TWENTY THREE

XIULEI

I don't remember what happened after that call that November night. 

Looking back, it still feels hysterical. Everything blurred together; I was vaguely aware of Junkai holding me tightly, pulling me to the airport, telling me he would get Soomyeon to help me get the papers ready for a Leave of Absence, and that I'd have to fly back before the break ended to get an approval to stay longer in China. He said he couldn't go with me because of filming, but would pay for both flights, and asked if I was okay going alone. Somewhere, I'd found the strength to nod. 

The erratic thumping of my heart continued to accompany me as I left LAX, changing flights in Shanghai and then finally landing in Fuzhou, seventeen hours later. The taxi ride, the streets, the hospital's crowded waiting rooms filled with the smell of antiseptic... those things will forever be ingrained in my mind. 

The doctors told me that my mother had cancer. Lung cancer. I could almost hear the disapproval in their voices as they asked, "The cancer is already in stage four; the seizure was because it had metastasized, spreading to the brain. Did you not see any signs before?"

I did not tell them I didn't know because I'd been across the ocean, leaving her back here, alone. 

I did not say she'd told me it was just a cough from an infection, and that it would go away with time and medicine.

They'd informed that after my mother awoke, we would discuss further treatments. She had only one tumor in the brain, and the best way to go was surgery and then a whole-brain radiation therepy followed by medical therepy. When she did awaken, however, all these procedures were trashed; she'd refused all treatments, and demanded to leave the hospital. Even when I prayed, pleaded, and begged, she'd refused to stay. And so, we left. 

When I flew back to fill out the Leave of Absence forms, Soomyeon clung to me while crying, telling me that it'll be okay, that things would get better, and that she'd wait for me to come back. I couldn't look at her when I promised that I would. Back in Fuzhou, days and nights were filled with pain relievers, constant coughing, and the threat of fluids building up in mom's lungs. Each day she appeared weaker, the cancer and the morphine making her speech slurred and her gaze unfocused. She'd asked for a pen and paper; I saw her writing, but each time I entered the room, she put the words away. 

I cried. I pleaded with God, with the heavens, with my mother. I asked for more time, but she always refused my begs for her to get treatment, always looking away, unable to meet my eyes.

"I don't want more time here, Xiulei." She'd finally admitted, and I tried not to break down at that sentence.

Why? Why do you want to leave me here, too? Just like Nuoyi, like dad. The thought wouldn't leave my brain.

As the long nights passed, slumped in a chair by my mother's bedside, unable to move, unable to sleep, I held her weak grip in one hand and my phone in the other, waiting for it to light up with a call from Luhan. I got one every night from Junkai and another every morning from Soomyeon. But Promises never rang from my speaker.

In this way, days passed, and then months. My mother died four months after the diagnosis, the March after my twenty second birthday. She'd pressed the letter, the one she'd been writing up until that last day, into my palms, sealed in a large envelope that told me in shaky characters: "Read 1 Year Later in Luoping". And then, she was gone.

After the funeral, I was still waiting for Luhan's call. 

After arriving back at Stanford, eyes swollen, heart numb, I waited some more.

Spring turned to summer and then fall and then winter. My twenty third birthday passed; it had been a year and a quarter. I was a walking shell, buried in books, in work, in searching for internships. Soomyeon always asked why I didn't smile or talk unless it was an interview. I only shrugged, not able to say that it hurt too much. That the hole inside my chest, which had doubled in size since mom's cremation, hurt too much to speak. 

And, still, I waited for Promises to sound. 

I was given a paid internship opportunity, one in Shanghai, after my professor recommended me. He said he was impressed that I'd made it through this "hard year" while still able to manage my studies, never falling behind and instead getting through it with flying colors, passing the LSAT and remaining rank one in my major. He told me to take a gap year, to earn some money with the internship and gain work experience in the field of business law. "Then," he'd told me, "Come back and get your LLM." 

I'd thanked him, saying that I'd take the internship, but not the gap year, choosing to maintain my studies through a Leave of Absence.

Now, it's March fifth, one year and one hundred days since Luhan had called, one year since my mother had gone. I am exactly one hundred and four days away from my graduation. Time seems to be lagging, only for me. 

"Smile!" Soomyeon nudges me with a grin, her eyes practically begging for the corners of my mouth to go up a little. "You're going to your dream city in a day to see the place where you're gonna be interning at! And you're about to graduate val of our major. You shouldn't be wearing that blank face of yours twenty four-seven." I force a grin, and she claps her hands together excitedly. "Finally, that took me forever. Here, I think that's all you're gonna need before your flight. Is there anything else you're missing?" She pushes the suitcase she had stuffed full of clothes towards me.

Half of my heart, I think, but I don't say it out loud. Instead, I shake my head, pulling Soomyeon into a hug. "I'll miss you over there, Soomi." I whisper, one of the few sentences I've spoken in weeks. "You'll visit me in Shanghai next year, right?" She buries her face into my shoulder, and I feel the hot tears soaking through my shirt. 

