Her brother scowled, shoulders slumping. “Well, save it, because he hates me now.”
“He doesn’t hate you. He’s probably just surprised. It’s a big change.” She recontextualized the fight she’d seen through the lens of this new information; she recalled the hurt in Tinseng’s eyes, the hissing like a cat backed into a corner. “He might be a little scared too.”
“He doesn’t look scared to me.”
“You might not look upset to him either,” she pointed out gently.
“I’m not upset!” Cheuk-Kwan crossed his arms, then uncrossed them when he realized it contradicted his words. “I just thought—this was the big secret, right? Why he was acting the way he was. And now he knows I know, and the world didn’t end like he thought. So why isn’t he happier about it?”
“Did you tell him you support him? That this doesn’t change how you see him? That you’ll stand by his side no matter what is said about him?”
“I won’t stand by his side no matter what’s said about him. What if he killed someone or something?”
Yukying stared at him meaningfully until he huffed and went on, “I told him, I told him. More or less.” Which Yukying suspected meant no. “He should already know, anyway! I’m his brother.”
But Cheuk-Kwan didn’t look certain anymore and lapsed into silence.
“You always like it when your brothers support you, right, Chiboon?”
“Oh yes, especially da-ge. I mean, who wouldn’t want to impress him? It’s always nice to tell others how you feel about them. That’s why I always tell you how grateful I am for your mercy when we were younger, jiejie, and how sorry I am, once again, for that time with the inkpot.”
Cheuk-Kwan was drinking his juice sullenly now. Yukying and Chiboon shared a glance; Chiboon raised his eyebrows to ask if everything was going to be okay, and Yukying nodded, certain they would be. They’d weathered far worse storms than this.
“It’s alright, you know,” Chiboon said after they’d let Cheuk-Kwan stew a while.
“It’s not,” Cheuk-Kwan muttered.
“But you two have always been like this. And it’s always fine.”
“Why’d you agree to come with us, then?” Cheuk-Kwan huffed. “Who would willingly submit themselves to this?”
“Well, see, I needed to get from London to Naples . . .”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Gladly, gladly. Only . . . can I tell you a secret?”
“I won’t stop you,” Cheuk-Kwan said gruffly. Yukying ducked behind her lemonade glass to hide her smile.
“There was one big reason I agreed when your sister wrote.”
“And that was?”
“I knew it was your idea that she ask me.” Chiboon turned the page of his newspaper, shaking it out so the pages fell into the crease properly. “And I missed you too.”
It was true: When she’d read Tinseng’s letter describing his plan for a European cruise, she had kept the letter on the kitchen table in Cheuk-Kwan’s house and wondered aloud how it would be so nice to join him. But it was just a daydream, a nice thought to pass the time pleasantly; surely Cheuk-Kwan wouldn’t be able to take time off work. After a few days of this, Cheuk-Kwan had snapped at her, saying if she wanted to join Tinseng so badly, just write back and ask, but stop bothering him about it. And while she was at, she should write Chiboon too. As long as they were going to Europe, they might as well try to see that idiot.
“It could have been Tinseng’s idea,” Cheuk-Kwan protested, to which Chiboon raised his eyebrows.
“It could have been, if he was the kind of person to notice when he’s left someone behind. Or the kind of person to make sure everyone gets a turn. Remember our little swimming competitions? He’d steal every prize and hardly even look anyone else’s way. If he remembered to be nice, he might help one of the younger kids. But more often he was too busy showing off for you. Oh, he was happy to hear from me, ecstatic even. But asking Yukying to include everyone? Even Laurence? He isn’t the type, darling, we both know that. Always swanning off on his little adventures. I’m glad he doesn’t invite me. Honestly!” he insisted when Cheuk-Kwan snorted—Yukying knew her brother couldn’t imagine that, not wanting to be invited. “It saves me the trouble of making up excuses why I don’t want to go. Can you imagine? Running all over like that? Exhausting.”
Chiboon looked up from his newspaper to see if his words were having the desired effect. Cheuk-Kwan was tracing lines in the condensation on his glass, his anger slowly draining away; he missed the pleased look that flashed across Chiboon’s face at the sight of his turn in mood. But Yukying was watching and saw the smug satisfaction, and she was grateful once again her brother had such good, loyal friends.
“I should go find him,” Cheuk-Kwan muttered.
Chiboon clucked his tongue. “It can wait.” He waved Cheuk-Kwan’s concern away. “He’s already forgiven you. It’s what older siblings do. Right, jiejie?”
“Right,” she confirmed with a firm, cheerful nod.
With renewed hope that her brothers might return home with their misunderstandings behind them, Yukying was in a buoyant mood all the way through lunch. Across the dining hall, she saw Marissa and Lucas Grodescu eating at their table, but even that could not deter her from thoroughly enjoying her conversation with Mrs. Lanzette about Spanish fan painting and Yan Yangchu’s Mass Education Movement. After the soup, Mr. Grodescu rose and left early. Shan Dao and Tinseng left soon after. Yukying watched them go and could not help looking over at Marissa again, only to be caught: Marissa’s smile held no real warmth, but at least she didn’t look too angry. Then Marissa, still staring, rose and left the dining room.
Yukying followed into the women’s bathroom down the hallway. Their eyes caught again in the mirror as they washed their hands. Yukying smiled warmly.
“Mrs. Grodescu! Good afternoon—how are you?”
“Very well,” Marissa replied, not as cold as she had been the last time they spoke. “You seem in good spirits.”
“I am, you know, I really am.” Over the intercom, the captain announced they were pulling into Barcelona’s port. “I’m very much looking forward to Barcelona. Spain is so beautiful; the pictures don’t do it justice. Have you ever visited before?”
“Yes, many times. It is beautiful. You should visit Seville, if you return.”
“How wonderful! I’ll keep that in mind.” An impulse seized her and she asked, “Do you like Spanish wine?”
“I do.”
“Would you meet me for a drink later?” With a little mischief, she leaned in and added, “You could tell your husband you’re spying on me.”
