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razmahdaz-art · 6 years

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A Second Chance For More. Chapter 9 - Finale

We Did It! Frick Yeah! Super sweet ending, and it leaves room for any future drabbles and things! But Yes! It’s 4 AM and i am ruined. I’ll probably make a master post with links for all the chapters sometime soon, but for now, i’m tired as hecc.

For the whole week that Hanzo spent in Nepal, he was certain he’d lost a few digits. The snow was at least waist deep and the clothes he packed didn’t seem to be enough, no matter how many layers he had on his being. Even if the week was spent with Genji, Zenyatta, and the many other tutors that lived in the temple, he was glad to be back somewhere that got to be over -20 degrees. Christmas had come and gone, the only thing remaining in the year being New Years itself. Genji, Hanzo, and Zenyatta had not been the first to return from their time off. The Amaris had returned a day or so before them, as did the Lindholms (Along with Reinhardt, of course). The base was slowly starting to fill again, but missions wouldn’t be issued unless it was an emergency, that was a promise Winston was sure to keep.

Hanzo had gotten many reactions from the teammates that had seen him from Ana suggesting that she does something similar, to Brigette even offering to paint his nails since, as she put it, ‘It’d look good with your new style!’. Even with the small jokes and light insults that he knew had no weight behind them, all the feedback was positive. He’d be lying if Hanzo said the compliments didn’t give him a small confidence boost.

The following days went by faster than expected. It seemed as if people were returning everyday. Lena was being worked to the bone, going back and forth between countries and continents whenever anyone said they were ready to come home. But even then she did it with a smile on her face. As each day went by and more and more people returned, Hanzo had noticed that Jesse wasn’t among any of them. He’d even asked Lena if she had heard anything from him. “Sorry, Love. He hasn’t called since he left,” She said in between light yawns. Hanzo hid it, but deep down, he was slightly worried. Genji hadn’t heard anything from Jesse for a few days now, and now since no one has...His mind wandered towards the worst. Jesse was alone, no one went with him, and since no one did, it meant that if he went missing, or if something happened to him, no one would’ve known.

“I’m sure he’s fine, Hanzo. Even if he isn’t responding, I’ve seen he’s at least read my messages,” Genji said, his arms wrapped around a pillow, sitting crossed legged on his siblings bed. Hanzo sat at his desk, trying to hide his emotions from his younger brother. Why was he so worried? He admitted that Jesse was a close friend by this point, and he knew that Jesse would always be safe on his own. After all, he had seen how he fought, it’d take more than an army to bring Jesse down to his knees. Even then… Hanzo dreaded to think what may have happened. “I’m worried as well, but I trust that McCree is fine, Anija. He’s probably in a dead zone, or something. I’m sure we’ll hear from him before New Years,” Genji reassured. Even if Hanzo didn’t have to say it, he knew his brother cared. Genji was even a bit worried on the inside, but he knew if he was panicking, it might make things worse. New Years was only a couple days away, and everyone promised to be back in time for it. Hanzo swallowed before letting out a long held breath. “If you believe he is alright, then i’ll do the same,” He said softly. He still held a look of gloom to his face. His brother got up from the bed and walked over, resting a hand on his shoulder, offering comfort. They shared a small smile before Genji suggested that they go distract themselves, make food, train, something. Just to get there minds out of this cloud of worry.

The two days following went by excruciatingly slow. Everyone was back on the base now, every agent has returned. Everyone besides McCree. It was New Years Eve, and people were preparing. Getting alcohol, the scent of last minute cooking and baking filled the air no matter where one stood, and some occasionally said that ‘Back home It’s already next year.’ Hanzo and Genji sat in the midst of the Chaos, not really having much to offer. Everyone had already made more than enough food, and the alcohol was fully stocked to everyone's tastes. The siblings just sat and watched agents come in and out of the kitchen, plates of delicious smelling food wafting through the air and mixing with other dishes. But even with the smiles and stories that Hanzo occasionally eavesdropped on, Jesse’s well being was still plaguing his mind. He sipped his tea and remained quiet, his brother seemingly in the same place as him. Angela, who was making the best smelling cookies in the history of the world, seemed to notice. She put her bowl of cookie dough to the side (Hana stealing a small ball or two for herself) before she came to join them. She knew exactly what they were thinking, after all, Jesse was her friend as well.