"You idiot! It took you that long to say something. Of course I'll visit you, dummy. I'll bring Jihun along, too. We can go out together and you'll show us all the fancy places there!" She promises, holding me tighter.

"Don't cry for me. You'll look ugly with panda eyes." I wipe her tears away as I pull back. "And have fun with Jihun on your date tonight." She rolls her eyes, pulling me back into her embrace.

"My gosh, I'm gonna miss your silent- self when you're not here."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

LUHAN

I sit at the See You Tomorrow bar in Shanghai, staring down at my dark phone, looking at how the cracks from the morning I'd thrown it at the wall weave a spiderweb-pattern from the left side of the screen to the right. I wait for it to light up with Xiulei's call. It's been a year and one hundred and one days, and I'm still waiting. 

I'll give you three seconds to call, pabo. If you don't, then I'll change my number, and you can go live your happy life with Junkai for all I care.

One.

Two. 

Three.

The phone stays dark. I slam my fist into the table. Okay. Three more.

Somewhere inside, I know that I'll keep giving her that three more, again and again until another year passes.

And then another, and another.

Groaning, I down a shot of Malort, smashing the ice-made-glass against the bar table. I pour another, reveling in the burning, bitter taste of wormwood at midnight. The bartender stares at me, concerned. "Exactly how miserable are you, sir, to be downing the bitterest of all wines that fast?" I look up at him with squinted eyes, my face puckered. He is young, probably no older than twenty three. Young people that don't know how to talk. Tsk, tsk. I give the boy a sullen grin. 

"How miserable do you think I am?"

"I... I'm not sure sir." He stutters. "May I ask... are you wearing the sunglasses in a dim bar because you're blind? Is that why you're miserable?" I stare at him like he's crazy, wondering if he seriously just asked me that question.

Before I can give a snarky reply, my phone rings. I feel my heart rate pick up at the thought that it was Xiulei, finally... and then fall just as fast when I see that it was only Lao Gao, again.

"What do you want?" I slur into the receiver, downing the Malort and feeling the acrid taste leave a trail of fire down my throat. 

From his end, I hear my friend sigh, exasperated. "Are you at a bar again? What did I say about your image? The good boy image that you. Must. Maintain."

I roll my eyes. "What good boy image? I'm already thirty four... what thirty four year old needs a good boy image?" I laugh softly. "I don't want my image anymore. I don't care... I don't care anymore!" I smash another ice-shotglass, my voice raising.

"Luhan." Lao Gao's voice has a warning tone. "You're in public."

I sigh, collapsing in my chair, body folding like a bent reed. "Alright, alright, I get it. You're concerned about my publicity. Don't worry, ge men, I'm wearing the sunglasses. Even the bartender didn't recognize me; he thought I was blind."

"What kind of doofus wears sunglasses in a bar??" Lao Gao asks, sounding completely done. "You know what, I'm not even going to question it anymore. Just tell me where you are and let me go pick you up."

"See You Tomorrow, Lao Gao. See You Tomorrow." I say and then hang up, cutting off my friend's confused splutters. I finish off my third shot of Malort while trying to pull myself to my feet, unsteady from the alcohol. Near my seat is a piano and a mike, the man sitting there playing slow, smooth jazz. I stumble over, gripping the black, polished sides of the instrument to stay upright. 

"Do you take song requests?" My words come out slurred. His fingers still as he looks up at me, first frowning at my sunglasses, and then nodding an affirmative.

"Yes, sir, I do. What song would you like?"

"Do you know 'You Better Not Think of Me'? By Hebe Tian." The man nods again. 

"That's an old classic. 2013 was a good year..." He smiles wistfully.

"Play me that one, please. Key of C." 

The man starts up with the familiar dyads to the song as I grip my mike tightly, staring out at the bustling, crowded bar, at each of the shining figures moving in the dim light. Somehow, the alcohol had made me fluid, disconnecting me from all of these people, from all these strangers. At the far end of the room, near the door, I imagine a small figure in a simple white button up and stilettos, watching me with the same expression she'd once stared at her idol with, her eyes shining and reflecting even the dimmest of lights. I imagine a red rose in her hair.

This is my first time singing to you, pabo, you know that? I thought I'd get to sing for you at my concert... but you only sang me your goodbye instead. I feel the hot tears welling in my eyes, and I blink them away. Hard. 

You better be listening...

I've been alone all this while now, still not better.

It feels as if the whole world is silently laughing at me.

How proud am I allowed to be?

I am knocked down so easily...

  One touch from you, and I fall to pieces.

After waking the sleeping iceberg within me, you escape;

To do things so easily, you've always had your way.

Even a sweet, faraway smile

Can rouse surging waves inside...

I smell, again, the scent of my scorching tears.

You love me, I know you do; there's no reason that our love cannot be...

As long as you dare to, why do we have to pass each other by?

The night is long, and dreams are plenty;

Just don't think of me.

