Jane elbowed her sister and flashed a cheerful smile at their mother. “Come on,” she said, rising. “It’s always nice to meet new people at a wedding.”
Elizabeth jammed her feet into her shoes. “Is it?” she hissed. “Is it always nice to meet people at a wedding?”
Jade dragged them towards the other side of the room. “Come be friendly, la!”
Elizabeth fell in line.
4
Of course Jade didn’t make introductions as much as fish—for compliments, gifts, job offers, favors, you name it. At the last neighborhood get-together, there had been Winston, who smoked (only) Winstons, sported a Members Only jacket and a thick mustache, and worked in personal injury law. Would Elizabeth want to go out with him sometime? No, thank you. What about working in his supply-closet office in Flushing as a legal assistant? Not with that commute. Three weeks after they’d met, she’d caught him on TV, surrounded by showgirls singing the jingle for his law firm. Get hurt? Can’t work? Don’t be a jerk! Dial Berk & Bi, Attorneys at Law! That was the caliber of men Jade considered good for her daughters.
They arrived at the outer edge of a crowd, and Jade tapped one of the men on the shoulder. “Mr. Brendan?”
He turned.
Cue the harps.
This was no middle-aged man but someone nearer their age. Boyish, if pushing thirty. Thick, dark hair swept back from his broad forehead in a floppy wave; fine, long eyelashes framed narrow, lidless eyes; a strong, square chin offset the angle of his jaw, softened by traces of baby fat and dimpled cheeks. In a room of formal wear, he moved with an easy grace that suggested money. He looked like he had it, anyway—his outfit Italian and tailored, his watch silver and busy with dials and gears, his shoes immaculate—though he cut the effect with stormtrooper cuff links. The mothers in the room would have called him handsome, but that wasn’t it. He was a golden retriever; friendliness made him better looking.
“Jade!” he said, taking her into his arms and kissing her on both cheeks. A slight accent hung on his words, halfway British and halfway Cantonese, singsong as a playground rhyme. “We thought you’d deserted us!”
On anyone else, the gesture would have looked affected, but he made it look natural.
Jade giggled. Elizabeth hadn’t suspected that was a sound her mother could even produce.
“Mr. Brendan!” she said. “You know I wouldn’t!”
A laugh rang out among the crowd, and Elizabeth startled to see the mixed company gathered around him. Here were the breeds of rich she recognized—six or seven standing apart from the rest of the room, dripping in diamonds and sleek sophistication, talking to nobody but themselves and thinking themselves all the better for it. No one knew better than her how ridiculous Jade could be, but it was a wedding, she was an elder, and ridiculousness didn’t give anyone the right to rudeness—especially not to a stranger. Especially not to her mother.
“I want to introduce my daughters,” Jade said. “They’ve been strong supporters of our little community center. This is my oldest, Jane, who’s studying to become a doctor, and Elizabeth, who is . . . graduated from college.”
“In a year,” Jane added. “Finishing up in another year.”
Elizabeth tried a smile. “It’s true, I’m a graduate,” she said. “Though I forgot to bring my diploma with me.”
Jane kicked the back of her foot.
Mr. Brendan returned a smile, showing celebrity teeth, even and bleached white. “Hey, that’s awesome,” he said. “I don’t know if your mother’s told you, but we have so many ideas for the center. We want to be part of the force to help turn New York around, you know?”
Elizabeth’s smile sharpened. “I don’t think New York needs to be turned around,” she replied. “And you know the rec is something like an institution—I mean, Jane and I practically grew up—”
Jade pinched her bicep.
Their new friend didn’t notice.
“I’m Brendan,” he said. “One of Bryan’s cousins of cousins of cousins. You know how it is.”
“Brendan . . . ?” Elizabeth said.
“Brendan Lee.”
“I’ll leave you to get introduced,” Jade said with a coy flutter of her hands as she slipped back into the crowd. “Make friendly, la!”
Brendan gestured towards their outfits. “Going traditional, huh?” he said. “That’s awesome.”
They blushed. “Our mother picked these out,” Jane said.
He laughed, air whistling faintly through his teeth, and Elizabeth softened. Anyone with a ridiculous laugh couldn’t be too bad, no matter how expensive their clothes. “Jade?” he said. “Right on. I bet Alexa and her parents appreciate it. They’re into that kind of thing, you know. Tradition.” He glanced down at their empty hands. “Where are your drinks?”
Elizabeth shrugged, but their newfound acquaintance sprang into action. A knight in shining Armani, he returned with two full glasses of champagne.
“Thank you,” Jane said. “That’s kind of you.”
“It’s a wedding. It’s not right for you not to be at least a little drunk.”
“A gentleman and a scholar,” Elizabeth cracked.
He didn’t seem to hear her. Not when Jane sipped at her champagne, touched his arm, and smiled at him. Not when Jane stood near enough to dazzle. Elizabeth had seen it before—the awestruck look on men’s faces, the loss of speech, the way they arched towards her light. It spoke well of his taste. Years later, Jade claimed it was a moment of predestination, red thread unspooling to its natural end, but Elizabeth, shortsighted as she was, considered it her luck to be third-wheeled wherever she went, especially where Jane was concerned. Girls like Jane got the beauty and the popularity; Elizabeth got the jokes.
They made the rounds of acceptable wedding small talk: he was born in Hong Kong, studied in the UK; cycled through LSE, Goldsmiths, and Goldman; and returned home when his father’s health declined. He had five sisters of his own, all older, three much older. She supposed he might be the singular kind of golden son—the one trying to make right. He’d never been to New York—shock! horror! treason!—and intended to swing all of the tourist traps in one go. Buying knockoffs, dollar pizza, and chicken and rice plates; seeing Liberty Island, the Brooklyn Bridge, Times Square, Rockefeller Center—everything short of a horse-drawn carriage ride through the park, and only because he didn’t have anyone to ride along.
Elizabeth shook her head. “You can’t just do the tourist garbage,” she said. “Come back to Chinatown. Let us show you around.”
Jane nodded. “We’d be happy to give you a tour,” she said. “And there’s all the museums too!”
“Brendan, aaaaaaa.” With a fanfare of floral perfume, a woman grasped at his hand and dragged herself into their circle. Everything about her was long—hair, legs, face—except her dress, which threatened to ride up and reveal her most intimate self. She stood with model posture, shoulders rounded and spine slightly slouched in a show of casual disregard, shedding body glitter and bronzer with every movement. “What are you doing?”