This Is My Brain on Rage

JOCELYN

My dad is on the toilet when I find him, and I don’t care if it’s his safe space, or his only time to sit down and be alone all day. I bang on the door until my palm is a raw pink and my dad opens up with a shout. “Xiao Jia, ni ganshenme?”

On the sink behind him is the most recent World Journal, his usual bathroom reading. It’s been folded so the classified section is on top (who even reads paper newspapers anymore?) with the most prominent listings circled with a blue ballpoint pen. For some reason the sight of it (was he looking through it to try to find new jobs in New York or other restaurants in different towns to buy?) puts me over the edge. The whole last-ditch effort to save A-Plus was a lie. We had no chance.

“Did you know?” I demand, already almost breathless with anger. “Why didn’t you tell me Berger was kicking us out? He already has someone ready to sign a new lease. There were people in here just now taking pictures, ready to freaking tear out the pipes.” I make a ripping motion with my hands and my dad flinches away.

Just like that, all my dad’s puffed-up indignation deflates. He sighs and rubs his hand over his face. For a moment as he pulls the skin on his cheeks down, the bags under his eyes disappear, then when his hands fall away, they’re back, gray hollows making his eyes look sunken, creases and folds in his skin that are too deep and permanent to be laugh lines.

“Lease expire at end of month,” my dad admits finally. “Berger say we can go month to month until he find another tenant, but he just tell me today that he find someone who want to sign.”

I stagger with the weight of the news, can feel it pressing into my chest, hard and immovable. I grab at the doorframe to keep myself upright.

“What, then. Is that it?” I croak.

Dad shrugs, and I want to punch the passiveness out of him. “Berger give us until Friday to decide. But he want us to sign two-year lease.”

A two-year lease. That’ll take me through high school, up to my leaving for college. If I can even afford it.

“Is that even legal?”

“It his property, he do anything he want.”

“How much does it cost to break the lease again?”

“Ten thousand,” my dad says grimly.

“Jesus,” I groan. That’s practically two months’ profit. I slide down the wall and sit with my legs out, hands in between my knees. “But I thought we were doing better.”

“We are, Xiao Jia. Ni shuo duile,” my dad says. Then he sighs again and waves me out of the hallway. “Wo xi shou, zai jianghua.” I haul myself out as my dad washes his hands, and I walk back to the kitchen table. My dad’s laptop is there, along with a mess of papers.

“You do good, Xiao Jia.” My eyes prickle even as I think, Not good enough. “Things much better. This July we make maybe ten percent profit. But June, July, August, they best month of year. Winter months, not so good. And January, ppft. Fangpi.” He makes a farting sound, and I let out a mirthless laugh.

“We can still do better,” I insist. “The catering business is just getting off the ground, and there are still plenty of ideas for outreach, plus I haven’t really had time to look into how we can streamline operations better.…”

My dad starts shaking his head halfway through my speech and cuts in. “Xiao Jia, ni tai stressed. Tai overworked. In one month you need focus on school work again. This most important year, that what your counselor say. We need focus on your future. That why we need to move.”

I can only gape at my father, because he isn’t making any sense. “Are you kidding me? My future’s here. It’s not in the city anymore. You can’t yell at me for not caring about the restaurant, then turn around and tell me that we need to move because I’m working too hard to save it.”

My dad’s face hardens, and he shifts like he’s planting his feet in the ground. “We do what best for you.”

And it’s like he’s pushed the lever to put me into hyperdrive, because, just like that, all the complicated emotions that I’ve stuffed away mix together and combust.

“Excuse me?” My voice rises, and I drink in the sense of danger that I feel whenever I yell at my parents. I know I’m playing with fire. “Can I have a say in what’s best for me? You can’t say that you’re moving for me, then get mad at me when I don’t want to do it.”

I can see the blood rush to my dad’s face, turning it a splotchy pink. “Wo shi ni de baba. I know what best for you.” He’s yelling now, too, his voice deep and dark, that tone he gets when he tries to play alpha male. It makes me want to laugh. He’s an omega if I ever met one.

“You know nothing about me or what I want,” I spit out. “Have you ever once asked me what I want to be when I grow up? All you know is your own shitty life, and your own shitty ambitions. Do you think it’s Alan’s and my dream to run ourselves into the ground managing a crappy Chinese restaurant in Podunk, New York?”

