Joy Guo
1. THE DISPATCHMothers-in-Law
The Divorcee zone of the marriage market was always the sparsest, but Li went everyday all the same. Tucked under her arm were a tape roll and extra copies of the notice for her son, containing his picture (from three years ago), height and weight (factoring in slight adjustments, which was more than allowed, but expected), zodiac sign, occupation, income threshold, preferences, and dislikes. Sixty days on the market. No prospects yet. The most that had happened so far was an old man toddling forward to take one of the slips with her phone number, only to use it to blow his nose.
She had always coddled Tian – unpeeling his shrimp and apples for him, washing his underwear by hand, packing his suitcases, doing whatever she could so he wouldn’t have to. Was that why his marriage lasted only six months? The girl was now living in Germany; Tian had to stay in Missouri to finish his graduate studies. All he said was they were better off apart, and yet, he still spoke of his former wife fondly.
“If you think so highly of her, why can’t you stay together?” she argued.
On the video screen, Tian’s face rippled and split around the edges; after a lag, it resolved into a familiar grimace of exasperation. “I told you, Ma. It’s my decision. Just let it go.”
She tried. But one day, curious, Li wandered into the hubbub of the marriage market. The notices strewn everywhere created a tunnel of names and faces stretching from one end of the park to the other. Possibilities loomed.
Li went home and made a notice for Tian. She wouldn’t have to tell him, she figured, not until something came of it. That was two months ago. Every night, before she fell asleep, she vowed to never set foot again in the market. Every morning, she changed her mind, devout in her belief, like a gambler, that today could be different.
Immersed in her thoughts, Li went about smoothing the corners of the notice, not noticing the woman approaching until she stood right in front of her.
“Oh,” Li said, startled.
The woman stepped even closer, holding several other notices. Li tried not to look irritated. Some people treated the marriage market as they would a grocery store, fondling every possible option.
“Your son’s very handsome,” the woman said. Across one cheek was a scar, an ugly red pucker.
“Thank you,” Li replied. She remembered the extra copies she had made. “Would you like one?”
The woman took it and scanned the particulars. Spying an opening, Li introduced herself.
“I’m Yin,” the woman said.
Li let herself imagine what it’d be like to be in-laws. They could convene every few weeks at a trendy café where they’d be the oldest customers. In their conversations, when it came to their children’s squabbles, they would refuse to pick sides, or if they did, they would, as a matter of fairness, side against their own child. As the hour drew to a close, they would chuckle at how much they cared, but it was nice to talk about these things with the only other person who could understand.
“You must be very proud,” Yin said. “He’s so accomplished. Living in America too.”
“And what about your daughter?” Li asked, trying to sound casual. “What is she like?”
A faint smile passed over Yin’s face, like a guttering candle. “I’m actually looking for my son.”
Li had to excuse herself, hardly aware of the words coming from her mouth. She could hear Yin calling after her, but it didn’t matter, she couldn’t stand there a second longer.
* * *
Li woke early the next morning, determined to put the incident behind her. She found Yin waiting by the entrance to the marriage market. Hoping to skirt past, Li screwed her eyes to a spot in the distance, but Yin followed doggedly.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you yesterday.”
A knot tightened in Li’s chest. “Look,” she said, turning around. “I hope you’re not going around like this to other people.”
“No,” Yin said, with a sadness that made Li deflate. “For months, I’ve been wrestling with how to broach this. I wish they would make a zone here for people like him.”
Li understood that feeling. Her first day, she had tacked up Tian’s notice in the Overseas zone, which was the most popular and successful. She had been in the middle of exchanging information with two people when, from behind her, she heard loud rips. A woman was tearing her notice in half.
“Stop that!”
“No divorcees here. Those are the rules.” Both candidates sidled away. Blushing with indignation, Li found herself recounting the ejection to Yin.
“I’m sorry,” Yin repeated. Li looked down at the extra notices she was holding. The edges of the papers were curling up, as if in defeat.
“Listen,” Yin said. “Let me buy you a cup of coffee. I feel terrible about yesterday. Please?”
She looked so beseeching that Li relented. The café that Yin picked was filled with young couples, their heads nestled close to each other. As Yin went to stand in line, Li felt an urge to separate the various pairs, fling them to opposite sides of the room like rag dolls, and re-arrange them. You with her, you with him, no, you with him. That’s better. Li looked up to see Yin striding over, her hands full of cups and pastries.
Li couldn’t help asking question after question about Yin’s son. He was an assistant professor at Shangda, in his late 30s. He built bookshelves in his spare time. He lived with a man and a woman, childhood friends who knew about him long before Yin figured it out. He regarded Yin’s efforts in the marriage market skeptically, though, judging by how often he asked for updates, she could detect a faint note of hope.
“You told him?”
“Of course. It wouldn’t be fair to conceal it from him.” Something about Li’s expression must had given her away; Yin laughed, making the scar ripple.
“You haven’t?”
“No.” The coffee scalded her tongue. Li pushed the scorched area against the roof of her mouth, feeling the odd pebbled rasp.
Yin turned serious and reached over to take Li’s hand. “You’re only doing what you think is right for him.”
The scar seemed to flex like a muscle in the café’s dim light. The girl that Tian married, she too had a mark on her face, right below the left eye, a dark blotch sieving through the makeup powder that Li had helped her apply on the day of the wedding. Her name was Marta. She and Tian had met at the local grocery store, in the peanut butter aisle – they had reached at the same time for the chunky, honey-roasted variety. Tian had told this story at the reception, his face curling into one enormous smile at the cheers and applause. At the end of the night, Marta said, in halting Mandarin, how happy she was to have Li as a mother-in-law.
Yin was examining the notice for Tian again. “He really is quite handsome,” she said. Li looked up sharply, but Yin’s attention was still fixed on the paper.
“I’ve been going to that market every day for a year now. It’s so tiring, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Li answered.
“At some point, you have to wonder, maybe it’s best not to be involved.” She was still holding Li’s hand. “The funny thing is, I ask my son, what happens if I can’t find anyone for you? Do you know what he said?”
Li shook her head. Yin’s fingers felt soft and waxy.
“He told me, ‘I suppose I’ll finally have to learn how to do something on my own.’ Hearing that doesn’t make me feel any better. It should, but it doesn’t.”
They talked for a while longer, not about marriage or children, but about themselves – a television show that Li was watching about a doomed expedition to the moon, a trip to Paris that Yin was taking next month. Soon, they stood up, caving to the line waiting for tables, and shook hands as they parted. Li started walking towards the marriage market, then thought better of it and headed home. She thought of Yin’s son, sitting back on his heels, sawdust and shelving parts all around him. Waiting. She thought of Tian in Missouri, going to the supermarket every week, ambling down the aisles, looking for nothing in particular. Something would catch his eye. Footsteps approached. A hand reached out in front of him. He’d look up and smile.
2. BUREAU INVENTORYMug of rapidly cooling tea
Throw blanket for all weather
Open Notes app on phone for ideas
Random assortment of books for inspiration
Half-eaten breakfast bagel for sustenance
The best furry moral support
3. BIOGRAPHYJoy Guo is a writer and regulatory attorney based in New York. Her fiction has been published or is forthcoming in Threepenny Review, Colorado Review, Jellyfish Review, Passages North, and elsewhere. You can find her on Twitter at @gojiberryandtea or at www.joyguowrites.com.