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Jane stares down at the file, mouth slack, eyes distant. “They’re alive.”
“I know.” August squeezes her knee. “It’s a lot. And I’m sorry if it’s too much. I know you’re still getting used to all this. But… I know you. I can see how much you miss them. And I know what it did to my mom to never know. So, if you think you could do it… well, we were talking about a post-grad road trip.”
Jane looks up at her, finally. Her eyes are wet, but she doesn’t look upset. Nervous, maybe. Overwhelmed. But not angry.
“What would I even say to them? How could I explain this?”
“I don’t know. That’s up to you. You could… you could tell them that you’re Biyu’s granddaughter. You could come up with a story for what happened. Or you… you could tell them the truth and see where that gets you.”
She thinks about it for a long, quiet breath, tracing the shape of her sister with a finger. It’s been fifty years since they saw each other.
“And you’ll come with me?”
“Yes,” August says gently. Jane’s hand slides over the back of hers. “Of course I will.”
A week later, just in time for Christmas, Isaiah drives them to the bus station, Wes in the front seat and the rest of them crammed four-across in the back.
“You’re gonna do great,” Myla says, leaning across Niko to pinch Jane’s cheek. The silver band flashes on her third finger; she and Niko wear matching plain engagement rings now. “They’re gonna love you.”
“Of course they’re gonna love her,” Niko says knowingly. “Did you guys pack snacks?”
“Yes, Dad,” Jane and August monotone in unison.
“Bring me a souvenir,” Wes calls from the front seat.
“Salt and pepper shakers,” Isaiah adds. “We need salt and pepper shakers. Shaped like the Golden Gate Bridge.”
“We don’t need those,” Wes says. He’s been spending more and more time across the hall at Isaiah’s. When he does come home, it’s usually to wordlessly leave a dozen homemade cupcakes on the kitchen counter and vanish back into the night.
“But I want them,” Isaiah whines.
Wes pulls a face. “Okay. Salt and pepper shakers.”
They roll into the bus station ten minutes before the bus is set to depart, Jane’s hand clenched around their tickets. The other four kiss them sloppy goodbyes and wave them off, and they haul their backpacks up and head for the bus doors.
Jane hasn’t worn her ripped jeans or jacket for weeks, settling instead into black skinnies, billowy button-downs, crew neck sweatshirts. But today, her skinnies are paired with the leather jacket from ’77, laid across her shoulders like a second skin. She hasn’t mentioned it, but August thinks she’s hoping it’ll help.
“So, this guy,” Jane says, “Augie’s old boyfriend—he really has my records?”
“Yeah,” August says. She called him when Jane bought the bus tickets, and he’s agreed to meet up with what he’s been told is Jane Su’s second cousin. He’s also meeting August’s mom, who’s flying up to spend the holiday in California and get introduced to August’s girlfriend. It’s a big week. “He said they came in the day Augie left. He never got rid of them.”
“I can’t wait to see them,” Jane says, bouncing restlessly on her heels. “And meet him. And meet your mom.”
“I’m personally looking forward to this life-changing crispy chicken family recipe you keep telling me about,” August replies. Jane’s parents’ restaurant in Chinatown is still open, it turns out. Jane’s sister Barbara runs it.
Jane bites her lip, looking down at the toes of her boots. They’re new—heavy black leather. She’s still breaking them in.
“You know,” Jane says. “My family. If they… well, if it goes okay, they’re gonna call me Biyu.”
August shrugs. “I mean, it’s your name.”
“I’ve been thinking lately, actually.” Jane looks at her. “What would you think about me going by Biyu all the time?”
August smiles. “I’ll call you anything you want, Subway Girl.”
The line keeps shuffling forward until they’re the last ones outside the bus, clutching tickets in clammy palms. Maybe it’s insane to try this. Maybe there’s no way to know exactly how anything will turn out. Maybe that’s okay.
At the door, Jane turns to August. She looks nervous, a little queasy even, but her jaw is set. She lived because she wanted to. There’s nothing she can’t do.
“There’s a very big chance that this could be a disaster,” Jane says.
“Never stopped us before,” August tells her, and she pulls her up the steps.
