North of Beautiful (29 page)

The hostess quickly sized us up and asked Jacob something in Mandarin, her tone as snooty as anything I’d heard at school or in the movies. Clearly, she had written us off as poor backpackers who couldn’t afford a single strand of noodle.

Jacob sighed before answering equally emphatically in English: “I’m American.” This was at least the third time today when someone assumed based on his features that Jacob was a native speaker. As innocent as that assumption was, it wore on Jacob — just as it did on me when people expected me to be the poster child for the port-wine-stained, patiently explaining the what and whys of my birthmark.

“I don’t speak Chinese,” he continued.

Deftly, the hostess switched to English, unflustered. Amazing, she was bilingual in condescension, now eyeing him as though it were some mental defect that prevented Jacob from speaking Mandarin: “How may I help you?”

“Our mothers are outside.” Jacob murmured into my ear, his warm breath against my neck making me shiver, “Worse, you asked? Attitude, for one.”

Ignoring the hostess, we walked to the patio door. If any of the cosmopolitan diners lifted their heads, branded me a tourist, as we passed them, I didn’t notice. I was so focused on the heat and the pressure of Jacob’s hand through the thin cotton of my shirt.

As beautiful as the restaurant had been, I was relieved to be out in the night air. Although more casual, the patio was still lovely, lit by the same votives, decorated in the same rich brown-and-purple hues. But the conversations were convivial, looser, with Mom’s and Norah’s intermittent laughter punctuating the evening. It wasn’t until we were nearly upon our mothers that they noticed us, both placing their glasses on the table at the same time. I could smell the sweetish scent of their wine when Mom broke into a few latent giggles, unable to contain herself.

“Terra, you won’t believe what Norah just told me. There’s a spa just for women near Seattle” — her voice rose in delighted scandal as I took my seat beside her — “where you walk around completely stark naked.”

Norah topped off Mom’s wineglass. “It’s a traditional Korean bathhouse where they scrub you until you’re almost raw.”

“Sounds like fun,” said Jacob doubtfully.

Mom’s eyebrows quirked. She was agreeing.

“You two have to try it sometime,” Norah urged as I unfolded the heavy napkin and placed it in my lap. “I tell you, it’s transformative.”

Mom nodded. What Norah took as assent was merely Mom being polite. Going naked in front of other women? She’d never submit to that willingly. Nor, come to think of it, would I. I had missed my normal workout, my five hundred stomach crunches, for the last three days. Tonight, I promised myself. Tonight.

The candle sputtered, laughing along with the mothers, until it burned bright and steady again. In its light, and with laughter lingering on her face, Mom lost a full decade. Instead of this morning’s fat-woman uniform — another oversized shirt worn unbuttoned over an embroidered T-shirt — Mom had changed into a vivid orange blouse, a color I had never seen on her. In fact, I couldn’t remember her wearing anything more vibrant than pale purple since her weight gain, certainly not since Dad had likened her extra-large clothes to a circus tent. As subtly as I could, I pulled out my camera, its click drowning out Dad’s remembered chuckle, chuckle.

Mom’s hand flew to her double chin self-consciously, belatedly hiding it. “Why did you have to do that?” she asked.

“Mom,” I said as I put away my camera, “you look beautiful.” Ignoring her denial, I tested the silk of her new shirt, soft yet thick. “This is a gorgeous color on you.”

“To tell you the truth, it was a miracle I found anything that fit,” Mom said simply, not defeatist or with shame. “You like it?”

I nodded.

“Good, I got you one, too.”

“I can’t wear this.”

“Why not?” A frown creased Mom’s forehead, a cloud over her happiness.

I don’t wear bright colors, I was going to answer. I never wore colors that either called attention to or clashed with my birthmark, which basically resigned me to drab. How was I any different from Mom, dressing dowdily as though our roles were to recede in the background, never pop to the foreground? Norah must have understood my internal battle, because she flipped open the menu decisively and said, “Just say thank you, Terra. Anyway, you better get used to saying that with all the clothes we ordered for you.”

“What clothes?”

She and Mom smiled conspiratorially, and it was Mom who said, “For college.”

I fell back against my chair. It was the first time Mom had ever acknowledged my leaving for college. Little earthquakes were constantly shifting earth’s plates beneath our feet; I knew I had just experienced one of them.