My dad reels back and raises his hand, and for a split second I’m sure that he’s going to hit me. I brace for the blow, then actually lean toward my dad, daring him to do it. I can already taste the blood on my lip, am ravenous for it, it’s going to be so satisfying.…

“Shenme gaode?” Suddenly my amah is standing in the doorway leading up from the kitchen. She’s wearing gray pajama pants, a short-sleeved silk top, and an expression of such bewilderment that I feel my anger shrivel up in shame.

Amah clutches at her chest, wrinkling her blouse with a liver-spotted hand, and a panicked hysteria bubbles through me. This is the moment. This is that tropey TV climax where the beloved grandparent walks into an “End of the World” argument and has a heart attack that leads to a swift reconciliation.

Slowly, my father drops his hand. Amah lets go of her blouse, sighing heavily but still breathing.

For a moment there’s absolute silence, except for the sound of pots clanging downstairs.

“Xiao Jia,” my dad says quietly. “Qu nide fangjian.”

I go to my room.

I sit on my bed for a long time before I feel anything. The hollowness is back, and I pick at a scab on my leg, then use my fingernails to worry at some ingrown hairs on my knee.

At first, I wish I could cry. I wish I could feel sadness, a sense of loss, but I’m still numb. I wish I could rage at my dad, or Mr. Berger, or whatever schmuck started A-Plus in the first place, but it doesn’t make sense to scream into the void. No one cares, anyway.

My phone pings—I left it up here in my book bag after I got home from my errands. It’s a message from the college.

The subject line reads: “Congratulations.”

For one moment, I feel hope. It’s like a Disney movie where the clouds part and rays of sun shine down on Bambi in a forest, and treble voices trill, giving you reassurance that everything will be okay. The Mouse House will provide a happy ending.

With my heart pounding, I open the e-mail.

Dear Ms. Wu,

Congratulations! The trustees of University of Utica are thrilled to accept you to our Junior Business Program. We had many superb applicants, and we believe that you are uniquely qualified to benefit from everything our program has to offer.

Unfortunately, we are not able to offer you a scholarship at this time, but our office of financial aid has several loan assistance programs.…

I can’t read any further. The pit in my belly has opened up again, a vortex too powerful to escape. A voice in my head whispers a reminder that I never wanted to do the program in the first place.

I delete the “acceptance.”

After I send the college’s congratulations to the trash bin, I immediately notice another one below that Will must have sent earlier in the day. Because I can’t catch a break.

I almost delete his e-mail, too. Because what’s the point? But there’s still a sliver of longing that’s resisting the undertow, a part that can’t bear to let Will go even when it seems to make sense to cut bait.

So I open it.

Ever the honors student, he’s turned his homework in early and even sent Dropbox links to a few of his favorite videos. It’s a short message, but every word seems to sharpen my loneliness.

There’s some amazing stuff here. Priya’s really talented! Some of my favorites are linked below. We should definitely try to make a video. Call me when you want to discuss?

When I hit reply to thank him for sending, I don’t have the heart to tell him that it’s probably not going to matter, that my contract is null and void because I fouled up my interview. And even if I’d aced it, it wouldn’t matter anyway. Because… three days. I have three days to change my father’s mind about renewing the lease before Limp Noodle and his brothers come in and turn the place into a juice bar, or whatever kind of trendy thing they think will make them money.

Or maybe I should just give up.

I close my eyes and try to imagine what it would be like to fail. Would it be a relief to close A-Plus’s doors for the last time? Wouldn’t it be amazing to move to an apartment that doesn’t perpetually reek of sesame oil and garlic? What if Will decides to go to college wherever we end up. Maybe that will be our happy ending? I’d have to say good-bye to Priya, but she’d go on with her life. She has other friends. Jin-Jin and Miss Zhou would need to find new jobs. It would suck for Alan for a bit, but he’s always been adaptable. He is good at letting things slide off his back. Better than I am.

And me, I only have two years left before I graduate, anyway. I can do anything for two years.

Right?

My wall AC unit kicks on and a blast of cold air sends me burrowing under my covers. I curl into a ball and let myself drift off. My family will wake me up if they need me.

True to form, Alan comes knocking on my door just before five.

