Page 94 of From Beijing, With Love

In the past, he’d always felt at a loss before his return to Beijing. There was always that nagging voice questioning whether leaving Xi’an—putting a thousand kilometers between him and his whole family—to pursue his career was the right thing to do. But this time, he was ready to get away. He still loved his dad despite everything, but that love now had the added weight of obligation.

The night had long fallen, taking the heat with it. The chill in the air hinted at an early autumn. In that souvenir shop, Daniel had said autumn was the best season.

Back to school. New beginnings. Pumpkin spice everything.

Even though the memory was more bitter than sweet and Yang still had no clue what pumpkin spice was, he smiled to himself.

“I might be eighty soon, but I can still walk by myself,” Nainai said, shaking off the hand that Yang’d poised on her elbow.

“Of course. Nainai’s always right.” Yang retracted his hand but still kept a watchful eye as they strolled down the sidewalk. When Nainai took a tumble on the uneven pavement last year, she’d landed in the hospital for a whole month.

“I like that friend of yours,” she said. Yang held back a sigh, waiting for the inevitable questions about Poppy, starting with whether she was his girlfriend. Then Nainai raised a hand above her head. “The tall one. The young man.”

Surprised, Yang shrugged. What else was he supposed to do?

“Yangyang.” She placed a hand on his forearm and made him meet her eyes. “When you grow old, you need to have someone. Life’s not all about that science stuff you like so much.”

Where was this going? Yang studied Nainai’s lined face.

“I’m getting old. I need to know that you are taken care of when I’m gone—”

“Don’t say that.” Yang looked away. He didn’t like the candor with which his grandma spoke of death, like it was already knocking on her door.

“What I’m trying to say is that it doesn’t matter if you are with a woman or a man; just make sure they are good to you,” she said, her voice too loud for the quiet tree-lined street. “But don’t pick a dummy. You are the smartest one in the family.”

Yang halted in his steps, his chest tightening. He must have misheard.

He scanned their surroundings reflexively. Luckily, they were alone. Slowly and carefully, he asked, “What do you mean by a woman or a man?”

Nainai sighed, like either Yang was being obtuse on purpose or she was wrong about him being the smart one in the family. “You like that young man you brought home, don’t you? I don’t know how to say his name.”

Every instinct screamed at him to deny it. To lie. To not fall into what had to be a trap.

Then he met her eyes and saw no malice or judgment, like it was all just a normal conversation between a grandmother and a grandson.

“I like him a lot,” Yang said, and waited for Nainai’s lined face to harden, for the talk to turn sour like it had with his dad.

“Does he like you?”

“I think so.” A corner of his lips lifted upward at the memory of Daniel offering those three words to him while demanding that he not return them. It wasn’t fair, but Yang was hardly allowed to dictate what was and wasn’t fair after what he’d done. “But it’s over now. After Japan, he’s flying home to Europe.”

Yang had to believe that even if he had shown up to their goodbye, nothing would have changed. He had to.

“Then you can go to him, on those airplane things.” She gestured to the sky.

“It’s too late.” Yang looked up at the moon in the cloudless indigo sky. Was Daniel looking up at the same waning crescent? “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Nainai squeezed Yang’s arm, a slight tremor in her hand. “Don’t wait so long before bringing your next boyfriend home. I’m a pile of old bones.”

“Nainai, you are going to outlive us all,” Yang said, letting out a chuckle. When he wiped his cheek, his hand came away wet.

Yang was still wide awake when his dad stumbled through the door. His phone read 1:12 AM. It wasn’t like Ba to stay out this late, but his uncles were a persuasive bunch. When a drink was offered, manhood was on the table.

With a sigh, Yang rolled out of bed. “Ba?” he whispered as he stepped into the dining room.

“Huh?” Ba looked up from the dining table where he was slumped, glasses askew.

“Let’s get you to bed.” Yang helped his dad up by the arm, wincing at the sour tang wafting off his dad’s breath. As they walked to the bedroom, he could feel the jutting blades of his dad’s shoulders through the loose dress shirt. When had Ba gotten so frail?