“Winston said if we don’t hear anything by tonight, we’ll send agents out tomorrow to his last location,” she reassured, sitting on the table next to Genji. They both looked up to her, not really realizing that they’d seemed to be sulking the entire time. “I don’t think anything is wrong, maybe he just wanted some personal time. Even then, it’s very unlike him to not respond to anyone. All we can do for the moment is hope,” She said, giving them a smile similar to a mother trying to keep her children happy in times of trouble. It put some nerves at ease, for both the Shimada. “Now, get up. You shouldn’t be sulking. Socialize, talk, tell your own stories! We shouldn’t worry. We should be positive. After all, it’s what Jesse would be doing if this was any of us,” She said, before walking back to the kitchen, returning to a half gone bowl of cookie dough.

“She’s right. As much as I want to dwell on this, we shouldn’t. Everyone else is worried but they’re still smiling,” Genji said, standing up from his seat. Hanzo watched him and was reluctant to do the same. He still seemed anxious, Genji knew how his brother dwelled on things. He got a mischievous look on his face before beginning to walk to the kitchen. Hanzo watched as his brother stood in the doorway and spoke loud enough for him to hear.

“Did i ever tell you guys how Hanzo destroyed the entire Art room back in primary school?” Genji asked, and Hanzo knew what he was doing. Nonetheless, it was enough for him to get up to try and cover Genji’s mouth as he started to tell an elaborate tale of Hanzo going so far to prove a point that he accidently breaks every box of art supplies in the storage closet. Everyone seemed to enjoy it, but Hanzo got his revenge, of course, telling the story of how Genji came home so drunk one night that he attempted (and subsequently lost) a fight with a potted tree.

While everyone was busy, they filled the air of happy and quite embarrassing tales from their shared childhood, and even some recent stories from Blackwatch and the few peculiar events that had occurred in Hanzo’s life while he was wondering. All entertaining and all making the siblings forget that they were even worrying in the first place. This was how it was well into the evening, sharing stories, memories, winter break stories, showing photos and reminiscing on the past year. All would admit that it was less than a good year, far from it, but they could all agree that it was great to be together again after so long of being apart.

By the later hours, everyone was in the large rec room, drinking alcohol, talking among themselves and watching a bunch of news stations (all on mute) counting down the hours till the New Year was upon them. Hanzo was conversing about his own teammates, even going as far as promising Hana to paint his nails before the night was over. Satya caught people's attention when she made shapes and projections with her hard light, placing small statues on tables or little trinkets on the ceiling to hang. It was a warm and inviting party, everyone feeling like they belonged somewhere, double goes for the eldest Shimada. Soft music, gentle talking, and sipping from his new Sake bottle. But still, even as distracted as he was, the nagging feeling of where Jesse was, was always there, at the back of his mind.

No one noticed when Lena came in an hour till midnight, a tall Ginger girl holding her hand as they walked in. In Hanzo’s case, he didn’t realize she was gone. “Sorry i was a little late, Loves. Last trip out i promise,” she said, completely drained from her busy week. The ginger woman kissed her forehead, with a gentle smile. “She’d better get a longer break for all the flying she’s had to do. I barely got a weekend with her,” She said. They took there seat, a bit farther back on an empty sofa, and Hanzo thought he saw Lena completely fall asleep on the others lap. She definitely earned it.

“Sorry I’m late, too. Time just got away from me,” a familiar, low, voice with that annoying country drawl on it’s tone let out. A tall figure with that red serape around him couldn’t belong to anyone else. Hanzo watched Genji jump over a couch, probably Ana aswell, to give McCree a hug. Fareeha joined him, swaddling the man in a tight grip. Jesse just laughed and hugged the pair back, eventually being let go. Not after answering questions, of course. “Where were you and why weren’t you messaging any of us!?” Fareeha softly shouted, her arm wrapping around Jesse’s neck to bring him in a light choke hold. Genji took his hat, as if holding it as ransom.

“Sorry! I really am! I got caught up in private work over break that couldn’t wait till later, so...I had to go off the grid for a few,” He confessed, his hands wrapping around Fareeha’s arm that held him in place. “Didn’t really have time to talk. Was kinda busy not getting strung up in the middle of a desert and left to starve,” he said. Fareeha let him go and he stood straight, eventually leaving him be. Genji still held his hat captive, playing keep away with it whenever Jesse reached for it. While McCree’s back was turned, Hanzo had got up to finally say ‘Welcome Back’ but he was caught off guard quickly. “Hanzo! Catch!” His brother said as he tossed the cowboy hat over McCree’s head. Hanzo caught it with ease, and Jesse finally turned to face him.

