Across a Green Ocean (4 page)

As the streets signs for Alphabet City flashed by, Emily wondered if her brother enjoyed where he lived. Unlike her, Michael had gone to a small liberal arts college in Massachusetts, although he’d returned to the city after graduation. He seemed to like his job as a graphic designer well enough, although, he didn’t seem to be driven by any particular purpose. Emily supposed she could be full of advice, and, in fact, should be, but she was too busy doling it out to her clients every day. Besides, she’d done her time. When they were children, her parents had impressed upon her that her main responsibility was to look after her little brother. On the rare occasions her parents went out, she had to babysit. She was expected to help Michael with his homework and provide a good example in school. In a way, since she spoke English fluently and understood things like what should packed in an American child’s lunchbox (definitely not pickled vegetables) or that American children received allowances for doing the simplest household chores (and more than a quarter per chore), it was as if she were another parent.

The cab stopped, and Emily got out into the warm, humid night. She stood in front of a building that must have once been peach-colored brick underneath the layer of grime. The tree-lined street was more pleasant than she had expected, the metal-gated storefronts only lightly adorned with graffiti. The skeleton of a luxury apartment building at the corner indicated better things to come.

By the side of the front door was a row of buzzers. The name next to Michael’s was something undecipherable, apparently having been scratched out multiple times. She rang it, anyway. The intercom did not crackle to life, nor did the door release. She rang it again, still nothing. For the first time, she felt a twinge of apprehension. Maybe her mother wasn’t so off base. But Emily knew she was getting ahead of herself. Michael could be out, or perhaps the buzzer didn’t work. Then she noticed the door was slightly ajar, probably to let a breath of air into the stifling hallway that she now entered.

The apartment was on the fifth floor but seemed much farther. As Emily climbed the steep stairs, the temperature appeared to increase by a degree with each step. It didn’t help that she was wearing a high-necked blouse and slacks, her approximation of business casual. When she reached the top, she paused to catch her breath from what air was left up there. The ceiling was very low; if she reached up, she could touch the skylight, which was dingy with pollution and pigeon droppings. It hardly seemed possible that there was a livable space behind the single door at the end of the landing. There was a buzzer, but unlike the one downstairs, it hung by a frayed electrical wire, like an eye from a socket, indicating its uselessness. She figured if anyone was inside, they must have heard her approach by now.

Emily lifted her hand to knock, but before she could make contact, the door opened. Behind it was a young blond man with glasses. For an instant she thought she had the wrong address. But she had the uncanny feeling that the look on his face reflected her own. Both of them had been expecting to see the same person: Michael.

Then the young man rearranged his features and extended his hand. “You must be Emily.”

Emily took it. “And you are . . . ?”

“David?” He spoke as if he was unsure of his own name. When it didn’t seem to register with her, he said, “I’m guessing Michael never told you. I’m his boyfriend.”

 

They sat across from each other at the table, Emily and David, glasses of water sweating condensation onto the surface. A single fan idly pushed air around the tiny studio and out a window, but it didn’t seem to help. Even the walls looked sticky in the heat.

Some people—under the age of thirty, Emily thought—might find the space delightfully bohemian. It was small and low-ceilinged, full of odd angles in which no furniture could possibly fit. A scarred strip of linoleum, upon which sat a metal sink, a half fridge, and a camp stove, indicated the beginning and end of the kitchen. The half-open cupboard above the stove contained two cereal bowls and two plates, two glasses, and a commemorative mug. A pilled green futon that looked like it had been salvaged from the street, covered in a tangle of sheets, was pushed up against the wall. Besides that, there was no furniture other than the table and chairs that were being used to sit in.

Having surveyed the room, Emily now turned her attention to her brother’s boyfriend. Judging by the faint crinkles at the corners of his blue eyes, she guessed he was older than she had initially thought, possibly in his early thirties. She supposed he was good-looking enough, in a bland sort of way. Conservative haircut, weirdly old-fashioned but expensive-looking wire-rimmed frames. Despite the heat, he was nicely dressed in a pale-colored linen suit. When she glanced down, she saw that his shoes shone a rich chestnut brown. He must have also come from work, except that he was better dressed than she was.

