the men we are today. I couldn't be more grateful for them. 

Off to the side, my mother dabs at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve, my friends – old classmates, fellows that I know from the bar – are gathered around me, cheering, grinning, clinking their cups together in celebration.

And then, through it all, I see her.

Qianqian.

She walks toward me, draped in red, her veil catching the candlelight, her every step slow and deliberate, as though she has always been meant to walk this path, to walk toward me. I hear the rustle of her sleeves as she moves. I see the way her fingers tighten around the bouquet in her hands. She is nervous. I should be too, but all I can feel is an unbearable, indescribable warmth spreading through my chest.

She stops in front of me, so close that I can see the way her lips press together to keep from smiling. I reach out, fingers brushing against the edge of her veil, and when I lift it, the rest of the world falls away.

She is beautiful.

I have always known this, but tonight, it is something different. Tonight, she is glowing, and the sight of her is enough to make my throat tighten, my breath catch in my chest.

"You look like you're going to cry," she teases, voice barely above a whisper.

"I might."

She laughs. Bright and clear, like the chime of a bell. I want to trap the sound in my hands and keep it there forever.

Someone says something, and suddenly, I am turning, and my breath stutters, because my father is here.

In the past few years, his health has deteriorated to the point where some days, he was barely comprehensible. He would spend his time cooped up in his room, flinching at every noise, yelling at us to go away. We all watched, helpless, as he threw a glass of water at Qianqian, shouting something about having the Japanese capture him over his dead body. He had grown to be more ghost than man, a figure who I would mourn before he even died, an outline I would learn to love. But now?

He is here, dressed in his army uniform, the most formal clothing he owns. He walks with a hobble, back hunched over. He is no longer the tall, proud man of my childhood, but he is my father nonetheless. His wrinkled face looks clearer than it had in months, and I can't help but to choke his name. 

But now?

He stands near the back, half-hidden in the crowd, but he is here. He has come. The man who had always been nothing more than a name, a shadow, an absence in my life – he is here, watching, his face unreadable. For a moment, I am a boy again, wide-eyed and waiting for something I do not have the words to name.

He nods at me.

I swallow, my hands tightening around Qianqian's. She squeezes back.

The ceremony continues. Our hands are bound together with silk. We bow, first to the heavens, then to our parents, then to each other. With each motion, my heart beats louder, faster, fuller.

I am happy.

I have never known happiness like this.

After the formal vow ends, Qianqian yanks my arm and pulls me aside with enough speed to almost send me toppling. Underneath the peach blossom trees, she pulls out a red string from nowhere, and before I can even question where she kept it, she grabs my hand and ties one end around my pinky.

It takes a few seconds of awkward fumbling from Qianqian, who determinedly stares at the string she ties around her own pinky instead of me, but she holds our hands up as if she just conquered the world.

"This is the red string of fate." She announces for just us to hear. "Now you're stuck with me. It's foretold by fate itself."

Something in my throat squeezes – joy, euphoria, like nothing I've ever felt. In the miserable years of my life, I have never wished for a moment to stay longer. I want to keep this, I want to pause time, just so I could relive this over and over again, and never leave.

"I love you." I say instead, not knowing how to tell her that she was my inspiration to keep going, the brightest thing I ever knew in my life. 

I wake up that night, with warmth staining my cheeks. I stare up at the ceiling, some unfamiliar plaster, and listen to the scarce rumbling of traffic every now and then. I am so, so cold. 

And so, so alone.