Mingmei Yip - Song of the Silk Road

I had no answer for that. Though a kid, he acted mature beyond his age. That troubled me; I didn’t know how to deal with him anymore.

I let out a long, heavy sigh.

“Lily, my life won’t be complete without you. To keep you, marriage is the only way. Otherwise you’re just like a mirage in the desert.” He made a sweeping gesture in the air. “Poof, and gone into thin air! I don’t want you to be just a mirage, or some framed souvenir pictures in my life. I love you.”

I pushed him back to take a good look at his eager face. “Alex, I told you I like you very much. But can you please leave things as they are?” I couldn’t bring myself to return the “I love you,” since I had no idea what our future would be, or if we even had one.

“Lily, we should never let go of the things in life that really matter.”

“ Hai , Alex, I have more important things on my mind right now. Much more important,” I said, then immediately regretted it.

“Don’t I have any importance in your life, too?”

“Alex, I’m sorry. Can’t we discuss this later? Now let’s be cheerful and go meet your parents. I’m sure they’re already waiting.”

He glanced at his watch. “Damn! We’re already late. All right, but promise me you will discuss this with me soon.”

I nodded, then pushed him out of the hotel room.

The hotel restaurant was full, the clientele half Asian and half Westerners, all busy eating, drinking, talking, smoking. Amidst a yellowish orange background, black-uniformed waiters and waitresses hurried back and forth to take orders, pour drinks, hand out hot towels, and set down steaming, pungent dishes.

After glancing over different tables, my eyes landed on the fiftyish, expensively and stylishly dressed Caucasian couple sitting by the window. Even before Alex had the chance to say anything, I knew they were his parents.

My lover exclaimed, “Here they are!” then took my hand and dragged me to his parents.

“Mom! Dad!” Alex hugged and kissed them. Then he put his hand on my shoulder. “This is Lily.”

After that, he introduced his father as Frank Luce and his mother as Donna Adler. I was about to ask why his mother had a different last name when Alex whispered into my ear, “They’re both remarried. Adler is my stepfather’s name.”

His father stood up and extended his hand to me. “Very nice to meet you, Lily. Alex talks about you nonstop. Please join us.”

Alex pulled the seat out for me so I was next to his mother, then sat down himself. My first impression of his parents was that they were powerful people with precise, impeccable manners. Now I realized why my young lover never seemed to worry about money, or being able to start a family.

He had rich parents.

Mr. Luce playfully patted Alex’s shoulder. “Well, son, I’m so happy you have met someone so pretty. Have you been taking good care of this young lady?”

Alex looked very happy. “You bet, Dad.”

“Good, that’s my son.”

Now, Mrs. Adler, or Donna, a tall and rod-thin woman with perfectly coiffed blond hair and clad in an immaculate blouse and slacks, smiled down at me as if I were one of her employees. “Lily, I’m sure my son has been taking good care of you. He seems to have been born with this nurturing trait one rarely sees in men nowadays.” She paused, then added, her blue eyes cold and frozen like a winter sky, “Women find this irresistible, especially with a man so young.” She paused again before speaking, accentuating each word, “And nice-looking.”

Before I had a chance to respond, Alex protested. “Mom and Dad, please stop embarrassing me. Let’s order. I’m starving!”

I smiled politely. “I’m very honored to meet you both today.”

Some silence, then Alex’s father said, “Lily, you can call us by our first name. Let’s order and chat while we eat, I’m sure we have lots of things to talk about.”

His ex-wife turned away abruptly and spoke to him in her thin, controlled voice. “Order what the rest of you want, I’m not very hungry.”

While they were discussing the menu with the waiter, I studied the couple more closely and couldn’t tell if I liked or disliked them. However, I was certain of one thing—they lived in a completely different world from mine. Their whole being exuded nothing but the smell of money, old or new I couldn’t tell, but definitely shitloads of it (excuse my French). I wondered what they thought of me being their son’s girlfriend, that I was eight years older.

Though his parents’ manners were courteous, I didn’t feel much warmth or interest from them, certainly not from his mother. I understood Alex’s feeling that their love for him was more an obligation—with a tinge of pity—than true affection. Maybe traveling with him, and even meeting me, was just a show to make it seem like they did care, even though Alex was adopted and even though both now had a biological child. No wonder Alex was so eager to find his biological mother and start his own family. But surely he wondered what kind of mother would desert her own flesh and blood.

Dinner—the food, that is—was very enjoyable. The conversation was polite but strained; his parents acted like parents, and their son like a son. Lots of pictures were taken as friendly souvenirs.

Then the most dreaded question finally came when Donna asked, dabbing her thin, red-painted lips with her matching, perfectly manicured fingers, “Lily, what do you do?”

“Last year I graduated from the MFA program in creative writing from NYU….”

Alex immediately came to my rescue. “Mom, I told you Lily’s a novelist.”

Frank looked up from his plate. “Oh, that’s wonderful. I’ve always wanted to be a writer—thrillers, mysteries, gangsters, you know, men’s stuff.”

I laughed a little to cover my nervousness and inferiority complex.

“What’s your writing about?” Donna’s eyes alighted on me like a hawk its prey.

“Coming of age, mother and daughter relationship, a family saga.”

Now Frank stopped eating to chime in. “Which publisher?”

I was so embarrassed that had there been a hole right in the restaurant, I would have plunged inside and refused to come out. “I… don’t have a publisher yet. It’s still a work in progress.”

Neither of the parents’ expressions concealed their disappointment. They exchanged looks, then the ex-wife said, “So what do you do besides this hobby?”

I knew the word “hobby” was meant as an insult, since many would-be writers scribbled their whole life but never got published. But I was dead serious and good, and I knew it. Then where was my book? As long as I remained unpublished, my writer’s identity would never be taken seriously. My heart sank. Unpublished, unemployed, unmarried. Maybe I should at least say yes to Alex’s proposal.

Then Alex’s father asked, “Lily, may I ask what are you doing in China?”

I hesitated for seconds before I blurted out, “To gather material for my second novel.”

Some moments passed before both parents uttered a “Hmm… that’s nice.” After that, they resumed their eating and drinking.

I couldn’t tell how the parents really felt about me—or if they actually had feelings. Did they like me as a person, even a teeny, tiny bit? Today I was not my usual self. Ill at ease, I forced myself to put on a face that was not really mine. Besides, I had never learned to mingle with the rich and pretentious. In fact, I hated it. I knew that in his parents’ eyes, I was of no significance.

Frank and Donna had already arranged that after dinner we would all go to a Xinjiang folk dance performance. I didn’t have much interest in seeing this kind of superficial tourist stuff, but I felt obliged to go along so as not to disappoint Alex or offend his parents.