He was surprised by what he was looking at. Hanzo, the most traditional man he knew was standing before him, with an undercut, piercings, and the most genuine smile he’d ever seen on the man’s face. He was speechless. Genji moved next to him, leaning against him like he was a stone column in the middle of the room. He was frozen in place, just taking it all in. He didn’t realize he was being talked too.

“Jesse? You Okay?” Genji asked, jabbing him in the side to get his attention. “You’re being spoken too, don’t be rude.” Jesse blinked a few times, before finally speaking. “Sorry...You were saying?” He asked, not sure who was speaking to him. “I said, i trust you are well and safe?” Hanzo repeated with a small laugh. McCree’s hat was still in his hands, and he offered it to the other, to which he took it and placed it back on his head. “Y-Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine, thank you,” he said, his words trailing into the next sentence. “Lord, you changed. It’s…” He attempted to find the words, but it was incredibly difficult. “Weird?” Genji answered. “Disastrous?” Hanzo said, taking a jab at himself with a light laugh.

“No, No! Not at all, It’s...Good. It looks really good,” Jesse complimented, running his eyes up and down Hanzo’s figure. “It’s just a change. But Lord does it look good on you.” Hanzo just smiled that same damn smile, even a hint of blush on his cheeks. “Thank you, Jesse,” He says, rubbing the back of his neck. He was a bit bashful, obviously not used to the compliments. Before they could speak another word or catch up about anything, Hana was pulling on Hanzo’s arm, attempting to drag him back to their small circle on the floor.

“Come On! You promised that i could paint your nails, and I'm dead set on doing it!” She said in a determined tone. His brother and Jesse looked at him with a slightly confused gaze, before they let him go. He went back to his place on the floor, sitting crossed legged as apparently, Brigette was painting Lucio’s. “You owe me for letting you do this,” He stated as his right hand was jerked from him, being handled by the small girls.

Jesse and Genji stood at the back, in silence and just watching the scene. Genji was looking over everyone, bouncing back between small groups and catching conversations half way through, but Jesse’s eyes were still stuck on Hanzo. Watching him as his hand was mercilessly grabbed and Hana started swatching colours on his short nails before deciding on a colour. Jesse was staring again, toning everything out just to focus on him. That was until a strong jerk almost pulled his arm out of his socket as he was swiftly drug out of the rec room and into the hallway by the Cyborg who stood next to him. Only then was he snapped out of his trance.

“You motherfucker,” Genji started, the biggest shit eating grin on his face. “I’ve seen this look before, only a few times, but I've seen it. Jesse McCree, you are in love with my older brother!” He accused, and Jesse’s cheeks just turned tomato red. He fumbled over his words a bit, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I...I wouldn’t exactly go as far as to say ‘Love’ but…,” He started, a look of defeat on his face. “He’s grown on me, alright. And his look, well...It just about makes things worse,” He finally admitted, still blushing like mad. Genji crossed his arms as he spoke in a mocking tone. “I didn’t know you were into punk, edgy men with piercings,” Genji said with the most mocking tone in his voice. Jesse just rolled his eyes, them not quite meeting the others.

“It’s not that, even though it’s charming to high hell. No, it’s just...that smile on his face. The pure, genuine happiness of a man that has found his place in life and goddammit Genji, it made my heart sing when i saw it.” Jesse looked as if he’s remembering every time Hanzo has ever smiled around him, and he held every memory close. “It started out slow, just someone to drink and bitch too...But then he told me about his legs, and soon, stories got more personal. I’ve never felt so...Comfortable with someone before, not as much as i do with him.” Jesse confessed everything, like he’s confessing it all to himself alongside Genji. He’d sometime during all that slumped up against the wall, his head resting back against the cold metal. “I’ve got it bad, Genji. Worst part is, I don’t even know if Hanzo...Ya know,” he suggested a bit, and Genji caught on. “Jesse, trust me, he is. I was the first person he told. So you don’t have to worry about that,” He said, joining the other up against the wall.

