“Well, it’s not like I’ve dated a ton of girls. One Korean. Charlie, though? It’s like he’s allergic to nonwhite girls.”
The train jostles us and I hold on to the pole with both hands. “You want to know the secret to your brother?”
He puts his hand on top of mine. “What’s the secret?”
“He doesn’t like himself very much.”
“You think so?” he says, considering. He wants there to be a reason Charlie is the way he is.
“Trust me on this,” I say.
We screech around a long corner. He steadies me with a hand against my back and leaves it there. “Why only Korean girls for your parents?” I ask.
“They think they’ll understand Korean girls. Even the ones raised here.”
“But those girls are both American and Korean.”
“I’m not saying it makes sense,” he says, smiling. “What about you? Do your parents care who you date?”
I shrug. “I’ve never asked. I guess probably they would prefer me to eventually marry a black guy.”
“Why?”
“Same reason as yours. Somehow they’ll understand him better. And he’ll understand them better.”
“But it’s not like all black people are the same,” he says.
“Neither are all Korean girls.”
“Parents are pretty stupid.” He’s only half kidding.
“I think they think they’re protecting us,” I say.
“From what? Honestly, who can even give a shit about this stuff? We should know better by now.”
“Maybe our kids will,” I say. I regret the words even as they’re flying out of my mouth.
The lights flicker off again and we come to a complete stop between stations. I focus on the yellow-orange glow of the safety lights in the tunnel.
“I didn’t mean our kids,” I say into the dark. “I meant the next generation of kids.”
“I know what you meant,” he says quietly.
Now that I’ve thought it and said it, I can’t unthink it and unsay it. What would our kids look like? I feel the loss of something I don’t even know I want.
We pull into the Canal Street station, the last underground stop before we go over the Manhattan Bridge. The doors close and we both turn to face the window. When we emerge from the tunnel the first thing I see is the Brooklyn Bridge. It’s just past dusk and the lights are on along the suspension cables. My eyes follow their long arcs across the sky. The bridge is beautiful at night, but it’s the city skyline that astonishes me every time I see it. It looks like a towering sculpture of lighted glass and metal, like a machined piece of art. From this distance, the city looks orderly and planned, as if all of it were created at one time for one purpose. When you’re inside it, though, it feels like chaos.
I think back to when we were on the roof earlier. I imagined the city as it was being built. Now I project it out into an apocalyptic future. The lights dim and the glass falls away, leaving just the metal skeletons of buildings. Eventually those rust and crumble. The streets are uprooted, green with wild plants, overrun with wild animals. The city is beautiful and ruined.
We descend back into the tunnel. I know for sure that I will always compare every city skyline to New York’s. Just as I will always compare every boy to Daniel.
“WHAT’S YOUR MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENT?” she asks when the bridge disappears from view.
“You’re kidding, right? You were there for it. With my dad telling you to change your hair and my brother making small-penis jokes?”
She laughs. “That was pretty bad.”
“I will live a thousand lifetimes and it will still be the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“I dunno. Your dad and Charlie could figure out a way to top it.”
I groan and rub the back of my neck. “We should all be born with a family Do-Over Card. At sixteen, you get a chance to evaluate your situation and then you can choose to stay in your current family or start over with a new one.”
She tugs my hand down from my neck and holds on to it. “Would you get to choose who the new family is?” she asks.
“Nope. You take your chances.”
“So one day you just show up on some strangers’ doorstep?”
“I haven’t worked out all the details yet,” I tell her. “Maybe once you make your decision you get reborn into a new family?”
“Does your old family just think you died?”
“Yes.”
“But that’s so cruel,” she says.
“Okay, okay. Maybe they just forget you ever existed. Anyway, I don’t think many people would switch.”
She shakes her head. “I disagree. I think a lot of people would. There are some bad families in this world.”
“Would you?” I ask her.
She doesn’t say anything for a while, and I listen to the rhythm of the train while she thinks it over. I’ve never wished for a train to slow down before.
“Could I give my card to someone who really needed it?” she asks. I know she’s thinking about her dad.
I kiss her hair. “What about you? Would you stay in your family?” she asks me.
“Could I use it to boot Charlie out instead?”
She laughs. “Maybe these cards aren’t such a great idea. Can you imagine if everyone had the power to mess with everyone else’s lives? Chaos.”
But of course, this is the problem. We already have that power over each other.
IT’S STRANGE BEING IN MY neighborhood with Daniel. I’m trying to see it through his eyes. After the relative wealth of Midtown Manhattan, my section of Brooklyn feels even poorer. Many of the same kinds of stores line the six-block drag that I use to walk home. There are Jamaican jerk restaurants, bulletproofed Chinese restaurants, bulletproofed liquor stores, discount clothing stores, and beauty salons. Every block has at least one combination deli/grocery store, windows almost entirely covered in beer and cigarette posters. Every block has at least one check-cashing shop. The stores are all crammed together, fighting for the same piece of real estate.
I’m grateful for the dark so Daniel can’t see how run-down everything is. I’m immediately ashamed of myself for having the thought.
He takes my hand, and we walk along in silence for a few minutes. I can feel curious eyes on us. It occurs to me that this would’ve become normal for us.
“People are staring at us,” I say.
“It’s because you’re so beautiful,” he says back, without missing a beat.
“So you noticed?” I press.
“Of course I noticed.”
I stop us in the lighted doorway of a Laundromat. The smell of detergent surrounds us. “You know why they’re staring, right?”
“It’s either because I’m not black or because you’re not Korean.” His face is shadowed, but I can hear the smile in his voice.
“I’m serious,” I say, frustrated. “Doesn’t it bother you?” I’m not sure why I’m pursuing this. Maybe I want proof that if we had the chance to continue, we would survive the weight of the stares.
He takes both my hands, so now we’re standing face to face.
“Maybe it does bother me,” he says, “but only peripherally. It’s like a buzzing fly, you know? Annoying, but not actually life-threatening.”
“But why do you think they’re doing it?” I want an answer.
He pulls me in for a hug. “I can see that this is important to you, and I really want to give you a good reason. But the truth is, I don’t care why. Maybe I’m na?ve, but I do not give a single shit about anyone’s opinion of us. I do not care if we’re a novelty to them. I do not care about the politics of it. I don’t care if your parents approve, and I really, truly don’t care if mine do. What I care about is you, and I’m sure that love is enough to overcome all the bullshit. And it is bullshit. All the hand-wringing. All the talk about cultures clashing or preserving cultures and what will happen to the kids. All of it is one hundred percent pure, unadulterated bullshit, and I just refuse to care.”