The bus arrived. Of course, all the passengers were Chinese. It had taken him weeks to not find it surprising that everyone around him, including the people on TV, including the hottest girls, were all Chinese. Being from America made him an object of desire, which was both flattering and strange; girls flirted with him when they found out he was from New York. Even Tammy, who had a boyfriend, walked a little too close when they went to lunch. He’d hooked up a couple times with a girl who’d gone to high school with one of the other World Top teachers, a sales manager at a company that manufactured plastic slippers. There was another girl, too, a friend of a friend of Eddie’s, who lived in the suburbs with her parents and texted him sporadically.
There was a comfort in belonging that he’d never felt before, yet somehow, he still stood out. The bus driver eyed him for a beat too long when he bought the ticket, as did the woman in the seat across the aisle, a bag of groceries on her lap. Yong and his mother assured him his Chinese sounded close to normal now and not as freakish as it had when he first arrived, but Daniel figured it was his clothes, his bearing, or the way he looked or walked or held himself, something that revealed he wasn’t from here. Even if he encouraged them to ask questions, he often grew tired of the students and other teachers at World Top finding him a source of perpetual fascination. His students asked him why he was so tall, even if Eddie was taller than him, and prodded him to sing songs to them in English. When the other teachers asked what he did for fun and he said he liked to walk around and listen to music on his headphones, they laughed.
He called his mother to see if there was a chance she would be home for dinner, and when she didn’t pick up, he didn’t bother to leave a message. He shouldn’t have to ask her to be home tonight. If she forgot what day it was, he would know what to do. God, he hoped she hadn’t forgotten.
He plugged his headphones into his phone, feeling rubbery as the music kicked in, a mix of old favorites, Suicide, Arthur Russell, Queens of the Stone Age. His phone buzzed and he expected to see his mother’s name, but it was a wrong number, a guy who said in Mandarin, “I thought this was someone else.” It was stupid being here again, waiting for her. Disappointed by her.
He had thoroughly searched the apartment when he was there alone, combed through the drawers and cabinets, even scoured beneath the beds and leather couch (finally, his mother had the nice couch she’d always wanted), but found only clothes, folded and neat, a binder with documents pertaining to work and the apartment. He was looking for hidden facts, a sign that would point him toward what he should do next. Yet there was not a single photograph in the apartment, no squirreled-away shoebox of sentimental keepsakes, no hidden diaries or items that could confess any aspects of his mother and Yong beyond what they portrayed to him. They existed only in the present, their lives as brand-new as their apartment. He had hoped this would allow him to trust them, but still, he worried, didn’t want to be left the fool.
The woman across the aisle was staring at him openly, and he noticed the tension in his jaw, how tightly he was squeezing his hands. He turned the music louder, but couldn’t regain that initial rush. Apprehension lingered, the fear he was letting somebody down, that he was the one who was being let down.
AT THE APARTMENT GATE, carrying a bag of takeout from a restaurant near the bus stop, Daniel greeted Chun, the security guard. “Have a good night,” Chun said, and smiled. Daniel used his key to open the front door of the building and rode the elevator up to the twelfth floor.
He stopped before switching on the light, was in the process of using one foot to loosen the heel of the other shoe when he heard a scuffle along the floor. “Who’s there?” he said, and a second later the lights were blazing and there was a chorus of people shouting “Surprise!” His mother was at his side, and Yong, and a blur of other faces.
She hadn’t forgotten his birthday. Not only had she remembered—of course she’d remembered; how could he have thought she hadn’t—but she had filled the apartment with everyone he knew in Fuzhou: Eddie and Tammy and the other teachers at World Top, his Speed English Now students, her and Yong’s friends. Even Leon and Shuang and Yimei were there. The living room was crowded, balloons tied to the chairs, and there was food on the counter, platters of fruit, grilled meat, and noodles. Music was switched on. Someone put a beer in his hand.
It was a real party. “Were you surprised?” his mother asked. “People thought it was strange when I said we were having a surprise party. I remember seeing it in a movie once.”
“Tammy and Eddie kept it a surprise when I had lunch with them. And my students didn’t say a thing.”
She laughed. “I said I’d get them fired if they said one word to you.”
Daniel looked around the room again. People sat on the couch, eating chips and peanuts, while others drank beers in the kitchen.
“You don’t like crowds, though,” he said.
“I don’t mind.”
“You don’t like parties.”
“That’s not true. I used to love parties.”
“Used to.”
“Now, too.”
“You invited Leon.”
“I wanted everyone here who’s important to you. He called me the other day and we talked for a little while. I met his wife, his daughter . . . ”
She sounded genuinely glad about it. “Thank you,” he said.
“Happy birthday, Deming.” She patted his arm. “My son, the future director of World Top English.”
“Well,” Daniel said, “it’s true, I don’t see Boss Cheng here tonight.”
He wandered around the apartment, stopping to talk to people. Pop music with auto-tuned Mandarin shot out from a pair of portable speakers. Shuang and his mother’s friend Ning were dancing with Tammy, the two older women following Tammy’s more intricate steps.
Leon and Yimei were talking with Yong in the kitchen, and Yong waved him over. “Let’s take a picture.”
Daniel grinned, hot and buzzy. “Send me a copy,” he said, and put his arms around Yimei, Leon behind him, as Yong snapped pictures with his phone.
“Do you have anything to draw with?” Yimei asked.
He wondered if they looked alike in any way, even if they weren’t related. “I don’t have crayons, but I have paper and pens. Let me go look.”
In his mother’s guest room, which had become his bedroom, his laptop was furiously dinging. He pressed a key and the screen came to life, flooding him with messages from Ridgeborough and New York City, even Potsdam. Michael had sent a video of him and Timothy and Vivian singing “Happy Birthday” in their kitchen in Sunset Park. Roland e-mailed: Happy birthday, D. Miss you. Even Cody messaged: when r u coming home?
Daniel read the messages, one by one, read them again. There were so many of them, and seeing them made him giddy with sadness. He hadn’t been forgotten.
From the living room came a round burst of laughter, and he remembered why he had come into the room. He rooted through a pile of papers, pushing aside the visa application he had promised his mother he would fill out by last week, and found a notepad and a few pens for Yimei. He was about to close his laptop when a new window popped up.