Chapter Five

Justine

IF MY DISASTER of a marriage hadn’t happened, returning to New York in an expensive rental with Campbell on my arm would be something out of a dream. The fantasy plays at equal parts privilege and normality, all smiles, showing off pictures of the paintings I did in Paris, like the artists I grew up fantasizing about. On the outside, my life is perfect, a widow reborn into an independent woman.

But reality is a fresh stroke of watercolor, ready to bleed through the second pressure is applied. That same pressure radiates through my neck in rigid coils, woven down through each vertebrae, encapsulating my spine in iron. If I breathe too deeply, it feels as if everything will crush me at once.

I don’t want to distract Campbell while they’re driving or embarrass myself talking endlessly to Sofia, so there’s little to do but watch out the window as we traverse Roosevelt Avenue, approaching Flushing’s main street at a fair clip. City drivers here are bats out of hell, but Campbell snakes through traffic like it’s second nature, unintimidated by the blocs of yellow cabs fighting for supremacy near the overpass.

Kissena Boulevard comes into view, and my jaw drops. Of course, a lot was bound to change in ten years, but seeing the lively line of restaurants flanked by massive mid-rise apartments is less than welcoming. Something about the empty glass veneers next to the hundred-square-foot shop selling three-cup chicken feels wrong, silver opulence promising to transform everything in its shadow.

I really have been away for too long.

“Turn up here,” I say to Campbell, tearing my eyes away from the passenger side window. “You can cut a couple of streets over into the residential area.”

They whip into a tight curve without a word, squeezing the car past a narrow alley of brick and concrete. Even if the façade has changed, I’m glad I still remember the way, some tangible proof I haven’t forgotten everything. We emerge on the east side, a banner of trees dividing houses from the thoroughfare. Most homes in the neighborhood were built in the boom of the seventies and eighties before squeezing people into the tallest condos possible became the norm. The street has been paved over several times since I was here last, but the sidewalks are more resilient, holding together despite countless subtle cracks.

“Pull over here.” We’re a block away, but suddenly I need the space—physically and otherwise. “Go ahead and park.”

Campbell finds a roomy spot and drops the engine to idle, concern creasing their brow. “You’re shaking, Justine.”

“I know.” The words barely have volume; my throat is a hollow, useless thing. “But I don’t know how to stop.”

They undo their seatbelt and lean across the center console, breaking into my personal space. I almost wince when Campbell cups my face, but the touch is exactly what I need, solid heat entwined with implacable strength. After a few more deep breaths, I lean into their palm, trying to center myself in the world again.

“It’s always hard to come back,” Campbell says softly. “I was here, too, years ago. Walking out of JFK with my life in a bag, wondering if I was about to destroy everything. The only thing I could see was my mistakes, the damage I’d done and knew how to do. But we can’t run forever, Justine. Eventually it kills us.”

A slow death, flensed inch by inch until there’s nothing left. I already faced that once with Richard, and I can’t bear to do it again. No matter what else I have to endure along the way, this will be better. It has to be.

“You’re right.” I sigh and collapse back against my seat. “I just wish it was easier.”

“So do I,” Campbell says, hands returning to the wheel. “Want me to drive you the rest of the way?”

“No.” I open my seatbelt and resituate my purse before reaching for the door. “I’ll walk. And I’ll let you know when I’m ready for you to come back.”

They nod. “Whether it’s five minutes or five hours, I’ll be waiting.”

That promise is what carries me out to the street, refusing to look over my shoulder. I hear Campbell drive away once I’m at the end of the block and steel myself before turning the corner, praying my worst fears are just old phantoms refusing to rest.

A man stands idly on the stoop in front of my parents’ house and recognition freezes me in place. I haven’t seen him since my wedding, but the easy edge to his posture says the last several years were good ones. Black hair chopped into a suave style suits the roundness of his face with a sharp set of glasses to match, branded and silver. He was always a fashion hound, but the skinny pastels of his youth have matured into a warm pink blouse, matched to dark, well-fitted slacks. Yet that doesn’t explain why he’s here, much less now.

