I decided I would try to distance myself from her. I had a hopeless plan—I’d send vague end-of-day updates and eventually phase it out completely. I’d focus on EMBRS and my grandparents. I’d still invite her to visit, if only to satisfy grandmother’s end of the deal, and she could interview grandmother if she wanted, but I’d stay out of it.

The plan felt achievable until a package arrived for me. Both grandfather and grandmother eyed it curiously. I opened it in front of them. Inside were two vacuum filters and a note.

don’t worry, I found a coupon ♥️ L

I could not stop smiling. Grandmother noticed. It was a good day for her.

“I miss playing mahjong,” she said suddenly. “Why don’t you find us a fourth player, Monica?”

“Oh yes,” grandfather agreed. “Nothing would make me happier.”

The image of the four of us playing mahjong thrilled me, a world where Louise met my grandparents and we all happily spent time together. A world where grandmother’s mind worked effortlessly in pursuit of a winning hand.

And so my short-lived resolve broke entirely, crushed by vacuum filters and mahjong, of all things.

do you want to come visit some time?

Her reply was exhilaratingly immediate.

id love to! my fall break is coming up and we have a game at harvard. would that work?

that’s perfect! we can try out the new vacuum filters!

how electrifying

I told grandmother that I did it, that I invited her over, and so she needed to Reforge Meng’s pencil.

“What?” she exclaimed. “Surely I said only after she came.”

I told her she definitely did not.

“Monica,” she said sternly. “Don’t trick the elderly.”

I even showed her my journal entry where I had written it down, that all I had to do was invite Louise over.

She waved her hand.

“Words on a computer,” she said dismissively. “The easiest thing to forge.”

I couldn’t bring myself to pout over it though. I was too excited and eager and busy cleaning every inch of the house. But there are times when I pause and try to brush away this feeling that I’m standing on the precipice of something. As if holding a pencil to my wrist, and I can either continue using it like a regular pencil or I can stab it into me and see if some beautiful truth will come pouring out. Lately, I feel like I’m just sharpening the pencil, honing the tip, and waiting to see where the impulse will take me.

Chapter 14

From the Reforged pencil of Wong Yun