Confucius Jane (36 page)

Her moral outrage spiked Sutton's irritation, and she quickly latched on to the emotion. It was a relief to feel something other than loneliness and pain. “Why shouldn't I? My family is falling apart, my mother's condition is getting worse, and you think I should blithely jet across the ocean? What kind of daughter would I be if I abandoned them like that?”

“Whoa.” Jane held up both hands. “I'm sorry, okay? I just … I want you to be able to fulfill your dreams. You worked so hard to earn that postdoc.”

Her tone was conciliatory, but Sutton didn't want to let go of her anger. Bright and hot, it filled up the hollow places inside and banished the fog of her exhaustion. Under its influence, the contours of the world were sharp and crisp again.

“Do you honestly think I
want
to let go of Lund? That I want to stay here and deal with the shit storm unleashed by my father?” When a few passersby turned to look at them curiously, Sutton lowered her voice. “I don't! But I'm not going to be selfish.”

“No one could ever accuse you of being selfish, Sutton.” Jane finally dared to touch her, then, pressing her fingers ever so lightly to the small of Sutton's back. “But do you have to make a decision right now? You'd leave for Sweden over the summer, right? That's still months away.”

Her touch felt so good, so comforting, and Sutton had to remind herself to stay angry. She quickened her pace enough for Jane's hand to fall. But before she could come up with a retort, a blare of trumpets echoed beyond the curve in the road ahead of them. At first, Sutton looked for the source of the sound in the park to their right, but Jane pointed across the street.

“It's a funeral.”

A group of musicians in dark suits moved into view, marching slowly in the center of the road. The first man beat on a snare drum, while the other three played trumpets. An open car trailed them, the gold-framed portrait of who Sutton assumed was the deceased individual displayed prominently between the front and back seats. Behind the car, the hearse lumbered solemnly, a Chinese flag flying from its antenna.

“The music is to—”

“Let me guess.” It was so easy to connect the dots. “Keep the demons away.” As the group drew closer, she leaned forward, peering into the gloom. “Is that Benny?”

“The drummer? Yeah.”

As they walked on, Sutton couldn't stop watching the procession. Benny set the pace, his arms churning and his legs steady. She wondered how his hips and knees were feeling. Suddenly, she realized that walking away from Jane tonight also meant walking away from Benny and Mei, and the sanctuary she had found in Noodle Treasure. Was she ready to turn her back on this entire community? To renounce the narrow, crooked streets of Chinatown for the broad, airy geometry of Midtown and Uptown?

Jane inclined her head toward the open gate leading into the park. “We can sit on a bench if you want.”

“All right.” Sutton chose one facing the street, and Jane sat beside her, close but not touching. Sutton could feel her anger dissipating as the sounds of the funeral faded away, and vainly, she tried to gather the shreds of emotion around her like armor. She had to do this. Now, before she lost her will. “So, there's something—”

“Have I ever told you about my mother?”

Sutton blinked at the interruption. Jane's knee was bouncing, and she was looking at her out of the corners of her eyes. Quite suddenly, she seemed manic. “No, but—”

“She was born here, in New York. And she did most of her growing up in that same apartment my aunt and uncle are in now. Where we had dinner, remember? Before … your mom called that night.”

Sutton was confused. Did Jane really think she couldn't remember dining with her family? How warm and friendly they had been toward her? “Of course.”

“Well, my mom has two sisters and two brothers, and she was the only woman in her family to go to college. That's where she met my dad.” Jane shook her head. “Apparently her family hated that she was dating a Caucasian. Her parents tried to convince her to leave school and settle down with a suitable Chinese man. But she refused. Even after they stopped paying her tuition. She got a loan and a job and paid it herself.”

“That's really impressive,” Sutton said. She meant it. But where was Jane going with this story?

“My mother graduated with honors and my parents got married right after college.” Jane took a deep breath and met Sutton's eyes. “My maternal grandparents were so angry at first, on so many levels. They hated her husband. They hated her life—all that traveling. My mom almost stopped talking to them a few times. At least, that's what she's told me. But she never gave up on them. She called them once a week and we visited once a year and now they've retired to Ocean City and my dad goes fishing with her father every time we're there.”