“As his brother, I give you my full blessing, Jesse. You just need to know..,” Genji started, his hand resting on his friends shoulder. “Hanzo hasn’t gotten close to anyone like...This before. Of course, consorts and paid off escorts, but he’s never had anything relative to a relationship. If you are going to go for it, you’ll have to be patient, and you’ll have to be slow. Don’t kiss on the first date or do anything to crazy for it either. Be gentle, be considerate, and give him space,” Genji instructed, looking at Jesse. He nodded, tipping his hat back a bit and taking a deep breath that his lungs were begging for. They stood up from their slouching position, sharing a few quiet glances at each other. “And i swear to whatever god is above this great earth, you hurt him in anyway, i will kill you and make it look like an accident,” Genji threatened in a cold tone. Not that McCree would ever think of doing it, he was now certain to not to. He’d seen what Genji could do, and that threat was not empty.

They sat out in the hallway, Genji partially giving advice for first date ideas, and what his brother enjoyed, Jesse just smiling and taking mental notes. It had been a good few minutes since they had left the rec room, the hum of people still audible from where they were.

The only thing that made them shut up, was Hanzo himself stepping out of the party. He smiled a bit, but just passed them by, going...Somewhere. “Where you going, Anija?” Genji asked as his brother walked down the hall. “Just stepping out for a moment. I’ll return shortly,” he answered before returning on his way. Genji gave Jesse a small nudge and a look of ‘go get ‘em!’. Jesse just rolled his eyes and watched Hanzo leave the area before walking after him. “Remember! Slow,” Genji said in a strange mixture of a whispering shout. He just tipped his hat before finding his way through the halls and eventually catching up with Hanzo.

This spot, to which McCree has dubbed ‘Their Spot’ was all too familiar by this point. So many drinks shared, along with stories. He stood a feet behind a sitting Hanzo, who was actually perched in Jesse’s usual spot, sitting on one of legs and looking out to the ocean. His jacket was tight around him, but it didn’t seem to be quite enough since he seemed to be shivering. McCree was a bit confused, wondering why he was out here in the first place.

“Han? You alright?” He asked, still remaining a few feet behind him. Hanzo turned his head, and thankfully, he just seemed to be content. Though, he could be wrong, since he had a way of hiding his emotions quite well. “I’m fine, Jesse. I just needed some air. It was getting a bit...crowded in there, i just needed a moment,” Hanzo answered, fixing his jacket a bit. “Oh, ah...I’ll leave ya be then,” McCree started, knowing that he’s done this many times before and being alone was usually best. But Hanzo stopped him. “No! I mean...You don’t have to. I quite enjoy your company. After all, we haven’t gotten to talk other than that ‘Hello’ from earlier.”

Jesse smiled a bit and joined him, leaning against the same boxes as the other was, but he stood. Hanzo took up the only seat, and he didn’t want to intrude on the other. Even if he had just stepped out there, Jesse also started to shiver. He’d just gotten back from two weeks of constant 80 degree weather and sunny blue skies, snow and overcast were a bit strange to see again. It was quiet, a moment of calm that they shared. Jesse’s gave went from the coast, to Hanzo, and back again, repeating for the remaining moments before Hanzo broke the silence.

“How was your time? Aside from getting caught up in ‘work’ as you put it,” He asked, looking up at the much taller male. “It was nice. Warm sun, open desert. Went back to visit some family, so that was kinda nice,” Jesse told him, not elaborating to much. When he mentioned family, his face dropped a bit. Anyone else would have asked who his family was and where they were, but Hanzo caught it, and knew not to push on it to hard. “What about yourself? You look like you had a Hayday while i was gone,” He said afterwards, his flesh hand lighting patting Hanzo’s hair. It made Hanzo giggle a bit. “It was nice. Replaced my prosthetics, got a haircut, and spent the rest of the time with Genji in Nepal. Overall, it was nice. Even if you made me worry,” He admitted, his hands burying into his jacket pockets. “Aw, shucks! Worried about little ol’ me, were ya?” Jesse cooed, jokingly emphasizing his accent to an annoying level. The pair shared a small laugh, and god McCree’s knees went weak. “Yes, i was worried, until i remembered how you spoke,” Hanzo joked. They sat in that same silence from before, comfortable and warm.

