I Am Not Jessica Chen(80)
“I don’t think so,” I say slowly. “You know, I used to have this theory that if I wanted something badly enough, the universe would make sure to keep it just out of my reach. Like a cruel joke, or a trick. But . . . maybe the cruelest trick the universe can play on us is to give us exactly what we wish for.”
She shivers, rubbing her arms. “Really? You believe that? That the universe is listening?”
“It’s possible.” I shrug. “I mean, how much do we actually know about the universe and what’s out there? Maybe anything could happen. Maybe all those things people speculate about—time loops and parallel universes and whatnot—could all be real. Maybe somewhere on the other end of the world, someone else also has the ability to wake up in another person’s body, or to foresee the future, or turn invisible.”
“I wouldn’t usually agree with that,” she says, “except it did happen.”
“It did happen,” I echo. I run a hand through my hair, shaking out the loose leaves and twigs, marveling at the impossibility of it all. That we’re standing here on the peak of the mountain and watching the clouds shift colors in the light and having a normal conversation about this.
Jessica shoots me a curious look, like something’s just occurred to her. “And you really wanted to be . . . me that badly?”
“Oh, not at all, not anymore,” I say, then pause. “Um, no offense.”
This time, she bursts out laughing, and the tension cracks. The sheer absurdity sets in. We’re both in hysterics, clutching our sides and gasping for air.
“So what’s next?” she asks at last. “Do we . . . I mean, what, we just go back to our old lives?”
Before, the idea would have completely depressed and terrified me. What is there to go back to? I would’ve asked. There’s nothing waiting for me. Now I can’t imagine anything better. “We go back,” I confirm, my face splitting into a broad grin. “We go home.”
I’ve barely set foot in my house when my mom marches up to me.
“Where were you?” she asks shrilly. She’s still wearing her pajamas, an old bathrobe pulled around her narrow frame, her hair unbrushed. She’s not smiling at me politely like a host or a distant relative. She’s scowling fiercely, her lips set into a furious line, her eyes glowing with rage. When she starts talking, she doesn’t stop. “Where did you go, you xiong haizi? Do you know how scared we were? Your dad and I were searching the whole house—your bedroom was completely empty. No note. No message. No letter. We thought you’d been kidnapped or eaten by a bear or run over by a gigantic truck. We were just about to head down to the school to interrogate them. Your dad has high blood pressure, you know that? Did you want to give us a heart attack? What will you do if we both die, huh? You can’t even do your own laundry; your shirts come out all wrinkly. You think our life insurance is going to cover you? Why do you look so happy?”
“Because I am really, really happy,” I say, beaming so wide the muscles in my cheeks hurt. “Mama.”
“What?” she asks.
“You’re my mom, right?” I ask, only to hear her say it. “I’m your daughter?”
She stares at me for a long beat, silent, and just when I feel a familiar trickle of fear, she reaches out and swats the back of my head. “What kind of nonsense is that? Are you looking for another mom? Because if you have any complaints—”
“I don’t have any problem with that,” I say quickly. “None at all.”
She frowns again, and presses her forehead to mine for a second. “Are you running a fever?” she mutters. “Why are you acting so weird?”
“I’m not,” I say, then crane my head to scan the house. Everything’s gone back to the way it was. The family portraits, the desk in the corner, the books on the shelves. “Where’s my dad?”
“He was about to start the car. Aiya, I better get him—” My mom whirls around and yells, “Laogong! Haizi ta ba, she’s back. She’s back. She’s okay.” In the same breath, she turns to me and seizes my shoulders. “You are okay, right? You’re not injured anywhere? Youmeiyou zhaoliang? You’re wearing so little—zhen shi de, bu zhidao leng re. I’ll boil you some ginger water after this—”
The door creaks open.
“Where did you go?” My dad walks straight over to us. I had expected him to be angry, even angrier than Mom, but all he looks is relieved.
“I was, um, exercising,” I say. “Up in the mountains with Jessica.” This was the story Jessica and I had agreed upon before we parted ways outside my house. It’s the truth, in a way, and it’s the best explanation for why there’s dirt smeared on my clothes and my shoes.
“Exercising?” Dad repeats in disbelief.
“You’re always telling me to exercise more, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“I woke up super early in the morning and just felt really, really inspired to start right then and there,” I tell him. “And Jessica—well, you know, she’s always been very fit and likes to do her workouts at dawn. So I called her up and we went hiking. I thought you’d be pleased.”
Dad exchanges a glance with Mom and then heaves a sigh. “Next time,” he says, “you have to tell us beforehand, okay?”