Jane had run out of air again, but her eyes pleaded with Sutton as she caught her breath. “So … I mean … I just wanted to tell you that you don't have to give up what you want. You can follow your dreams, okay? Who knows—maybe someday you can even have it all. Just like my mom.”

Unable to bear witnessing Jane's hopeful expression, Sutton looked down at her hands, folded properly on her lap. She wasn't just facing her parents' disapproval—she was facing her mother's illness and probable legal action against her father. And she was their only child. She couldn't afford to go haring off after her dreams when they needed her so much, no matter how badly they made her feel. Squeezing her fingers together tightly, she finally forced herself to begin the sentence.

“Jane, I—”

“Don't.” Jane's voice, so animated a moment ago, was now a low monotone. She leaned forward, elbows braced between her legs, looking out toward the street. It seemed so desolate in the wake of all that noise. “I get it, okay? Don't say anything.”

Sutton's heart felt like it was trying to claw its way out of her throat. She imagined it flopping rhythmically, red, like a dying fish on the asphalt. Swallowing hard, she forced it back down where it belonged. It didn't know the whole story. It didn't have all the facts. She couldn't afford to grant its wishes. “I want you to know that I care about you. I do. It's not about that. It's just that I don't feel capable of doing this anymore. I'm not good for you. I can't give you what you really want.”

Finally, Jane turned her head, eyes bright and piercing in the light of the street lamp. “Have I ever said that? Don't put words in my mouth.” She reached out to touch Sutton's knee, only to draw her hand back and clutch the edge of the park bench. “I've fallen in love with you. Okay?
You
are what I want.”

The fence rails swam before Sutton's eyes. “Don't say that.”

Jane laughed harshly. “I guess turnabout is fair play tonight.”

“No.” Sutton shook her head, as though by doing so, she could dislodge the roaring sound in her ears. “You're not in love with me. You're in love with some version of me that only exists in your head.”

“If believing that makes this easier for you, be my guest.”

The bitterness in her tone drove another spike of pain through Sutton's chest, but now that she had begun this, she had to finish. “Think about it pragmatically. You have your aunt and uncle and Min and Sue—a whole community pulling you one way. And I have my family and my profession pulling the opposite way. I think we should just give in.”

Jane stood, spun, and pointed one finger down at her. “Bullshit. That's the biggest pile of bullshit I've ever heard.”

“Excuse me?”

“Give in? You have to fight for the things you want!”

A shadow of Sutton's previous anger returned, and she grasped at it with all her strength. “I can't fight my ailing mother and my disgraced father.”

“So you're just going to give up.”

“No!” Sutton looked up into Jane's face, backlit and haloed by the street lamp. She wasn't a quitter. This wasn't about giving up. This was about ethics. Duty. “No. It's more complicated than that. I just … can't.”

Jane clenched both fists. “You won't,” she whispered.

And then, unsteadily, she turned and walked away. Tears blurred Sutton's vision as she watched her go. For one single, insane moment, Sutton wanted to run after her—to beg her forgiveness, to press her cold palms to Jane's warm cheeks and kiss away the pain she'd just inflicted.

But no. No. She had done what was necessary: eliminated what didn't belong. But when, she wondered as she sat clutching her paper bag as though it was all that anchored her to reality, would it stop feeling as though she had excised her own soul in the process?

Alone, she waited for the sharpness of the pain to fade. But instead it grew worse and worse, flaying her open, until the tears were running silently down her cheeks to drip, drip, drip onto the slats of the bench. Thankfully, the park was deserted and only the streetlight bore witness to her breakdown. Surely this was to be expected, wasn't it? She would grieve her loss—not only tonight, but for many days in the future. It was logical. It made sense.

And yet, deep down, she knew that if Jane were to come walking back into view right now, that logic would disappear like a popped balloon. In that sickening moment, Sutton would have given anything to see her again. Her grip tightened so hard that she tore a small hole in the bag, her finger brushing against a crinkly piece of plastic inside.

