Dreams of Joy (Shanghai Girls 2)

“Did you know?”

“I didn’t, but I wasn’t making love to her. What did you think was going to happen?”

“I wasn’t thinking,” he admits. “At least, I wasn’t thinking properly. In those days, I was caught up in the movement. I was filled with ai kuo—love for our country and its people. I thought I could help change China. I didn’t think enough about ai jen—the love I felt for May. We were all young. None of us thought about the consequences of anything we were doing.”

The doorbell rings. We know who it’s going to be. I straighten my dress and tuck a few strands of hair into my bun. Z.G. broadens his chest and clasps his hands behind his back. We stand there like two statues as one of the servants hurries to the door.

Joy swishes into the room, all dazzling energy, her cheeks pink from the cold. Even though it’s February, I can tell she’s spent time in the sun. She pulls off her hat, leaving her black tresses tousled and unkempt. She hasn’t cut her hair since leaving Los Angeles.

Joy absorbs Z.G.’s dour look, and her eyes scan the room to see what’s wrong. Her delicate eyebrows, pretty nose, and full lips register absolute astonishment at seeing me. Her eyes widen and become even brighter. Then I see not happiness, sadness, or even anger that I’m here. It’s worse than any of those. The cool shadows of indifference fall over her features. She stares at me but doesn’t say a word.

I smile and say, “Hello, Joy.” When she doesn’t respond, I hurry on. “I brought you a Christmas present.” I go to my coat, fumble in the pocket to get the wrapped perfume bottle, and offer it to her.

“I don’t celebrate Christmas anymore.”

A long silence follows this declaration. She knows that I’m a one-Goder and that this would hurt me.

“Joy.” The appeal in my voice is strong. She’ll have to respond.

“I don’t want you here. You’ll ruin everything.”

“Don’t speak to her like that,” Z.G. says in the calmest voice possible. “She’s your auntie.”

I drive my nails into my palms to keep the pain of that from overwhelming me.

“And you’re my father,” my daughter retorts. “That’s much more important.”

I feel all the things I’ve wanted to say to her about being ungrateful, cruel, spoiled, and self-centered—-just like your birth mother—pushing to fly out of my mouth. Z.G. steps forward. I put up a hand to stop him from coming closer or speaking.

“I love you very much, Joy. Please can we talk about why you ran away?” Of course I know the reason—she didn’t want to deal with two mothers who had lied to her—but I need to get her to open up. “We never had a chance to talk that night. If you tell me what you felt, then maybe you’ll feel better about everything. And maybe I can help.”

And like that, my daughter is once again five years old. She pulls her upper lip between her teeth and bites down hard to hold in her emotions.

“Tell me, honey. Tell me so I can understand.”

When she shakes her head, I know that I’m approaching this the right way. We are back in a pattern we’ve lived as mother and daughter so many times.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do more for you after your baba died,” I say. “I apologize for that. We both loved him.” Tears begin to roll down Joy’s cheeks. “We should have been holding on to each other.”

But what she says takes me by surprise.

“You were right to ignore me after what I did.”

“What did you do?” I ask, confused. Again, this is not at all what I expected. My brain hurries to catch up.

“Oh, Mom, it was all my fault. Auntie May and I talked after your fight. She explained everything about Dad being a paper son—”

“May always puts blame on someone else.”

“No, Mom, listen to me. The FBI and INS never would have looked at our family if I hadn’t been involved with that group in Chicago. Agent Sanders approached Auntie May because of me. She was trying to help our family. She was trying to get you and Dad amnesty. She didn’t realize I was the real target. If you’d told me the truth about Dad, I would have been more careful, I wouldn’t have joined that club, and the government wouldn’t have noticed us.”

She’s right. If Joy hadn’t joined that club, it would have made a big difference. Still…

“That doesn’t change the fact that my sister betrayed us.”

“But Auntie May didn’t betray you! She was trying to help you in the best way she could. Amnesty, Mom. Do you even know what that means?”

A part of me thinks, Even here, even after everything that’s happened, Joy takes May’s side. But another part of me actually hears what my daughter has said. I’ve blamed May for everything, but what if she wasn’t to blame?