Page 97 of Angel of Thursdays

MAY

THE TWENTY-FIFTH THURSDAY

May reinstalled WeChat on the 29 on a Thursday morning because the alternative was doing it at home, alone, where the notifications would detonate into silence and he’d have to sit with whatever his mother had been saying into the void for six weeks. Better to do it on a bus where there were witnesses and he couldn’t reasonably throw his phone out a window without there being larger issues.

The bus rocked through the park. His thumb hovered over the download confirmation and he pressed it and he should have done this on the Wi-Fi at home but he hadn’t had the forethought.

He opened up the app, spent far too long trying to log back in, and was on the verge of tears when everything came back. There were thirty-nine whole notifications. Lower, actually, than what he’d expected—his mom must have given up around week three. The scroll upwards in the family group chat was stickers and articles and voice memos he was not going to play on public transit or realistically ever.

Eventually he gave up, found her individual profile, and called his mother.

Teresa picked up before the second ring. Either she was always holding her phone or she’d felt the psychic disturbance of her son reappearing on the platform.

“Huang Wuyue ah Huang Wuyue. You remembered you have a phone.”

Oh, good.

“Hello, Mother.”

“Where have you been? I’ve been calling⁠—”

“I know, I switched phones. I couldn’t get back into WeChat because of… logging in issues.” It was basically true. “I wanted to come over for dinner. With my—” He looked out the window, focusing on a jogger in a crop top. “—boyfriend. His name is Cassiel.”

“New phone?” she said doubtfully. “Who gave you money for a new phone?”

“Nobody, it was a⁠—”

“Wuyue, you can’t afford a new phone. You need to start being sensible about your money. Your dad and I⁠—”

“Okay! Fine! There’s no new phone!” May snapped, then realized he was being too loud. He lowered his voice, shrinking back in his seat. “I deleted WeChat for space. Mama. Dinner. Next Thursday. My boyfriend.”

Silence. He wondered if she was going to dig in on the boyfriend part, even though they’d been over this.

“What’s his Chinese name?” she asked.

“What? He doesn’t have one. He’s Korean. Cassiel is his English name.”

“Koreans have Chinese names.”

May stared upwards. He was not annoyed. He definitely was not annoyed. “I don’t know. Why does it matter?”

“Well I can’t say Cashier.”

“Cass-ee-el.”

“Are you with him? Ask him what his Chinese name is.”

“Oh my God,” he groaned. “Mama, is Thursday okay or not?”

“Thursday is good.”

“Good! Thursday. We’ll be over at… six thirty? Seven?”

“Six,” she said, which wasn’t even one of the options. Then, still holding the phone to her face but yelling across the house: “Your son is bringing a friend for dinner next week!”

The bus was coming out of the park. Through the window, the trees thinned into road and the light changed and May lightly thudded his forehead against the glass, which was probably dirtier than it looked.

“Bye, Mama, I’m getting off the bus. See you on Thursday.”