“Danny!” I call out, remembering how to talk—how to breathe past my surprise. “Is that really you?”

His eyes shoot wide, mouth taken over by a grin of unfiltered joy. “Justine. Jesus Christ, it’s been forever.”

When he offers a hug, I accept without thinking, shock hitting me twice over at the confirmation that he’s real and I haven’t panicked my way into a hallucination. Daniel Wu is half the reason I survived middle and high school unscathed, and the best wingman anyone could ask for. I never thought I’d see him again.

“You look great,” I say, stepping back from the embrace before I make a complete fool of myself. “Did my parents call you over?”

“Yeah, because they knew they wouldn’t be here in time for your flight.” When I stare at him uncomprehending, Danny chuckles. “It’s Sunday.”

God, they’re at services—of course. I wouldn’t call my parents overly devout, but the church here is the center of the community. It’s where both of them learned English, where my mother found friends to shark at mahjong, and the only reason my father ever takes a day off. Yet they hadn’t said a word when I sent the itinerary.

Guilt scorches a path up my throat. After so long, they probably thought asking to change the date would lead me to cancel the trip or not come at all. I’ve certainly done it enough times before, feigning last-minute conflicts in Richard’s schedule.

“Don’t worry. They’re over the moon to see you. I’m just here to keep you company until the priest lets everyone out.” Danny gives my shoulder a light squeeze. “And you look good too, cousin. Real good.”

We’re not related by blood, but Danny’s family immigrated here the same year as mine, and they became fast friends. He and I did much the same, being only three months apart. Our paths diverged hard in college when he majored in business and I got accepted to Barnard, but we kept in touch by email for a while.

Not long enough.

“Well, my life’s been going through a lot of changes lately,” I say, trying to smile.

Danny winces. “Sorry. I heard about Richard, but your mom told me the funeral was pretty lowkey. Which makes sense, considering.”

“It’s okay.” Richard’s death is the least of what I’m worried about. “I’m actually seeing someone new. I brought them here to go through the family gauntlet.”

His easy smile returns, and I relax a few degrees. “Yeah? Tell me everything.”

“Campbell is…” God, where do I start?

A mischievous glint enters Danny’s eyes. “高嗎?”

“當然,” I snap back, and it feels easy, it feels right. “白人嘛.”

His laugh shines with mischief, taking me back to high school. We used to hang out by the fences and smoke hand-rolled cigarettes Danny pilfered from his father, gossiping about the popular kids in Mandarin. I never felt bad about what we said behind their backs; they always said far, far worse to my face.

“不錯不錯. 不止有錢，還有勢吧?” he asks.

I scoff. “廢話. 我能將就嗎?”

“妳當然不行,” Danny shoots back, sticking his tongue out of the side of his mouth,“可最重要的是 - 他帥嗎 ?”

“I’ll just show you a picture,” I mutter and reach into my purse, sparking another laugh from Danny. His boisterous attitude is exactly what I need right now, refusing to let me take things too seriously.

Despite how long we’ve been together, I only have a single photo of Campbell. They let me take it at the end of our Paris trip, soliciting a promise that I’d only take the one and never upload the picture anywhere. In return, they let me be as finicky as possible, changing angles and clothes no less than three times before I was finally satisfied with the result.

We’re sitting in Ulysse’s backyard in Montfort-l’Amaury, surrounded by the glory of his garden, blood-red poppies climbing up the stems of lilies in full bloom. Campbell’s arm is around my shoulders as they lounge in their chair with a leopard’s grace, content but always ready to strike. Sunglasses conceal their eyes, although I could never forget their color. The smile they offer the camera is a fraction of what Campbell shares with me in private, but it’s genuine nonetheless.

When I show Danny, he stares for a good five seconds before muttering, “Okay, you meant actually rich. I’m impressed.”

“You got that from a picture?” I ask.

“These cost me two grand.” He gestures to his glasses. “And I only got them because the NYT was taking a headshot and I didn’t want to look like a tool when Dad inevitably sent the article to everyone he knows.”

“Coming up in the world,” I tease. Danny’s been in the export business like my father since university, and the investment has clearly paid very high dividends.