Norah pulled out her BlackBerry, called up her favorite shopping haunts. “We have one more shopping day ahead of us tomorrow. Everything we’re having made should be ready when we meet back here next week.”

“Everything?” Jacob asked now, nodding his head in thanks when the waiter poured some bottled water in his glass. “Should I have packed another three empty suitcases?”

“Yes, my Sherpa, and that’s not even counting the silk market in Beijing,” said Norah seriously. And then to me: “Your mom has more stamina than anyone I’ve ever shopped with.”

Mom held her glass up to Norah’s and they clinked them together.

“Which is saying a lot,” muttered Jacob good-naturedly.

Eagerly, Mom dragged one of her packages to the table, unmindful of the landmines of wineglasses and water cups. She pulled out a set of bed linens, bright red peonies scattered on an expanse of green, a cutting garden of fabric for the bedroom.

“That’s so . . . bright,” I said, thinking of Dad and his muted earth tone mandate for our house. There was no way he’d ever allow anything this alive in the master bedroom.

“I fell in love with them,” Mom said, shrugging helplessly. The way she laughed, I was glad she felt so happy and carefree. And safe — safe enough to purchase what she loved, not what was practical.

Here, sitting in Shanghai, a million light-years from Colville and my father, I got a glimpse of what my mom would have been like had she never met a certain cartographer. This was mom, unbounded, uncharted. A land that was still a little wild, a lot unknown, and painfully beautiful.

We were halfway through the second basket of dumplings filled with hot broth, pork, and crab — the first basket so delicious we needed another — when Merc finally collapsed into the empty seat at our table.

Not that this was helpful or useful, but I told him, “God, you’re the one who looks jet-lagged.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, and barked out an order for beer. “Rough day. My deal is falling apart. So what did you do today?”

Our short recap didn’t hold Merc’s attention. Even as I told him about our bathroom escapade, Merc pulled out his BlackBerry, checked a message, and then admitted, “I haven’t made it to that park yet.” He sighed, waved his BlackBerry as though it made an acceptable excuse. “Mom, I won’t be able to take you guys to Beijing. My client’s IPO is imploding.”

“It’s okay,” Mom said, instantly absolving him of any guilt. It was as if she had become so accustomed to disappointment, so inured to people reneging on their promises that she expected setbacks, heartbreak. Couldn’t Merc see the panic in her eyes? Couldn’t he see how she focused on me, expecting me to figure everything out?

More combative than I intended, I asked, “Why not?”

His lips thinned, reminiscent of Dad and his quiet, fomenting rages. How many of Merc’s girlfriends had seen those thinning lips? How many of them decided they didn’t want a lifetime of those thinning lips?

Mom intervened. “Really, it’s okay.”

Jacob and his mom exchanged a look I couldn’t quite interpret, her silent ask and Jacob’s answer. Then, he nodded. Norah placed her chopsticks on the table, rested her chin on her folded hands, and asked, “Why don’t you two come to Hangzhou with us instead of Xi’an? I have one meeting in Beijing, and then you could fly with us there. Or, it’s just a two-hour drive from here. You could cancel Beijing altogether, and just meet us there in two days. Your pick.”

I was stunned. All through planning the trip, Jacob had made it clear that after a day together in Beijing, he and his mom would fly alone to Hangzhou, where they’d make the pilgrimage to the village that housed his orphanage. I understood that: that journey was personal, concerning him, his mother, and his birth mother, no one else.

“Oh, no,” I said at the same time Mom declared, “I would love that.”

I blinked at Mom, the woman who had never voiced her opinions about anything, who viewed change of plans as anathema.

“You’d be welcome,” Jacob said, his gaze holding mine steadily, warmly across the table. I knew what this meant, this offer to share in his past.

“We can skip Beijing and Xi’an, can’t we, Terra?” Mom asked.

Merc missed the undercurrents of the invitation, not entirely surprising when he was more focused on reading between the lines of an e-mail and answering in a flurry of thumb-typing.