‘Slow...c’mon Jesse, just ask him dammit. Now might be the only time,’ McCree thought to himself. He took in a breath and let it out, psyching himself up. He bit his lip as he spoke slow and gently. “Hey...Hanzo?” he asked, getting his attention, his eyes meeting the others, that smile still on his lips. “I was...Wondering...If we could get a drink? Not like, what we do already, i mean like...Coffee?” he fumbled over his words, his brain cursing him out over the million ways that could have sounded smoother. Hanzo took more than a moment to answer, and it seemed like the longest moment in the universe, waiting to be rejected by the other. “I mean, you don’t have too, i know it’s probably not your thing but-”

“Alright.” Jesse was cut off by the simple word. “That sounds wonderful, McCree. I’d love to get coffee with you,” Hanzo said fully, and Jesse just about passed out from all his nerves relaxing at once. He smiled a wide, toothy smile and nodded a bit, just excited about this. He reclaimed his composer, standing still for a moment to speak again. “Alright...That’s great! How about...Tomorrow morning? Know this great little place in town, quiet and small. Think you’ll like it,” Jesse suggested. Hanzo stood and smiled, fixing his hair a bit as he did, Jesse catching a glimpse of his painted nails. Black. Fitting. “That sounds wonderful. Be ready around...10?” Hanzo asked, still looking up at the other. “Perfect,” Jesse answered, still not believing that this is actually happening. For all he knew, it was a dream. A very real, very incredible dream that he knew he’d dreamt of before.

“It sounds like a wonderful way to start off the new year,” Hanzo said, fixing his jacket as he left the small space they shared. “It is late. We should return to celebrate with the others. Shall we?” Hanzo asked smiling at McCree. “After you,” He coos again, his arm gesturing towards the doorway. They walked back together, just barley back in time to catch the clock strike midnight. People cheered, hugged, sang songs and enjoyed the moment, Hanzo and McCree towards the back and just being in each others much wanted company.

It was mid July, the morning sun peering in through half closed shades and casting themselves onto the inhabitant of the small bed. The morning sun was just peering above the curve of the earth, blue, darkness, and stars still faintly hanging in the sky. The room was silent, not a single noise being heard. Hanzo’s eyes flutter open, not wanting to move from the comfortable position he lay in, looking onto the room as he was just on the edge of the bed, laying on his side, his hair disheveled and in his face. He yawned a bit, before his eyes closed once more. Something beside him shifted, a firm and warm mass pressing against his bare back and the faintest weight just about to rest on his side.

“Jesse McCree, you put that arm anywhere near me, i will cut it off,” Hanzo murmured into his pillow, a smirk creeping across his lips. He didn’t even have to look back to know that he was smiling. “Good morning to you to, sunshine,” McCree hummed, his lips just pressing against the back of Hanzo’s neck as gently as possible, his beard tickling a bit. Hanzo turned over, able to face his partner, sleep still in his own eyes. They shared a light kiss before Hanzo forced himself into the others chest, still not wanting to get up quite yet. McCree didn’t complain and just wrapped his arms around Hanzo, careful to not touch his skin with his metal arm. He’d gotten back so exhausted, he didn’t really want to do much else besides strip and hop into bed with Hanzo for the night, let alone take off his arm. He’d been gone for a week, and he was just happy to be home. Hanzo was just barley slipping back to sleep as Jesse grabbed his phone from the nightstand to check the time. It was early, 6:34 to be exact. The date was what gave Jesse a small moment of interest.

“Shit, darlin,” He said, lightly waking Hanzo, just a bit curious about what he was talking about. “It’s the one year anniversary, to the day, from when i punched you square in that pretty face of yours,” Jesse let out with a low, gentle laugh. Hanzo couldn’t help but smile against the others skin, his hands roaming around Jesse to hug him tight. “I have no idea how i gave you a second chance,” Hanzo said, looking at Jesse finally for the first time this morning. McCree just pressed their lips together in a gentle, sweet kiss.

“I’ve got no idea. But I got a second chance, and so much more,” Jesse hummed, before kissing the other one more time. They probably wouldn’t be leaving bed for a good few hours.

#mchanzo #overwatch #jesse mccree #hanzo shimada #genji shimada #fanfiction #A Second Chance For More #god damn that was long #super long chapter to end things off #also the ending was perfect #a twisted meaning #I LOVE IT #MY BOYS #HAPPY BOYS #my writings #now to sleep

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kakayunita · 7 years

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How to be Chinese-Celeste Ng

Take pleasure in the surprise on people’s faces when you say, “My name is Mackenzie Altman.” When they ask, explain that yes, your mother adopted you from China; no, you don’t know your birth parents; no, you don’t speak the language. Smile politely when they say you have no accent.