“What’d you say to Dad?” he asks me, kind of awestricken. “He is pissed.”

“I didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know,” I say, brushing past Alan to go downstairs. Like last night, I stay in the kitchen to avoid Will up front. The times he does come back to ask about an order, I duck into the storage rooms or under the prep station to get one of the pots we store underneath.

Tuesdays aren’t particularly busy nights at A-Plus usually, but tonight we’re hopping. Seeing our team cook, churning through order after order, it’s like watching someone bailing out a ship that’s sprung a leak. There’s just no end.

I help out with cleanup just enough to not look like a slacker and then plead stomach cramps and retreat to my room. I can’t face my family even as I’m antsy enough to finally talk to someone. But when I call Priya her voice mail picks up after just a few rings. Did she really swipe me off? A couple of seconds later a text comes through:

cant talk rn, call you in 30?

I surf around a bit on the net, typing in searches like, “how can I break my lease,” and “legal to require two-year lease,” but nothing’s all that helpful. I bring up Will’s contact on my phone, and my finger hovers over his name for a moment, but I don’t hit the green button.

After about fifteen minutes I remember the bits of equipment that Priya left behind after our last shoot. Maybe I could drop her stuff off and talk to her IRL. Kill two birds with one stone. I need to get out of the house.

Alan is in his room playing a video game, and my parents are finishing up downstairs. It’s not that long before Amah takes a bathroom break that allows me to slip out the back door.

It’s a quick ten-minute bike ride to Priya’s house. It’s past rush hour, so the roads are clear, and it’s just about dusk so things are cooling down to bearable levels. I’m hardly sweating when I pull up to their development.

I skid to a halt when I reach their driveway, because Will’s Nissan Leaf is in it.

“What the…” I can only think of two reasons for him to be here: (1) He’s following up on his task for today (if so, then why didn’t he mention this in his e-mail?), or (2) They’re talking about me (if so, then why didn’t she mention this in her text?).

I don’t bother locking up my bike. No one would steal that piece of crap in this neighborhood. I let it drop onto the Venkatrams’ lawn and go to their front porch to peer in the decorated glass bordering their giant oak door. I don’t see anyone sitting in their living room, so I hop down to a side window. No one in their den, either, or in their kitchen.

Priya’s bedroom is on the second floor on the other side of the building, and when I look up I can see the curtains are pulled tightly shut, but there’s a sliver of light shining through.

I realize I’m shaking. There’s a throbbing starting to develop in my right temple. I don’t know what to do. Do I call them so they can ignore me? Do I make like a psycho and throw rocks at Priya’s window? Do I just run away? Do I just give up on everything?

I lean over to pick up a pebble from the ground, weigh it in my hand. But who am I kidding? I have terrible aim. I’m about to turn tail and just leave when my eyes catch on movement in the window just below Priya’s room. It’s her father’s office, but sometimes she does work there, too. My heart leaps. Maybe my first theory was true.

I creep in closer and see that the two of them are both at the main desk, but they’re not looking at the screen. They’re looking at each other, bodies angled close enough together that they look like conspirators. Will’s back is facing me, so I can only see the hint of his profile, but I can tell from the curve of his cheek that he’s smiling. And Priya? She’s glowing and blushing in a way I’ve never seen her look when a boy’s involved.

I think back to Will’s e-mail. That little exclamation point after “Priya’s really talented!” And the big question mark after “Call me when you want to discuss?” And then I imagine walking back to my bike, forgetting to put my bicycle lights on, and taking the main roads back to A-Plus. Maybe when I crossed one of the more minor intersections, one without stoplights, someone would run a stop sign and there’d be an accident. A shiver runs through me at how delicious this sounds, what a relief.

I wonder if Priya would still put together my tribute video when I died. Maybe Will would write my obituary, maybe my death would tear them apart? Or maybe it’d drive them closer. With my luck, I’d die and everyone would just end up happier.

Well, misery loves company.

Before I know it, I’m hammering on the window to the Venkatrams’ office with the pebble I picked up from the ground. At the sound, Priya and Will jump back from each other, heads swiveling to the window. Will is wide-eyed, terrified, like the day when my dad caught us parked in his car. Priya looks startled at first, then relieved, but then oddly guilty. And that look of guilt? It sets off a jealous righteousness like it’s the freaking Olympic flame.