Jacob and our mothers turned to me as if I was the decision-maker. The least risky route would be to follow Jacob and Norah — let them continue to be our tour guides. But as I glanced over at Mom, fingering her wedding ring on its chain around her neck, I didn’t want to always be married to the safe route, especially if it meant giving up what we wanted. As much as I welcomed spending more time with Jacob, I also yearned to see the Great Wall, the Forbidden City, the Summer Palace. The Great Wall was all Mom could talk about — her sister’s favorite place in all of China.

“How about if we do Beijing on our own for two days and then meet you in Hangzhou for the last two?” I asked. That would give the Fremonts time to visit the orphanage on their own. “We can save Xi’an for another trip.”

“But how would we get to Hangzhou by ourselves?” Mom asked, panic swelling in her eyes at the thought of us traveling alone. As though we were totally defenseless.

“We’ll figure it out, Mom,” I said.

Norah said soothingly, “It’s an easy two-hour flight from Beijing.” And then, “Merc, why don’t you have your assistant make the flight arrangements for them?”

“What?” For a moment he looked flustered, and then said, “Yeah, my assistant can change the airplane tickets, if it’s really what you guys want.”

No doubt his assistant had altered his travel arrangements a million times, trips with girlfriends canceled last minute. Trips back home never booked. Work always took precedence over fun and family. That laid-back, affectionate guy at Christmas was simply a disposable costume, tried on and discarded. Too bad; I had really liked that guy.

Across the table, Jacob smiled at me a little crookedly, a little uncertainly, as if dumbfounded by this step he had taken, inviting me to Huangzhou. Even so, his eyes were so warm, they made fondue of my thoughts until I saw Merc sidle a glance from Jacob to me, wistfully.

Maybe Merc had been afraid of the guy he became when he was with Elisa — looser, freer, like intimate chats on a patio compared to staid dining room small talk. I knew how hard it was to reveal myself, each admission of my secrets and dreams making me vulnerable because they could become weapons to scoff at me. To echo the doubts so stubbornly lodged in my head. As I suspected, Merc returned to his BlackBerry once more, his face setting like hardening cement into its normal, dispassionate business mask. Work was as good a shield as any to protect against intimacy that could scrub someone raw.

The last thing I wanted to do now was return to Merc’s apartment and listen to him clacking away on his computer late into the night. Mom must have felt the same way, because after dinner she said, “Could we walk a little?”

“You just want to window-shop,” teased Norah.

“That — and I’m so full,” said Mom.

I glanced swiftly at Mom, surprised by this admission. But she had already strolled ahead with Norah, Merc trailing slightly behind them — now on a phone call. I could hear Norah’s voice piercing the night air with her excited plans: “Just wait until you see the silk market in Beijing. I’ll make sure you and Terra have all the details.”

Back home, Main Street pretty much shut down at ten with the one exception of the pub. That closed at the late hour of eleven. But here with midnight on the horizon, people were still thronging the Xintiandi neighborhood, filling it with a vitality I had never felt in my town. A line of the fashionably black-garbed, not much older than me and Jacob, snaked down the narrow pedestrian street. Every so often, the door to the nightclub opened, and a few measures of loud music escaped before being shut behind the door again. It was weird to think that this would be my life in college, just five months away: hitting the town with friends, going clubbing. I couldn’t help but think of Karin’s exasperation now: Forget Erik. Why would you start something now with a Goth guy who’s going to be in high school for another year?

She was right; it didn’t make sense, but I loved being with Jacob. As if he knew, he smiled at me and then nodded to the bouncer, a sumo wrestler of a man whose hair was pulled into a slick ponytail. The man motioned to me.

“What does he want?” I asked Jacob nervously.

“You to be one of the beautiful people inside.”

I laughed, not believing him. But the bouncer gestured more emphatically and started to unhook the red velvet stanchion barring the door. For me. I shook my head, no thanks, conscious now of the swing of my blond hair. As strange as it was to be a foreigner, so obviously different from everyone else in this land, it was also strangely freeing. Back home, everyone knew about my port-wine stain. Here, I was a blond, blank slate.

Jacob and I had fallen behind the rest of our group, silent now as we passed a handbag store, then a shoe store where dainty sandals were displayed like sculptures atop pedestals.

“This is beautiful,” I said, ignoring the shop windows to trace the gleaming stone walls fronting another boutique.

“You know what’s funny?” Jacob asked. He didn’t wait for my answer. “You can see beauty in everything, except for yourself.”