Much had changed since I first turned invisible in Mama’s cupboard. When Lily poked my ribs, her finger went straight through me as though I didn’t exist. This act of vanishment, of dissociating completely, was something I’d been practicing, but it still startled me. I had to be careful, lest I walk through a window and fall out of the house.
“I’m here,” I whispered.
With an exhale, I reappeared in front of her. She immediately poked me again.
“Ow!”
“Four years,” she exclaimed, crossing her arms. “I’ve known you four years, yet you never told me you’re a fairy!”
My heart squeezed. The way she could find levity at a time like this made me love her even more. “Just a small fairy,” I said, pinching my fingers together. “The size of a fish bone.”
“Like Yeh Shen’s fish bones?” Lily, I’d found out, already knew the tale. “Doyouhave a fish bone, Gah Jeh? It would explain your fairy magic.”
I flinched, growing uncomfortable with my lie. Mama had called what was inside me a demon, not a fairy.
“Enough about fairies and fairy tales. I’ll protect you with everything I have. Sai Ma won’t force you to marry anyone, I swear it. We’re going to run away. Together.”
“You . . . you can make me disappear too?”
“Of course,” I said, sounding more confident than I felt. “We’ll practice together.”
“When?” She was starting to turn giddy. “When can we leave?”
“Soon.” It was one thing to run away, another to have a place to go. “I need time to work on it.”
“Then I’ll wait for you.” Lily’s eyes were bright. “Do you know what the characters for patience are?”
I tilted my head. “Noi sam . . .”
“Means resistant heart,” said my sister softly. “Like yours—and mine.”
Only Lily could sneak a lesson into a moment like this. I hugged her tighter.
She was counting on me. Unlike Yi Gor, I wouldn’t let her down.
An hour from Hong Kong
1980
Marigold
Marigold woke to the pilot’s announcement that they were an hour away from arrival.
“Looks like I slept through breakfast,” she said to her mother groggily. “Are you hungry? I’ve got pastries from home.” From her backpack, she took out pineapple and roast pork buns, both slightly squashed.
Her mother didn’t answer.
“Mom.” Marigold tapped her arm.
Helen turned to her wearing an indecisive frown. “Should I cut my hair?”
“No.” Marigold was taken aback. “It looks pretty as it is.”
Her mother made a humming sound. That wasn’t the answer she had wanted to hear.
“I’m going to cut it,” decided Helen. “I’ll find a hairdresser after we land.”
“Is this because the old man thought you looked familiar?”