Only then will you realize how much this really hurts.

As the chorus fades away, I imagine the figure with the red rose walking closer, her blurry image making its way to the stage. She smiles, that smile I hadn't seen in so long, her eyes now shining with some infinite sort of sadness. I step away from the mike, my fingers loosening their tight grip. The piano doesn't stop, but my feet take me off the stage to meet her.

Xiulei...

My fingertips reach out to graze her hair, her face, that rose. The key of the piano shifts, the of the final chorus reached. As soon as I touch her, the image vanishes like a mirage, shattering from my sudden awakening. All that is left is cold, empty nothingness. The dyads sound again, this time in minor key. The song has ended. It is all over. 

I down my fourth shot. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Wei. Luhan. Luhan!" A voice hisses into my ear. From my left, someone shakes me awake. 

I open my eyes blearily, a massive headache taking root behind my temple. Pulling off the sunglasses, I see Lao Gao standing beside me, his mouth scrunched up in a tight frown. I groan, blinking blankly at him.

"Put that thing back on your face and come with me, you idiot." He seethes while pushing the sunglasses towards me, almost stabbing out my right eyeball in the process. I give an incoherent protest while slapping his hands away, and then put them on myself. 

"Are you trying to make me blind?" I ask when we're finally out of the bar and in the hallway. Lao Gao only rolls his eyes, watching as I stumble along the dimly lit passage, clutching at the wall for support and doing my best not to puke. Making it into an elevator, I collapse against its cold, metal insides, staring at my face in its reflective interior. There are dark circles under my eyes and deep furrows between my brows. I look older than I'd ever looked before.

Isn't it tiring, to keep pretending? Her words from so long ago echo between my ears.  

"Are you trying to end your career?" Lao Gao drags me from the elevator, through the underground parking lot to his car, stuffing me in the passenger seat. "Because that's exactly what you're doing, coming to a bar so publicly like that and passing out." He huffs, slamming his door shut.

"Maybe I am." 

"That better be the alcohol talking." He gives me a level look while pulling the sunglasses off. I shoot him a wry grin.

"What if I were dead serious?"

"Then you're not the Luhan I know." Lao Gao doesn't look at me, his eyes trained on the exit sign to the parking lot. "The Luhan I know won't throw away everything he's worked so hard for for nine ing years, just because of a girl."  

I sigh. "You don't know that." 

Lao Gao finally turns to me, glaring. "Ge men. I know you won't. Because if you really would, you wouldn't have come with me to Shanghai for your promotional tour. You wouldn't have kept up a front in front of all those cameras for a year. Heck, you wouldn't be sitting here right now; you'd still be in that bar, taking off those stupid sunglasses and showing this tired, drawn face to the world." His voice is tight, angry. "So I know you won't give it all up for her." 

"But I want to." My voice is small, tired. "You have no idea how much I want to. Just thinking about her and Junkai... and then her not calling for so long-"

"Are you sure this cold war between you two isn't all just one big misunderstanding?" Lao Gao slams the wheel, exasperated. "Think about it clearly, Luhan. If Xiulei were actually dating Junkai, don't you think there'd be rumors? He's such a big idol now, don't you think someone would've caught them? If not the media, a saesang definitely would've. But there's been nothing, nothing for a whole. ing. Year."  

I lay my face against the cold, tinted window. "But Junkai said-"

"Yes, yes, he answered the phone for her that one time. He might've been in California for something, and they might've met up for a chat. As friends. And yes, he said she didn't want to talk to you... but did it ever pass your mind that he probably just said that because he was jealous of you being close to Xiulei and wanted to scare you off? Did it ever?" 

I shut my eyes, "If it isn't true, why hasn't she called yet?" My voice breaks. "A year and a hundred and one days, Lao Gao. It's been a year and a hundred and one days." I pause. "Even if she was with Junkai... she could at least call..." 

"Only an idiot like you would bother to count." My friend mutters under his breath, making a sharp turn onto the street with my apartment. Raising his voice, he replies, "And because, maybe something came up, so she couldn't contact you. Or, maybe she's waiting for you to make the first move. Either way, you won't know unless you call, Luhan."

"What if she doesn't pick up?"

"Just call her."

"No." Something inside me realizes that if I did call and she doesn't answer, or if she tells me first hand that she doesn't want to hear from me again... in either scenario, that would be the final blow to my weak heart.

From beside me, I can almost feel Lao Gao's palpable anger at my stubborn reply as he speeds past the gates of my apartment complex. Parking, he pushes me out of his car and then slams the door shut. Rolling down a window, he says, "Fine. Don't listen to me if you don't want to. Whether you like it or not, though, I'm giving you a three day break; you collect yourself and sleep off that hecking bottle of Malort you drank." He pauses, pointing a finger at my face accusatorially. "You better come back to me professional and acting like an actual thirty four year old instead of a baby. Got it?" With one last eye roll, he drives off.

I drag my sorry- self up four flights of stairs to my bed.