I sat and stared through the window of Peixuan’s twelfth-floor apartment. Lightning sliced through the stormy sky. A bolt of light reached for me and tenderly stroked my hair. I can’t explain it, but in that moment I decided to keep these past events firmly in my pocket; I missed you enormously.

Peixuan’s trip took longer than she’d planned. She phoned to say she had to head back to the States—her college needed her back urgently—so she’d bought a ticket, and was leaving via Hong Kong. She wouldn’t be back in Beijing, but I could stay in the apartment for another month—she’d already paid the rent.

“I hope you find a job soon, and quit drinking.” She was at the China-Myanmar border, where the strong wind made her voice sound like a passing flock of pigeons.

“You take care too.” I hung up.

I actually did start going to bars less often, found a job in a bookstore, and moved into a small apartment with a friend. In the autumn, Mom came to stay with me for a few days. The stove wasn’t working, so we sat in my tiny room eating takeout. She shoveled rice into her mouth, not saying a word. I knew she was disappointed. She’d always wanted me to marry young, buy a house, and let her move in. She’d been living with my aunt all this time and was tired of having to depend on others. Soon after she went back to Jinan, she called me at two in the morning to say she didn’t know what was going on with Grandpa. I was surprised—she hadn’t mentioned him for years. He was living in the house that the university had given him, she said, and they wouldn’t take it back even if he was gone, right? He’d like it if I came back to take care of him—maybe he’d even leave me the house. I said forget it, I wasn’t going back. But the idea had bewitched her, and she kept calling every few days. Eventually I forgot her original plan, and only heard her repeated plea, Come back, come back. I remembered my childhood and missed Southern Courtyard. Last week, I dreamed I was in a train that swayed from side to side. A red matryoshka doll rolled towards my feet. I picked it up and a woman’s voice said shrilly, Open it. Inside was a smaller doll, and inside that an even smaller one. I tore open doll after doll, faster and faster, sweat dripping into my eyes. I couldn’t stop. Half-doll shells tumbled around my feet. The voice said, Open it, open it. My pillow was soaked when I woke up. I had the same dream again, like a summons. I knew I had to come back. Grandpa might soon be dead.