At eighteen, accept a place at a small liberal arts school in Ohio, four hours away, just over the state border. According to the website, the incoming freshman class is 450. Its average Asian population is three percent. Do the math: thirteen and a half Asians in your class. Try not to think about who the half is. Announce to your mother that you want to get in touch with your heritage: make it a going-to-college resolution. She will be delighted. “Kenz,” she will say, “Oh Kenz, I’m so proud.” She has wanted this since you were an infant, since she carried you off the Beijing–Detroit flight swaddled in a Minnie Mouse blanket. She has taken you to a Chinese restaurant on your birthday every year; she has always bought you panda teddy bears, the Asian Barbie. Your mother will kiss you, her eyes glossy with tears.

Don’t bring up the difficulties of learning to be Chinese in the middle of Michigan. Don’t remind her that except for the waiters at The Pearl of the Orient, you have never met another Chinese person. Don’t tell her you have no idea where to begin.

Begin with a false start. In your first week of college, join the Chinese Students Association. At the introductory meeting, in a conference room in the union, there are fourteen of you. Look around and think, “This is what China must be like.” Then blush. Look around and think, “My god, we all do look alike.” This meeting’s get-acquainted activity is mahjong. The other students are all international, from Beijing and Shanghai, with vaguely British accents. Pull a chair up to the corner of a table. “Watch,” one girl says. “We’ll teach you how.” It is glamorous, like The Joy Luck Club. Prop your elbows on the table and feel porous, ready to soak up culture.

Except you have no idea what’s going on. In the middle of an English sentence a patch of Chinese will pop up, sudden as switching the station on the radio. “My boyfriend, you know, he m-m-m-m. And I said, you know, I don’t think m-m-m really m-mm, but it’s like m-m-m.” Parts fall out of the conversation like paper snowflakes you cut out in kindergarten, mostly holes. You want to ask the girl next to you to translate, but you glance at her name tag and don’t know how to pronounce what’s there. Xiaoxia. She looks over at you and smiles.

“Do you get it?” she asks. Four pairs of hands stack mahjong tiles into brick walls. Suddenly the table is a tiny fortress with you on the outside. Nod and smile. Tell her you have to go. Forget to say thank you on your way out the door.

Begin again, in that most American of all places: McDonald’s. October. You’re at the register waiting for your Big Mac when a voice behind you says, “What would you recommend?”

“What?” you say, turning. This is a question you associate with steak houses, with restaurants that have specials. The boy behind you is Chinese too, hands tucked into pockets, a soft doglike expression in his eyes. Wonder if this boy is screwing with you. You get your order and the cashier turns to the boy, who points to your tray and says, “I’ll have the same.”

Ask him about himself as you peel the paper from your burgers. He tells you his name, Winston Liu; that his family moved to the U.S. a few months ago from Hong Kong and lives half an hour away; that he’s a freshman too. Marvel in unison about how you haven’t met until now. Listen to Winston’s voice for a trace of an accent, but don’t find one until he says the word strawberry. After that you can hear it everywhere: a faint Britishness in the vowels, a slight mingling of L and N, the hard ch when he says Chicago. It’s sexy, the way the voice and the face don’t match; like artfully clashing clothing, like mussed-up hair.

“Say something in Chinese,” you tell him.

“Like what?”

“Like anything.”

He thinks for a moment, then says something. English words lurk in the sounds: Jaw, deem, naugahyde. “What does that mean?” you ask.

“‘Pardon me, miss, my hotel room is full of monkeys.’”

Lean across the speckled plastic table and kiss him. His lips taste of salt and ketchup, which you find strangely exotic. Don’t realize that this is the taste of your own mouth as well.

For your first date Winston takes you to dinner. There are two Chinese restaurants in town, in strip malls across the street from each other. Peking Garden is the one you know. It has tasteful, smoky watercolors of mountains on the walls, and each sugar packet teaches you the name of a Chinese boat: sampan, junk. But the food comes on pink and white Corningware; the waiters bring coffee after the meal without asking, and they’re all students, white kids with the same flat midwestern tones as you and your mother and everyone you know. Winston takes you to the other one, Happy Buddha, which is tucked between Office Max and the Home Depot. Everyone says it’s much more authentic and, as a result, when you go in on Saturday evening, you’re the only customers there.

