“I think at first it was only because you worked at the pencil company and were mysterious. I wanted to know your secrets. I love a good puzzle.” He smiled, and I did not smile back. “But then it became clear you weren’t something for me to solve. As I sought to unravel you, all I peeled back was layer after layer of sadness I could not comprehend. So when you pushed me away, I left. I guess I’ve still maintained that same curiosity about you though.”

“I don’t think you would like what you’d find.”

“Hard to say if I don’t know.”

“I made it to America by sleeping with a man and then burning his house down.” And that wasn’t even the worst of my crimes! I wanted to shock him, to convince him to turn against me now rather than later. “How does that make you feel?”

If he had a visible reaction, it was too dark to tell.

“Mostly jealous,” he said eventually.

“Of my path to America?” If a child in Taiwan could architect their own life, it would follow the path Torou’s had taken—accepted into America at a prestigious university through merit alone. It was impossible he could be jealous of me.

“Of the man who got to have you, if only for a while.”

“You’re insufferable.” Linda’s accusation of being cold hit me again. Being with him was a constant cycle of wanting him closer and needing to push him away. I did not like the person I had become, and I could not stand when he flattered, sure he was only telling me lies.

“May I see you again tomorrow?”

I did not deserve his persistence. I did not deserve this life in America, won from embracing the very worst our pencils could offer. But I could hear your voice and Linda’s voice in my head, the scolding I would get if I rejected him again.

“Yes,” I said, letting a bit of light into my dark, lonely world.

Chapter 32

From the diary of Monica Tsai

November 30, 2018

I’ve had more time to think about grandmother’s words, and Meng’s. A number of things became clear to me after I bled out Meng’s pencil heart. First, I stopped feeling quite so bad for myself. I made myself get up and go to the hospital. Grandmother’s surgery went well. Still, it is alarming how quickly she’s fading. Maybe it’s the unfamiliar environment or the fact that she is writing less and less, or the pain is getting to her. She is only present half the time when I visit.