“Are you okay?” David asked.

Emily jerked her head up, embarrassed at being caught giving him the once-over. “I’m just worn out from the stairs.”

“I mean,” he said pointedly, “are you okay with Michael being who he is? What he is?”

She was suddenly defensive. “What makes you think I didn’t know?” She looked away. “All right, I didn’t know. My parents definitely didn’t. He never said anything about it. But it doesn’t matter. It’s fine with me if he’s gay.”

There, she had said it. “How did you two meet?”

David smiled nervously, the creases at the corners of his eyes deepening. “I know this sounds like a cliché, but we met at the Pride parade about a year ago. Not to worry, we weren’t actually
in
the parade. We were both stuck on the same side of the street, trying to cross over—we were supposed to meet friends for lunch. We decided to give up and just have lunch together.”

“Very cute,” Emily allowed. “So you’ve been seeing each other for about a year? You must have known him when . . .”

“Your father passed away? Yes. Actually, I was with him when he found out.”

Emily shook her head, trying to recast her memory of telling Michael to involve another person in the same room. The scene was getting too crowded.

“I didn’t expect to go to the funeral or anything,” David said. “I knew we hadn’t known each other long enough for that. And I understood why he wouldn’t want me to meet his family.”

And still doesn’t,
Emily thought. She tried to be charitable. “Well, it makes me feel better to know that he’s had someone this past year to help him deal with everything.”

The look on David’s face made her wish she hadn’t jumped to conclusions. “To be honest,” he said, “we haven’t been together the entire year. It’s been sort of off and on. I’ve been pushing for more commitment from him. Even asked him to move in with me.” He nodded at the walls around them. “As you might have noticed, this place isn’t the most comfortable. I have an apartment uptown, where we spend most of our time together—that is, when we
are
together. I’m away during the day, so he’d have the space all to himself.”

“And what is it that you do?” Emily asked politely.

“I’m a lawyer.”

“Huh,” Emily said, without volunteering more information. Her mother would love that.

“I’m afraid I pushed him too far about moving in, and we argued about it. Michael’s very independent. You probably know that.”

Emily nodded, not wanting to dispel his belief that they were close siblings. Not that David would have believed her, anyway, if she hadn’t even known that her own brother was gay. She wondered just how much Michael had told David about her or their parents.

“It just seemed like a good idea, since he was laid off last month,” David added.

“What? He never mentioned that he’d lost his job.”

“Guess he didn’t tell you a lot.”

Emily tried to ignore that jab. “Tell me more about your argument.”

“Months ago I made him give me a key to his place, though he never wanted one to mine.” David gave a short laugh. “Earlier this week I tried to give him a key, and we argued about it, and he left my place in a huff. I’ve tried calling him since then, don’t know how many messages I left. Then this morning when I called, the mailbox was—”

“Full,” Emily finished for him.

“So I came over here after work and got into his apartment with my key. There was this note.” David handed her a square of paper from his pocket, and she unfolded it. Her brother’s writing, which she hadn’t seen for a long time, possibly not even in an adult hand, wavered before her eyes. The paper had started soaking up droplets of water from the tabletop, blurring the ink.

Emily forced herself to concentrate and read out loud: “ ‘Gone away to take a break. Am fine.’ What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t know. Whenever we fight, I tend to let him go off on his own. We don’t contact each other for a while, and I wait for him to call me. I don’t ask any questions.” David shrugged, as if acknowledging how one-sided it sounded. “That’s just the way it works. But he’s never left a note before.”

“It’s not a very disturbing note,” Emily said, somewhat relieved. It almost sounded like Michael had gone down the street to pick up something at the store.

“You think we should report him missing?” David asked.

“When did you last talk to him?”

“Tuesday night.”