Look around to see what it’s like in a real Chinese restaurant. The tablecloths are pink and the napkins maroon. The teacups don’t have handles. Honeycomb balls of red paper and gold plastic bats dangle from joins in the ceiling tile. Worry that your people have bad taste. A woman croons in Chinese over the speaker system. Sit in a corner booth and imagine you’re in China. In a minute you recognize the tune being piped in: it’s the theme from Titanic.

The waiter at Happy Buddha is the age your father would be, if you had a father, with skin the deep tan of tea. He has an accent and needs a haircut. When he asks if you want ice water, his tone is almost an accusation, and it takes you a minute to understand what he’s said. Say, “Yes please,” and smile brightly. Try not to be disappointed when he doesn’t smile back.

Winston skips the moo shu and the lo mein and the General Tso’s chicken, all the things you and your mother love, and orders dishes you’ve never heard of. “You sure?” the waiter says. He looks at you out of the corner of his eye. Then he says something to Winston in Chinese, and Winston looks at you and nods. Nod too, as if you understand. The waiter finally scrawls a few characters on his notepad. After he goes off to put in your order, ask,

“What did he say?”

“Oh,” Winston says, “he wanted to know if you were Chinese.”

The food, when it comes, isn’t bad, but it’s strange. Its textures unnerve you: blocks of tofu the consistency of your mother’s flan; crispy yellow noodles and brown gravy and knuckles of spareribs that are mostly bone. The waiter watches you eat from across the room, sitting at another table and smoking a cigarette. Try not to catch his eye as you put sugar in your tea, as the spareribs slip from your chopsticks again and you reach for a fork.

When dinner’s over, Winston pays with a fifty-dollar bill. Then he goes to the bathroom, and the waiter says something to you that you can’t quite make out. Say, “Hmm?” and miss it again. You can’t understand until he says, quite clearly, “Do you want to take this home?” and you realize it isn’t the accent: he’d been speaking Chinese. Say, “Yes, please, wrap it up,” and hope he doesn’t notice how red you’ve become.

While you wait for your doggie bag, look at the placemat, now stained with grease and drops of brown sauce. Find your birth year and learn that you are a dragon. It makes you think of yourself as sleek and powerful and assured, not small and traitorous. It says: You are determined and passionate, a quick learner. Look the waiter in the eye when he returns and tell yourself that the look in his eyes isn’t pity.

After Winston drives you back to your dorm, wait for him to leave, then slip across the street to Pinocchio’s and order two slices of pepperoni. Clap them between two paper plates and smuggle them back to your room to eat alone, with a rerun of Friends on.

A few weeks later, Winston calls and asks if you’d like to meet his mother for Sunday brunch. She comes down to visit, he says, every couple of weeks. Hide your surprise. You’ve gone out a few times—to a safe PG-13 comedy, and to the first football game of the season, where you held his hand in the pocket of his coat and tried to explain what a blitz was. You haven’t even mentioned him to your own mother yet. Is it time, you think, to meet parents? “She really wants to meet you,” Winston says. “She thinks it’s wonderful that I’m meeting other Chinese students.” Feel a rush of warmth, like a deep hug. Wonder about this woman: a Chinese mother. What does she look like? You can picture only your mother with her hair dyed black. Say, “All right, what time?”

Winston decides on The Vineyard, the wood-paneled restaurant everyone takes visiting parents to. By the time you get there, two minutes early, he and his mother are already seated at a white-clothed table. Mrs. Liu wears a fur coat, dark and sleek, and two gold necklaces. On her left index finger is a circle of jade the size of a dime.

“Mackenzie,” she says. She holds out her hand but doesn’t shake yours, so that you end up grasping the tips of her fingers like the corner of a wet dishcloth. “You so thin,” she says. For a moment you think she’s going to pinch your cheek.

“Thank you,” you say after a pause, and she smiles at you with her lipsticked lips closed, as if you’ve made a mistake. She orders a cup of fruit salad and a croissant, and you feel vaguely disappointed at the Europeanness of it, though you and Winston have both ordered waffles, with bacon.

“What your mommy do?” Mrs. Liu asks.

“An architect,” you tell her.

“And your daddy?”

You have a stock answer, a stock tone for this.

“Oh, it’s just my mom and me,” you say. “She adopted me as a single mom. Just the two of us girls.”

