Free Searching for Sylvie Lee by Jean Kwok

Turning back to look at them: little Lukas with his woebegone face, Helena’s thinly hidden relief, Willem filled with regret, Grandma staring at both me and Ma as if she wanted to run and join us.
    And what had I accomplished in all these years away? I wanted so much and had been able to hold on to so little of it. When had it begun to fall apart with Jim? Was it after our conversation on the way home from his friend Caitlin’s baby shower?
    Of course, Jim had tons of female friends. Caitlin and Jim had gone to the same exclusive private school before Princeton. She was tall, freckled, adored horses and sailboats. In college, we had spent a weekend with her and her then-boyfriend, now-husband, Xavier, on her father’s ranch in Wyoming. “Would you mind terribly if the rest of us went out for a ride?” she had asked me apologetically, assuming that poor immigrant me would be at a loss. “Oh, I think I’ll join you,” I had answered, “I love horses.” It had been satisfying to see her mouth slacken as I swung into the saddle and nudged the mare into a trot. I did not tell her that my old friend Estelle had been horse crazy, like so many Dutch girls, and had dragged me along to groom and ride her horse Umbra every week. I had shoveled lots of horse shit with Estelle.
    About a year and a half ago, Jim and I were in the car on the way home after congratulating a heavily pregnant Caitlin when he said, “What about us?”
    I stared out the window as the highway sped by, pretending I had not heard him. I jumped when he reached over and touched my hand.
    “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but time’s running out. We’ve been married a year now. I’d hoped—” I heard what he was not saying. You’re going to be too old soon. When I finally met his gaze, his blue eyes told me what he longed for: a tiny soft being dependent on him, coming home to a wife baking banana bread, a faded landscape where he would be loved and admired as a king.
    I tried to gentle my tone. “You know I work eighty hours a week, Jim. And my mentor says I’m doing so well.”
    Jim gave a half shrug, like he did not care.
    I rolled my eyes. So typical. “This current project, I’m involved from the conceptual stage to the completion and operation of the facility. Do you know what that means? I’m not saying never—just another year or two, that’s all.” I was not going to throw away everything I had done, everything I was. Why did it not matter to anyone else?
    “Sweetheart, you know how proud I am of you. But aren’t we important too? We already waited so long to get married because of your career,” he said softly. The autumn sun was setting and as it soaked through the windshield, it turned his face into a pale golden mask. Brilliantly colored leaves were torn from the trees as we sped by, swirling in the air while they searched for a final resting place.
    “Of course. But it’s my body that’s going to be taken over, Jim. My life that will be put on hold. It’s up or out at the company. If I don’t get promoted to engagement manager in the next year or so, I’m out. The coming period is critical.” My heart rate quickened at the thought of it—a crying baby, like when Amy had been a toddler with one of her tantrums and I was alone with her and all I wanted was to do my homework in peace and be free to play at other girls’ houses. This was my fault. If I had not wasted those years working as a chemical engineer, searching for who I was, I would not be older than the other associates. I would have had time to build my career and then have a child.
    The car next to us beeped, suddenly veering into our lane.
    Jim hit the brakes in time to slow down. “Jerk,” he muttered. His fingers clenched the steering wheel. “I can take time off too.”
    I bit back the words: You don’t really have a career. You always have your parents’ money and family name, a nice cushy safety net to land on . But some of my guilt and