Her fortune cookie.

Suddenly desperate, she made the hole wider and brought the cookie into the dim light. After ripping through the wrapper, she snapped the golden-brown shell in half. Her fingers trembled as she unrolled the tiny strip of paper.

Things fall apart.

Only after reading the message did she realize she had subconsciously wanted this last communication from Jane to provide some sort of escape clause or glimmer of hope. But no. It was honest—brutally so. Everything was falling apart. The fortune forced a mirror in front of her face. Whether her motivations were selfless or not, noble or not, in the end, she was this—a hypocrite on a park bench, alone in the dark.

*   *   *

JANE FLED.

She had tried to fight, and now flight was the only option left. The sidewalk passed by in a gray blur beneath her feet, punctuated by crosswalk lines that swam before her blurred vision. Her head throbbed and her eyes stung and the cool air burned in her lungs. The heat spread across her chest and down into her stomach, searing her insides, parching her throat. Turning into a bodega, she bought a bottle of water and forced herself to drink it all in large gulps. But it did nothing. The thirst was in her mind, not her body.

Gradually, her scattered thoughts resolved into one word. Fool. She had been such a fool—for thinking she would be able to hold Sutton's interest; for believing herself capable of a casual relationship; for granting Sutton the power to break her heart. Fool.

Even so, how could Sutton turn her back so easily, after everything they had shared—the laughter, the revelations, the intimacy? They had celebrated the New Year together and braved her parents' dinner table. They had collected poetry and eaten tripe and confessed their hopes, their dreams, their insecurities. Sutton was the first person who had seen Jane the way she wanted to be seen.

But no. That was a lie. Sutton hadn't seen her as worth fighting to keep.

“Yeah, well, maybe I'm not.”

She spoke the words aloud, startling an elderly woman out walking her puggle. Ducking her head in apology, Jane quickly passed her by. For the first time since leaving the park, she took stock of her surroundings, squinting at cross streets and numbers to get her bearing. TriBeCa, near the river. Had she been operating on animal instinct—seeking out a water source in a time of pain and suffering? It seemed as good a plan as any.

Within a few minutes, she was leaning against the railing, looking out across the churning Hudson toward the lights of Jersey City. Lady Liberty's torch burned brightly in the distance, a spark hovering before the dark mouth of the harbor. It was a beautiful scene, and Jane wished Sutton could—

No. She had to stop thinking like that. It was over. Sutton had been clear, and firm in her conviction. She had left no room for ambiguity.

Gripping the railing tightly, Jane released a long, shuddering breath. When the tears came, she didn't wipe them away, but let them run slowly down her cheeks to be dried by the wind. Only when her hands were numb and her eyes dry did she turn away from the water. But she couldn't go home. Not yet. The thought of breaking the news to her family made her feel sick. She didn't want to tell them she hadn't been good enough for Sutton after all.

Instead of turning east, she walked north toward the Village, hoping to lose herself in the charm of its cobblestone streets and quaint little shops. The city had always been her solace, but now it turned against her. She saw Sutton everywhere—in every beautiful blond woman who passed her by; in every couple sharing a kiss while waiting at a stoplight; in every street performer's corner serenade.

Finally, head and heart aching, she turned into a twenty-four-hour diner on Bleecker Street and sat with her back to the window. She ordered a beer and sipped it slowly, tracing patterns in the condensation on the glass. What was she going to do now? How could she possibly go back to her life before Sutton? Working a dead-end job, writing poetry no one would ever read … what use was it all? What use was she? To anyone?

Feeling unbearably pathetic, Jane reached into her pocket for her notebook. Maybe she could write down a few fortunes. At least then, the night wouldn't be completely unproductive. At least she would be worth something.
Love is a disease,
she scribbled.
Happiness is an illusion.
Pouring her sorrow and grief into the page didn't make her feel any better, but at least it gave her something to do.
Falling in love is like sliding on rough cement.