Lisa Ko - The Leavers

“Well, that wasn’t at a restaurant, and it’s always dangerous going into strangers’ homes.”

“Look at the one who was shot at the takeout spot. Through bulletproof plastic!”

“That won’t happen. Waitressing is safe.” I picked a pair of your pants off the floor. “Listen, I want to go. It’s time to try something different. Don’t you think?”

“I think it’s time for me to go to sleep. Forget about Florida, I’ll make the money back for you next month.”

“Leon.”

“If you want money so bad, find a rich guy with papers who doesn’t have to take care of his sister, too.”

“Stop it.”

It wasn’t about the money. I could do better than Hello Gorgeous. Leon could do better than the slaughterhouse. You needed to go to a school where you weren’t called Number Two Special.

I floated the idea to Didi. She socked me in the arm. “Waijiu? Are you crazy? You might as well take the subway to the moon.”

We were standing in the same damn alley, smoking cigarettes like we’d been doing for years, facing the same brick wall of the same building. Didi’s plan was to move to another salon downtown, and when her English got even better, get a job that didn’t involve painting nails. “I don’t understand why you won’t come with me to the other salon,” she said, addressing the bricks. “She wants to go to Florida but she won’t go to Thirteenth Street.”

“I told you I don’t want to.”

“Rocky’s never giving you that manager job. She’s stringing all of us along, even if we’ve been working for longer. They’re going to cut our hours down to nothing and keep these new girls on for cheap. Michelle’s taking over and Rocky will manage the Riverdale salon herself. If you don’t leave, they’ll make you leave.”

She was right, but it hurt to hear. A police car drove down the street, sirens wailing, and I was agitated and weary at the same time. “Don’t you get tired of being in New York?”

“Not really. Things are good now.”

This was true, at least for her. When Quan was going to Atlantic City regularly, sometimes I’d reassure myself: at least I’m not Didi. But since Quan had quit gambling, Didi had the money to go to English classes instead of fronting him rent, and now she was trying to convince him to have a baby. And you couldn’t try to sponsor me for a green card until you turned twenty-one, but after Didi got married, she’d applied for papers. Soon she would be legal and could work anywhere.

“You have a place with your man and your son, and you want to give it all up.”

“I just think this isn’t the best I can do. And they’ll come with me.”

“But you know what it’s like here. Anything can happen in Florida.” Didi looked at her cell phone. “We should go in before Michelle breathes her dragon breath on us.”

“Right, anything can happen. That’s the exciting part.”

“You’re angry about Leon and the money, but it’s nothing.”

“It’s not about the money. You and Quan should come, too.”

“Stay in New York. Get married, have a baby.”

I saw how much Didi would miss me if I left. I would miss her, too, though I already missed her, the way we had been when we only had each other, believing that being the oldest residents at the boardinghouse was a thing to be proud of, when the ambiguity of our lives was terrifying and enthralling, when each new day was equal parts fear and opportunity. My solitary walks through Central Park, the streets so new I could still get lost easily. Riding the subway and watching the lights of the city rear up in front of me, wondering if this would be the closest I would get to love.

IT SNOWED, AGAIN, HEAPING inches of slush, and none of us could remember what it was like to be hot enough to need a fan. Leon cleared a path down the front steps of our building with his boots. “Florida sounds nice right now, doesn’t it?” I said.

“Will you stop with that? I told you, I’ll pay you back.”

“You don’t think I’m serious.”

“I have to go to work. I’ll see you later.”

“Can you say that you’ll consider it, think about it a little bit?”

“Okay, okay,” he said as he walked away.

I went upstairs and called the restaurant in Florida. I told the manager that I knew Joey and was interested in the job, answered questions about how long I’d been in America, said a few English phrases. The manager explained that the restaurant was in a small town called Star Hill, an hour outside of a city called Orlando. “Don’t wait too long,” she said. “We need a waitress soon.”

I said I’d call again, in a day or two, after I bought tickets for a bus from New York.

My Wednesday shift had been shortened, so later that day I was able to meet you when you got out of school. The building seemed like it was always under construction, metal scaffolding attached to its sides for as long as you’d gone there, and the few times I had been inside, I had been struck by the stale, mildewy marinade of sweat, glue, and floor cleaner. It wasn’t safe for children to go to school in a construction zone.

“I’m not going,” you said, when I told you about Florida.

“Deming, I’m your mother. You have to go with me.”

“You weren’t with me when I was in China.”

“Yi Gong was with you. I was working so I could save enough money to have you here. It’s different now.”

“Different how?”

“You’ll love Florida, too. You’ll have a big house and your own room.”

“I don’t want my own room. I want Michael there.”

“You’ve moved before. It wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You answered in English. “I’m not going! Leave me alone!”

I knew the proper words to respond, but didn’t say them, didn’t want to give you the power of making me switch languages, to talk only on your terms. A dense heat rose in my face and arms, like I was fighting against being shoved into a bag.

We were outside the bodega. I saw Mrs. Johnson from our building watching us. Your face was wrinkled and hurt, so I hugged you, hard, and you squeezed out of my arms and ran ahead of me, arms sticking out the wrist holes of your coat. Deming, I loved you so much. I made a note to buy you a new shirt. We wouldn’t need coats in Florida.

That night, I stayed up as you slept, waited for Leon to get home from work. You asserted yourself even while unconscious, flopping on your side, while Michael slept on his back with his arms and legs straight. I hadn’t been that much older when I had left home. It was good for a child to experience new things, learn how to be brave and independent. Like when you had fallen off a swing. It was scary, but I was proud of you for being strong. I wasn’t going to baby you. I wanted you to be smart, self-sufficient; to never be caught off guard.

When you were a baby, small enough to fit on top of a pillow, I couldn’t bear to be away from you, craved my skin against your skin. The city had seemed too harsh and loud for a child, and I wanted to protect you from the outside, ensure you’d be safe. I still did. I wanted to give you the chances I hadn’t taken for myself. Show you that you didn’t have to settle, stay put.

Streaks of light appeared in the sky. I drifted in and out of sleep and woke to Leon’s weight next to me. I curled into his shoulder, pressed myself against him, and he patted my back. “Go back to sleep. It’s late.”

“If we were both working at the restaurant, we’d go to sleep together every night, wake up together every morning.”

“Mm,” he said.

“Don’t you want to go with me?”

“I can’t leave my sister. She’s my family.”

“Vivian and Michael can come with us.”

“She doesn’t want to leave New York.”