Emily could feel herself going into work mode, the easiest way for her to handle the situation. “The police aren’t going to find it a very compelling argument. This note suggests that he walked of his own free will. Plus, I’m sorry to say, but the fact that you two had a fight indicates that he might not want to be found. At least by you.”

“We’ve got to do something,” David said.

“I’m not sure there’s anything we can do, except to wait for him to contact us. Where do you think he went?”

“No clue. He can’t have gone very far. He doesn’t have the money. He was going to have trouble making this month’s rent. I’ve offered to help him out before, but he wouldn’t take it.”

Emily glanced around the room. “I wonder if there’s anything else he left behind that could tell us where he’s gone.”

“Well . . .” Reluctantly, David handed her another scrap of paper. “I also found this.”

On it was written the name “Edison Ng,” a telephone number, and what appeared to be the name of a restaurant. Emily knew why David hadn’t shown this to her before. “You think he’s cheating on you?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“There’s only one way to find out.” Emily picked up her phone, and before David could do anything to stop her, dialed the number. “Voice mail,” she mouthed to David before saying, “Hi, this is Emily Tang. I’m looking for my brother, Michael Tang. He’s been missing for a few days, and no one knows where he is. Please give me a call back as soon as you get this—it doesn’t matter how late.”

Then, attempting positivity, she said to David, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about from this Edison Ng. From his voice, he sounded kind of like a high school kid. And ‘Edison’? The ultimate nerd name.”

She was rewarded with a half smile. “Thanks for doing that,” David said. “You’ll let me know if you hear anything?”

Emily promised she would, and they exchanged contact information. She slung her purse over her shoulder in preparation to leave, but David didn’t make a move.

“I’m staying in this apartment tonight,” he said. “Maybe tomorrow, too. I know it sounds silly, but it makes me feel closer to him somehow.” He paused. “I really care about your brother. No matter what he does, to me or our relationship, I’m going to see this through.”

“Good luck,” Emily said softly. If David wanted to stay in the fires of hell, or what felt like it, he was welcome to.

 

On the train, Emily called her mother to report that Michael wasn’t home, but she had talked to his roommate, who thought he had gone on some kind of trip. No, the roommate didn’t know where, but he didn’t seem to be that concerned.

The silence on the other end of the phone suggested to Emily that this had not alleviated her mother’s worry. However, her mother only said, “I didn’t know Michael had a roommate.”

“Neither did I,” Emily replied grimly before she hung up.

She supposed it shouldn’t come as a surprise that her brother was gay. She tried to think back to any indications when they were growing up, but she didn’t know what to look for. Insisting on carrying a doll around wherever he went? Wanting to dress up as a princess on Halloween? Trying on their mother’s dusky rose lipstick, which looked more Pepto-Bismol than pink?
She
hadn’t even done that as a child, and plus, all these things were stereotypes that meant nothing. True, Michael hadn’t ever had a girlfriend that she knew about. But even if he had, there was no reason why he would have told her. Her parents had not allowed Emily to date in high school, and she doubted they would have lessened their restrictions for a son. Michael had been twelve when she’d gone off to college, hardly formed yet, and by the time they were both adults in the city, he was almost unrecognizable to her. Even before she and Julian had moved away, they’d mostly only seen each other during the holidays back at their parents’ home.

She did understand why Michael hadn’t said anything to their parents. Their mother might be more accepting, but she always presented a united front with their father, and under no circumstances could Emily imagine their strict, unyielding father comprehending what it meant to have a child who was gay. It probably wasn’t even in his vocabulary. It was hard enough for her father to accept that Emily had married someone who wasn’t Chinese or even Asian, most evident during uncomfortable holiday dinners. For some reason, her father’s English grew even worse around Julian, and when he asked Julian about his work, he made everything sound like an accusation. Her father didn’t understand why Julian wanted to make films that would never get shown at the local Cineplex. He didn’t understand why Julian never spoke to his parents or preferred to spend the holidays with the Tangs, who could never celebrate properly, anyway, basting their turkeys with soy sauce, using sticky rice and red dates for the stuffing. How unfilial, he’d probably thought.