“It’s significant to me. I’ve been thinking about it endlessly, Nick. You know, at first I was so shocked to learn about my past. I was devastated by my mother’s lies, to realize that even my name wasn’t real. I felt like my whole identity had been robbed from me. But then I realized … none of it really matters. What is a name anyway? We Chinese are so obsessed with family names. I’m proud of my own name. I’m proud of the person I’ve become.”
“I am too,” Nick said.
“So you’ll have to understand that, as much as I love you, Nick, I don’t want to be your wife. I never want to be part of a family like yours. I can’t marry into a clan that thinks it’s too good to have me. And I don’t want my children to ever be connected to such people. I want them to grow up in a loving, nurturing home, surrounded by grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins who consider them equals. Because that’s ultimately what I have, Nick. You’ve seen it yourself, when you came home with me last Thanksgiving. You see what it’s like with my cousins. We’re competitive, we tease each other mercilessly, but at the end of the day we support each other. That’s what I want for my kids. I want them to love their family, but to feel a deeper sense of pride in who they are as individuals, Nick, not in how much money they have, what their last name is, or how many generations they go back to whatever dynasty. I’m sorry, but I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough of being around all these crazy rich Asians, all these people whose lives revolve around making money, spending money, flaunting money, comparing money, hiding money, controlling others with money, and ruining their lives over money. And if I marry you, there will be no escaping it, even if we live on the other side of the world.”
Rachel’s eyes were brimming with tears, and as much as Nick wanted to insist she was wrong, he knew nothing he could say now would convince her otherwise. In any part of the world, whether New York, Paris, or Shanghai, she was lost to him.
* * *
* Cantonese for “century-egg congee.”
† Hokkien slang for “it’s all good.”
16
Sentosa Cove
SINGAPORE
It must have been a bird or something, Nick thought, waking up to a sound. There was a blue jay that liked to tap its beak against the sliding glass wall downstairs by the reflecting pool every morning. How long had he been sleeping? It was seven forty-five, so this meant he’d knocked off at least four and a half hours. Not bad, considering that he hadn’t been able to sleep more than three hours a night since Rachel had broken up with him a week ago. The bed was bathed in a pool of light coming from the retractable glass roof, and now it was far too bright for him to go back to sleep. How did Colin manage to get any sleep in this place? There was something so impractical about living in a house that consisted mainly of reflecting pools and glass walls.
Nick turned over, facing the Venetian stucco wall with the large Hiroshi Sugimoto photograph. It was a black-and-white image from his cinema series, the interior of an old theater somewhere in Ohio. Sugimoto had left the camera shutter open for the duration of the film, so that the large screen became a glowing, rectangular portal of light. To Nick, it seemed like a portal to a parallel universe, and he wished he could just slip into all that whiteness and disappear. Maybe go back in time. To April, or May. He should have known better. He should never have invited Rachel to come here without first giving her a crash course in how to deal with his family. “Rich, Entitled, Delusional Chinese Families 101.” Could he really be part of this family? The older he got, and the more years he spent abroad, the more he felt like a stranger in their midst. Now that he was in his thirties, the expectations kept growing, and the rules kept changing. He didn’t know how to keep up with this place anymore. And yet he loved being back home. He loved the long rainy afternoons at his grandmother’s house during monsoon season, hunting for kueh tutu* in Chinatown, the long walks around MacRitchie Reservoir at dusk with his father …
There was the sound again. This time it didn’t sound like the blue jay. He had fallen asleep without arming the security system, and now someone was definitely in the house. He threw on a pair of shorts and tiptoed out of the bedroom. The guest bedroom was accessed through a glass skywalk that stretched across the back section of the house, and looking down, he could see the flicker of a reflection as it moved across the polished Brazilian oak floors. Was the house being burglarized? Sentosa Cove was so isolated, and anyone reading the gossip rags knew Colin Khoo and Araminta Lee were away on their fabulous honeymoon yachting around the Dalmatian coast.
Nick hunted around for a weapon; the only thing he could find was a carved didgeridoo propped against the wall of the guest bathroom. (Would someone actually play the didgeridoo while sitting on the loo?) He crept down the floating titanium stairs and walked slowly toward the galley kitchen, raising the didgeridoo to strike just as Colin appeared from around the corner.
“Christ!” Nick swore in surprise, putting down his weapon.
Colin seemed unruffled by the sight of Nick in nothing more than a pair of soccer shorts, wielding a rainbow-colored didgeridoo. “I don’t think that makes a good weapon, Nick,” he said. “Should have gone for the antique samurai sword in my bedroom.”
“I thought someone was breaking in!”
“There are no break-ins around here. This neighborhood is way too secure, and thieves can’t be bothered to drive out here just to steal customized kitchen appliances.”
“What are you doing back from your honeymoon so early?” Nick asked, scratching his head.
“Well, I heard disturbing rumors that my best friend was suicidal and wasting away in my house.”
“Wasting away, but not suicidal.” Nick groaned.
“Seriously, Nicky, you have a lot of people worried about you.”
“Oh, like who? And don’t say my mother.”
“Sophie’s been worried. Araminta. Even Mandy. She called me in Hvar. I think she feels really bad about how she acted.”
“Well, the damage has been done,” Nick said gruffly.
“Listen, why don’t I make you a quick breakfast? You look like you haven’t eaten in years.”
“That’ll be great.”
“Watch, as the Iron Chef attempts to fry up some hor bao daan.”†
Nick perched on a barstool at the island in the kitchen, wolfing down his breakfast. He held up a fork of eggs. “Almost as good as Ah Ching’s.”
“Pure luck. My bao daan usually end up as scrambled eggs.”
“Well, it’s the best thing I’ve eaten all week. Actually, it’s the only thing I’ve eaten. I’ve just been parked on your sofa, bingeing on beer and episodes of Mad Men. By the way, you’re out of Red Stripe.”
“This is the first time you’ve ever really been depressed, isn’t it? Finally the heartbreaker discovers how it feels to get his heart broken.”
“I don’t actually hold the trademark on that name. Alistair’s the true heartbreaker.”
“Wait a minute—you haven’t heard? Kitty Pong dumped him!”
“Now that’s a shocker,” Nick remarked drily.