“Mm-hm,” she says, as if you’ve said something fascinating.

Winston’s mother is a feng shui expert. Feng shui, as far as you can tell, is good luck through interior design. She doesn’t work. His father is some kind of businessman, in China a lot. This week he’s in Shanghai. Mrs. Liu asks what your major is, and you tell her you haven’t decided yet. When she lifts her eyebrows, add, “But I’m thinking of East Asian Studies.”

“You want to learn about your culture,” Mrs. Liu says. “That’s gooooood.” She draws out the last word like she’s spinning a thread of silk. Then she smiles, a real smile this time, and slices a chunk of cantaloupe with the side of her fork.

“You adopted?” At your nod, she says, “Very important, you learn about your culture.” The way she says it, like an edict, makes you feel entitled. Culture glistens in the distance, like the prize in a scavenger hunt.

After that, brunch follows a pattern. Mrs. Liu speaks to you in Chinese. You can pick out only your name, which comes out like three words: Ma. Ken. Zee. Smile blankly while Winston says, “Mom, remember? Mackenzie doesn’t speak Chinese.” Mrs. Liu apologizes, patting your hand with hers, which is pale and cool and soft, like a little satin cushion. “You keep listening, you pick it up,” she says each time. “You born with it, inside you understand it. In here.” She taps her chest.

Don’t tell them about the package in your mailbox last month, the eight-CD set of Introductory Chinese from Barnes & Noble, the note from your mother saying, “Picked up one for myself too—we can learn together.” Lesson One: “How are you? I am an American. I speak a little Chinese, but I don’t speak well.” In your mouth the words tasted strange as gravel. Don’t tell them how Lesson Two bewildered you, how you forgot the word order, how you jumbled the words for “eat” and “is,” the words for “buy” and “sell.” How when your mother called last week, sounding like the woman on the tape, you understood nothing until she spoke in English. “Do you want to have a drink at my place? Lesson Eight: Meeting People.” After a moment: “Are you not there yet?” Try to forget the care package that arrived yesterday, chocolate-chunk cookies, hot cocoa mix, tortilla chips and salsa, a note from your mother that read, “I promise to stop propositioning you.” Focus instead on Mrs. Liu’s eyes, the same deep brown as yours. Chant her words in your mind: you born with it, inside you understand it.

After the meal, say goodbye in the parking lot. Mrs. Liu takes your hand and the jade in her ring presses into your fingers. She says, “Mackenzie, I buy a lot of art for our new house, Chinese art. Maybe you want to come and see it? Learn about your culture?”

“I’d love to,” you say. Behind her, Winston beams.

“Good,” she says, and gets into the car. Winston pecks you on the cheek and whispers, “Call you later,” and they’re gone in a streak of pale gold Lexus.

That night, go over to Winston’s room. Kick off your shoes and sink down onto the bed. Like you, like most other freshman, he has a single; the university believes it prevents rooming conflicts. But the rooms in his building are older, and awkwardly shaped: the desk has to go in the niche in the wall, the bed in the corner, with the closet at its foot.

“So that was my mother,” he says, looking at you sideways from the chair.

“She’s nice,” you say.

“She likes you. She wants you to come by the house. Next weekend, maybe.”

You feel a tingle in your shoulders and feel his eyes resting on you. Don’t meet them. Survey the built-in mirror on the closet door, the cinderblock walls painted dingy off-white.

Winston says, “So your mom adopted you alone?” Tell him yes. Tell him, “Nowadays that’s not allowed. Nowadays there are more rules. You have to be married. You have to be straight. You can’t be blind, or hard of hearing, or have a wooden leg or epilepsy or someone else’s kidney. Nowadays they screen you to make sure you’re not a criminal, or a crazy.”

Don’t explain that she’d always wanted a baby but never found the right man, that when she read that China was opening its orphanages she’d cried right there in the coffee shop, tears spotting the newspaper. That when she came to China to pick you up she had horrible stomach cramps all sixteen hours, threw up three times into one paper bag and another and another, as if her body were atoning for the lack of labor. Don’t tell him that when she first picked you up in her arms, she whispered, Hello beautiful, where have you been all my life? These are private stories. Push them to the back of your mind and give Winston your biggest ironic smile. Say, “Good thing my mother acted fast.”

#axwerk #literature #prose #xiaowei #chinese #new year #lunar

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