Free End of East, The by Jen Sookfong Lee Page B

I know I’m just what you need.”
    “We were going to name you Christopher,” says Wendy as she paints her fingernails. “But, you know, you came out a girl, so we had to turf that idea.” She blows on her long fingers, carefully moving them back and forth so that the polish will dry evenly.
    I sit cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom, breathing in the nail polish and the dry, dusty smell of the potpourri packets she has placed on every surface. Her wedding dress hangs on a hook on the back of her door, its white satin shining in the dim light. Her veil lies on her dresser, covered in plastic. I touched it once the day before, when my sister had left the house to buy more wrappers for the fruitcake party favours. It felt stiff, wiry, completely opposite to the way I had expected (lighter even than air, white froth made solid). Weddings are a disappointing business when you are only seven years old.
    “And then, you know, Mom was sick, so no one really took care of you. I mean, we all did, but we were just kids then, and we didn’t know what to do.” She looks at me through her asymmetrical bangs and reaches over to tousle my hair. “I actually melted your baby bottles once. How was I supposed to know that water boils away so fast?”
    Daisy, her highlighted hair in curlers, runs into the room with her bright pink bridesmaid dress in her hands. “Listen, can you help me iron out this pucker right by the zipper? How did I not notice this earlier?” She looks at me, surprised. “Aren’t you in bed yet? You’re too little to stay up this late.” She runs out of the room again, leaving behind a curler that has dropped out of her hair.

    Wendy sighs. “Well, Sammy, I’ll be out of the house forever by tomorrow. Can’t say that I’m too sad about it either.” She pats me on the head. “You have a big day tomorrow too. Go to bed. I still have a lot to do.”
    I sit on the stairs for a long time, watching my sisters break in their shoes, run out to the twenty-four-hour drugstore for last-minute makeup and hairspray. Penny joins me briefly. “They’re going to play Christopher Cross at the reception, you know. How sappy. I’m going to see if I can request something better, maybe some New Order or something, like they played at the school dance.” She punches me in the arm. “I’ll get my own bedroom now that Wendy’s leaving. I can’t wait, because you’re the biggest pain in the butt when you snore.”
    Upstairs, my parents play mah-jong with the out-of-town relatives, the moving tiles like little footsteps, dozens of tap shoes on a wooden floor. I rest my head on a banister and fall asleep. When I wake up, the house vibrates with suppressed energy, full to the rafters with back satin, boutonnieres. Expectations.
    At the airport, my father, thinner than he has ever been before, stands in line with Daisy as she checks her luggage and requests an aisle seat. He hoists her suitcase up onto the scale, his scraggly hair falling over his forehead and into his eyes. He straightens up again, sighing.
    I stand to the side with everyone else: my mother, Jackie and Penny, even Wendy and her nervous husband, who fidgets and rubs the top of his head until his straight black hair sticks up on end. He stands on one foot and then the other, twisting his hands together and whistling. My grandfather is at home. No one has bothered to tell him that Daisy is leaving to live in Hong Kong.

    “I guess I have to go to the gate now. Goodbye, Sammy. Remember to write.” Daisy stands tall, unwilling to go anywhere without her heels, even when travelling.
    I look at the floor, dig the toe of my dirty sneaker into the concrete. Daisy laughs.
    “You don’t have to hug me if you don’t want to, but I wouldn’t mind if you don’t mind.”
    I push my face into the side of her body, feel her arm wrap around my shoulders.
    She whispers, “I’ll miss you too, Sammy. But I have to leave. I’ll be back someday—just think of