The street I was on had a grocery store, a pharmacy, and a convenience store that had remained open after the closure of nonessential business. Along with new guidelines on how to stay safe, there were still posters in its windows for produce, sales, and, on the outside of the convenience store, ads for the state lottery. play now! buy a ticket and try your luck.
Lotteries were unwinnable in real life but never in movies. There’s that children’s movie about a chocolate factory and the search for five golden tickets, tucked away in chocolate bars. So, if the airlines failed to provide my mother with a ticket, we could always look for one like that. My mother with her golden ticket, waving it around to celebrate that finally she could go home. But in real life, no win is ever unconditional. Once she left, I would be here again without a mother, and while I’d managed before and would again, I was more aware now of the exchange.
I hadn’t seen my father die. I had heard and read the report, the death certificate. I had seen, held, the box of ashes. The two Chinese characters of my name were carved into the stone of his tomb, next to my brother’s and under my mother’s. But it was also possible that he could be anywhere and that he could still surprise me with when he would turn up.
The convenience store I’d just passed was empty except for a dark-haired man behind the counter, face half wrapped in a bandanna, wiping his counters down with a terrycloth. Here was an essential business, as it had always been, and I stopped for a moment in front of the glass.
Doctor-daughter, you’re thinking about me again but there’s really no need. Both of us are very busy.
Never too busy for you, Dad.
Then how’s it going, non-busy daughter? Tell me all about it.
Haven’t figured it all out yet.
But you’ve figured out some.
Some, yes, a very small piece.
So, tell me about that.
During my last year of med school, ten years ago, the Massachusetts Powerball hit a record high. The prize money was something so ridiculous that no sane government would let you keep it without taking at least half in taxes. My father was still alive and in China, but it was during that strange year of no contact between us. The morning before the Powerball was to be drawn, I was standing in line at a convenience store with my breakfast muffin and orange juice, waiting impatiently to check out so I could sprint right back to work. I hadn’t been thinking about my father or mother or brother. I hadn’t been thinking about the gulfs within families or the migrations we have to make or the cost of love.
In line ahead of me was an Asian father-daughter pair. As their items were being rung up, the young girl asked her father if they could buy a ticket for the Powerball. A glowing neon sign above the cash register suggested it, and it was a historic lottery with just a two-dollar wager. The father resisted at first, but then gave in. The daughter picked six numbers and then a minute later took the ticket from the cashier with both hands. She probably wouldn’t win, and I imagined her father knew that. But what could be said of this seemingly frivolous act, a small paper gift that makes the girl happy, which then makes her father happy, which then spurs a, perhaps, normally stoic dad to express how much he cares about the daughter in ways that she can’t yet comprehend. After I’d slid my credit card over to pay for my stuff, I overheard the girl ask what if they did win, what would they buy? They were heading toward the exit and I glanced over at them, the daughter still a head shorter than the father, more engrossed with her ticket of unrealistic promise than with her father’s reply. Win? he said. He opened the door for both of them, standing aside to let her go first. But I’ve already won, I’ve made a life here.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THE WRITING OF THIS book would not have been possible without enormous support along the way.
To both Sigrid and Xuefei for your unparalleled goodness. I really don’t know how else to thank you except to keep writing.
Linda, for her love and care, the decades of sisterhood, and for letting me tag along on quests for great food. Yuying, Xiaoli, and Briana for patiently answering my many, many questions about medicine, hospitals, and doctors and for their one question back, that this story wasn't going to be about them, was it? Caroline and Jamie for their insights and willingness to read the earliest of bad drafts, sent not even in a Word doc but in snippets of text. Thank you, Hooman and Eric, for showing me what attendings do and letting me come on rounds. Michel, for providing that rare combo of whiskey and legal advice.
To all the great friends made in school, at work, on the Great Hill of Central Park, through science, and through writing, thank you for the happy times, game nights, long walks, meals, letters, and messages that cheered me on. Also, to the students, neighbors, door people who have become friends, and are now, constantly, asking me about my next book, thanks for keeping me on schedule.
I have a great agent in Joy Harris, and could not have found a better advocate, sounding board, anchor. Many thanks to everyone in that agency, especially Adam Reed.
I have a great editor in Robin Desser. Thanks for the phone calls, the discussions, and, of course, the notes that made this book infinitely better than I could have. To Clio Seraphim for her astute eye, calming demeanor, and exceptional tech skills. But what I will miss most about our editorial process is sending both of you funny gifs. The entire Random House team, I’m floored by the warmth that you have shown this book and me.
To Michael, my heart. Thanks for reading every scene about seven and a half times and for listening to the long list of my concerns, many repetitive, and for reminding me that it will all be okay. Mr. Biscuit, thanks for being handsome and growing the world’s longest eyelashes. Finally, I’m indebted to my earliest family for the gift of a second language and home in Chinese. To my grandmother and late grandfather, I love and miss you. To my parents for being there from the very start and for showing me how to persevere with grit, to humor with wit.