“I love this thing.” Anjali and I are out for drinks and she has Eppy open in front of her. “I use it for work and everything. All together. You need an app, though.”
“I know.” Right now it’s only available as a web version that I built myself, thanks to online tutorials.
“It keeps me so on track. Do you know how much time I’ve saved this week? Six hours. Six! I binge-watched Netflix without shame.”
I beam at her. Eppy is good. I know it. “Thanks.”
“I don’t know how you came up with this.” She shakes her head. “It’s the thing I didn’t know I needed but I can’t live without. What’s next?”
“I need to sell it. Promote it. Get the funding for the app.” I have a business plan and my list of people to call. Robin is right on the top but I haven’t had the courage to make the call, not after what happened with Sam. Now that I’ve put it in my Don’t Think, Do column—saved for the tasks that you’ll do anything to avoid—it’s going to happen.
“You’re the Marie Kondo of time management,” Anjali says. “I already have people at work using it.”
We get new drinks and then Anjali leans forward. “Spill.”
“What?” I empty about half my drink in a single gulp and have a coughing fit that Anjali sits through with an impassive face.
“Sam Yao.” It’s a soft name with smooth, rounded sounds but she enunciates it crisply.
“What about him?”
“That’s what I’m asking. I saw a lot of footage of you guys together. You looked great, by the way.”
“Makeup and hair.”
She snorts. “Bull. You glowed whenever you looked at him and he… Whew, girl.” She shakes her head. “That man was into you. I don’t know why you two are over just because you didn’t want to be Fangli anymore.”
I trace circles on the table with my fingertip.
“Gracie.”
“They thought I called ZZTV.” I sigh. “I thought they did anyway. That’s the main reason I left.”
“How did you get that idea?” Her eyebrows pull down to a point between her eyes.
“I listened to their conversation.” I fill her in on what I overheard and she sighs, then looks around the bar for a moment before letting her gaze rest on me.
“Did you think, possibly, an app wasn’t the most authoritative way to get a translation?”
“I do now,” I mutter. “I was wrong. Sam said so when he came to find me.”
“He did what?”
“Only to get me back to help Fangli.”
Compassion softens her face. “That sucks.”
“Yeah.”
We sit in silence for a moment. “Are you sure that’s why he came after you?”
“That’s what he said. So yes.”
“Or is that what you expected to hear? You never trusted his feelings.”
“I did.” Didn’t I? Or was I always nervous, as if I was getting played? That there was no reason that Sam would be interested in a nobody like me? Doubt. Always that little seed of doubt no matter what he did.
“I don’t think you did. I think you think he’s some big-ass movie star and you’re not, so why would he care about you.”
I go bright red because having these thoughts laid out is as embarrassing as being stripped in public. “What if I did?”
“God, have some pride, woman. Look at you. You’re smart and driven enough to create a new productivity plan like you run a fucking Toyota manufacturing line. You managed to trick the world in thinking you were a movie star. You’re attractive enough that it was believable.” She pauses, gripped by feminist regret. “Not that looks are important.”
“Right.”
“You doubt yourself too much, Gracie.” She reaches out across the table and grabs my hands, which startles me because she’s not a big toucher. Now she looks into my eyes. “You need to believe in yourself.”
Fangli said the same thing. Fangli, my sister. I’m bursting to tell Anjali but it seems wrong to share Fangli’s story before she knows herself. I must have started and deleted a dozen emails to Fangli, each one a master class in graceless phrasing.
“Refill, ladies?” The server comes by and the moment is broken, but I’m a little shaken. Why don’t I believe in myself? It’s why I say yes instead of no. Why I let the Todds of the world walk over me.
All those things Anjali said are right. I did do those things. I take care of my mom. I do my best.
As if she knows she’s hit a sore spot, Anjali backs off and we have a final glass of wine and talk about her trip to New York and a new spa we both want to try but don’t want to spend the money on. When we leave, Anjali surprises me again with a hug. “Call if you need me,” she says. “You’re not going to bother me.”
I get on the subway with her words in my ears. I do worry about bothering people. I worry about taking too much space, too much time, too much attention. Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe it’s possible to take up the perfect amount.
A Gracie-sized amount.
***
I’m a little hungover the next morning but a glass of water does the trick. I check my Eppy and see I have enough time to doze before I start my day but it’s not a comfortable rest.
Two choices lie in front of me. I can contact Sam and Fangli, apologize, and explain my side of the story and hear theirs. Or I can pretend this entire month never happened. I didn’t meet Fangli and Sam. I didn’t find my sister. I didn’t fall in love.
How can I turn my back on that, even if I risk getting hurt?
I need to think so I jump out of bed, grab my head when I realize the hangover isn’t completely gone, and then throw on my clothes and sunscreen before steeling myself to swim through the heavy summer humidity. I swing open the door and stop dead.
Mei stands there. She looks the same as always, cool and collected, her hair in a perfect center part that doesn’t cowlick to the side at the rear. She’s not even sweating.
“Hi?” I step back, a silent invitation for her to come into the house. She must be here on a mission from Fangli, and I’d prefer to have the conversation in the air-conditioned living room rather than on my steaming steps.
Mei follows me in, leaving her black flats tidily at the door. Her gaze flits from the mess of blankets on the couch, where I’d been nesting yesterday, to the half-empty cans of diet root beer scattered on the floor. My laptop is precariously balanced on the edge of the table.
She sits on the yellow quilted chair, a garage sale find from two years ago, and doesn’t say a damn word.
Now that the sun’s not in my eyes, I can make out a few more details. Her shirt is a bit wrinkled and her eyes look swollen. “Is there a problem?” I ask, anxiety climbing fast at this unusual Mei behavior. “Is it Fangli?”
“I was the one who called ZZTV.” Her shoulders are straight as she delivers this news.
“Huh?”‘ Not the most articulate response but honestly? It’s been a hell of a week for bombshells.
Mei’s dark eyes meet mine. “You heard me.”
I suppose I did. “Fangli knows? Sam?”
She looks down. “Yes.”
“You called ZZTV.” I let the words settle. “Why?” A thin rush of anger starts to trace through my veins. “Why the hell would you do such a thing? Did you hate us so much?” Because Fangli wouldn’t come out of this undamaged. I should kick Mei out of my house but her body folds in on itself before I can act.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice is so feather soft it barely reaches me across the room.
I can tell she is, that she’s sorry for something, but I can’t tell if it’s for what she did or because she got caught. “But why?” I repeat.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“Wasn’t thinking clearly about what?”
She looks me right in the eye. “I wanted you gone.”
Oh. Not what I expected. I knew she never liked me but this level of sabotage is beyond the pale. “Got your wish, then.” That was sharper than I wanted, and I don’t like the satisfaction I get from making Mei wince.
She doesn’t say anything and again I’m stuck in the role of having to force conversation with this woman. “How did Fangli find out?” And Sam, who tried to tell me in the café but I was too stubborn and sad to listen.
“I told her.”