“Not my point,” Danny counters, tapping the image on my phone and zooming in on Campbell’s wrist. “That watch costs thirty thousand dollars.”

I bite my tongue. Campbell has been wearing it since the day we met and never commented on its design beyond the piece being waterproof. “They work in private security. Consulting, mostly.”

The lie is a reflex but lingers needle-sharp under my skin. Danny nods, believing me unconditionally, which is somehow worse. When did I get so good at this? Was it with Richard, playing the dutiful wife in front of his friends while mine had been long driven away? Am I learning from Campbell’s every move? I have to protect them, but looking into the eyes of a man I trust implicitly and leading him astray shouldn’t be easy.

Except it is. Deception left my lips without a thought.

“‘They,’” Danny says, raising a brow. “So that wasn’t you being obtuse.”

I tense, immediately on the defensive. “What does that mean?”

“Just that it’s nice to see you walking out of the closet after so long.” He presses a hand to his chest, woeful and dramatic. “I thought we’d never get there.”

The tension punctures, startling a laugh from my lips. “You ass. I came out to you when I was fourteen.”

“Yeah, but no one else ever knew. I couldn’t hide it for long, but once you went and got married, everybody thought I was the only one.” Danny smirks. “Although your tastes haven’t really changed. At least Campbell is better-looking than Richard. Do they speak Mandarin?”

“No,” I admit softly. “Languages aren’t their forte.”

“And this is why I tease you,” he says, absent malice. “You should start dating good Chinese boys like me.”

It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. “I went out with Pei Shan in tenth grade.”

“She was a good Chinese girl,” Danny quips back, grinning wide. “Totally different.”

I smack his wrist; he chuckles. “Enough about me. What good Chinese boy are you with? Did you and Tsung-Han stick it out?”

When Danny holds up his hand and shows off a ring, my stomach twists. “You two got married? I would have gone to the ceremony, Danny, I didn’t know—”

“Whoa, slow down.” He waves off my surprise. “We’re just engaged. I proposed last month, and he went for it. It took two years to get his parents on board, but I sealed the deal. Full approval.”

Tsung-Han's father is notoriously conservative, so that’s saying something. “I guess they realized you could support both sides at once, huh?”

“That certainly didn’t hurt,” Danny admits. “Plus, he and I are going to have kids. Once I told his mother our plans, she was practically beating down my door.”

Consummate Danny—fulfilling his obligations while refusing to back down an inch. I always envied that about him; my rebellion was less public but far more damaging in practice. “I’m happy for you. Didn’t you start dating him…”

“Fifteen years,” he chimes in. “It’s been fifteen. I can barely believe it, but he’s the only one I want. We’re getting married here next year, then flying out to celebrate in Macau. Yes, you’re invited, and yes, I will take the grudge to my grave if you don’t come.”

“Of course, I’ll come,” I say, silently relieved. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Danny.”

“Feel free to bring your plus-one if they want to go too.” He leans in, summoning a playful air of conspiracy. “How did you end up with someone richer and younger than you?”

I play off the question with a laugh. “That is none of your business.”

Campbell’s disguise is flawless. I’ve seen it for myself time and again, but Danny’s utter lack of suspicion twists the knife deeper. In his eyes, they’re some wealthy white entrepreneur, the sort of person who takes women off to France as a matter of course. With the mask on, they appear wholly unremarkable save for being a good catch. Campbell could show up to dinner after strangling a man to death, and Danny would shake their hand none the wiser.

“Fine, fine. I’ll be nosy later.” He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a set of keys, and offers them to me. “Your dad left these for you. I can stick around in the house for an hour if you want company, but after that, I need to get downtown and meet Tsung-Han for dinner.”

I hold the keys, running my thumb along the steel teeth. The top one opens the front door, but its small brass accompaniment goes to the mailbox, and the last key unlocks my father’s warehouse, in case of an emergency. This same set was in my backpack for years, then collected dust at the bottom of my purse during college.

“It’s going to be okay, Justine,” Danny says, and I can’t imagine what sort of look must have been on my face. “They’re just glad you’re home.”

I am. The only question is—what did I bring home with me?