The minutes we have left before breakfast really aren't enough for all the kissing we want to do, but it's awkward to linger while listening to the shuffling of flight attendants outside the curtain wondering if Violette might maybe want to have sex with them now. After redressing and stealing a few more moments alone, we haphazardly fold up the used blankets and retreat to our seats before any of them get bold enough to ask.

Not that our exit completely stops them from making moves. Violette's small breakfast is delivered with a torn slip of paper holding a name and cell phone number from the attendant serving her, and then the woman with beverages behind her writes hers and a hotel address on Violette's drink napkin. Later, once our trash is collected, one of the male flight attendants asks if she wants anything else, and that's how she gets a pile of two-cookie packets and another phone number. I've never actually seen the desperate blueballs behavior from strangers she's ignored like this, only listened to her describe it. Their thoughts telegraph that they're burning up inside, so I shouldn't laugh. I don't! But it's hard.

"Are you safe fending them off while I go change?" I ask when we're about an hour out. The fasten-seat-belt sign is sure to turn on soon, so it's best I defemme myself before then.

"They're nothing compared to teenage boys," she murmurs, hardly loud enough to reach my ears.

No doubt. She mentioned some of her high-school harem took their dismissal from her service badly. They didn't fall in love with her like me, she claims, but I find that hard to believe. Who wouldn't fall for her, if not right away, over time? Especially a bunch of teenage boys.

On that note, she gets one more lovey-dovey, non-boy kiss from me before I climb over her and head to the bathroom with my backpack.

* * *

Earlier, when Violette was slowly enwitching the staff, I started to think it might've been less effort to just have sex in the bathroom. Next time, we could try that. It's the classic, right? However, judging by how much changing in here sucks, I'm not so sure.

Getting the makeup off with a few wipes is simple, but then where do I put my cardigan that isn't gross when I need to remove my scarf, dress, bra, and padding? The bottom of my backpack is soaking up splashed, soapy sinkwater since I couldn't bear to put it on the floor, and there's nowhere else. The hinges on it indicate the toilet had a lid at some point, but no longer. Bleh.

Settling, I hang the garment off the barely jutting-out lock and try not to bump it to the ground while I'm pulling pants over my boots and leggings (too much work to remove them). Then the top bits go in my bag, and I replace them with a v-neck tee and slip the cardigan back on. Society will take my cute cardis out of my cold dead hands, okay? Lastly, I tie my hair back. Between the change of clothes, removal of makeup, and the uncovering of my jaw and neck, the girl effect is significantly diminished, even if I'm not exactly the masc-est of mascs.

Relieved to escape, I leave the bathroom behind--only to find Violette giggling in her aisle seat while the tall flight attendant woman whispers something in her ear.

"Excuse me," I say from behind her. Try not to sound too pointed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I... uh?" She blinks at me.

I smile at her, just as sweet as before, but I can perceive her reassessing me from the inside out.

A... boy?

No, not that either, I helpfully insert at the end of that thought, causing her to squint. Aloud, I say, "Láo jià, can I get to my seat?"

"Of course! 不好意思. I hope you and M-Miss Violette have a pleasant stay in Shanghai." She bows clumsily as conflicted thoughts (those I can understand) ping around her mind. Before she can say anything else to Violette, the PA system dings, and she scuttles away to the back of the plane.

I wait for her to vanish fully before leaning back to Violette. "Wow, she got a name out of you. That one's got game."

"Just being nice," Violette says, and then she presses a pack of cookies into my palm like it's payment for my cooperation.

* * *

"Daddy!"

Once we're out of the plane and have ascended the ramp into the road to customs, Violette runs to give her dad a hug. They got out first and waited, since we had to come all the way from the tail of the plane.

I eye Jett, who eyes me right back. His visible weariness from the morning (so long ago) has returned, and I can't say I'm much better. I ran my energy down softening up all the flight attendants, but then we barely needed it thanks to Violette's overwhelming force. Maybe I should've reserved some for the next few hours.

"You have a good time away from the peasants?" I ask him. At the same time, Eric is excitedly telling Violette about the food they had in first class, while she nods with interest at the blurry photos on his phone. He is terrible with technology, which is probably why he's the last pure soul on this Earth.

"It was pleasant, though it made me more aware of not having it the rest of the time. Perhaps I belong with the peasants. But the extra space was a godsend." Jett pauses, then glances at Eric and Violette. "Any trouble for you two?"

"There's always trouble with us, Uncle Jett, you know that!" I pat his thick bicep companionably as I shift my backpack on my shoulders.

He sighs and, to my surprise, rests his hand on top of my head. "I do know that. But you look after her. Thank you."

"Come on," I say, pulling away as I feel my body flush with embarrassment I'm too tired to tamp down. His sincerity is much worse than any sarcasm. "We're going to be late to our full-body cavity searches at this rate."

"Aw, nobody's getting one of those! The guys and gals are real nice here," Eric says. He turns and gestures that we follow him.

Violette's holding his hand already. Hey! I got fucking sniped! Well, I did spend the whole flight with her, so I guess I'll allow it. I shove my hands into my cardigan's pockets instead.

As we trudge through the long stretch of hallways that takes us to customs, I'm too tired to be anxious. Not like I actually brought anything I shouldn't have, other than a VPN on my phone to bypass the internet blocks Violette warned me about. She may be an airhead about most things, but phone access is important enough to her that she took the preparation very seriously.

Speaking of, she takes a selfie as we walk, releasing her dad's hand and making a limp peace sign against her cheek while she does it. I think she's the least tired of the four of us, thanks to my help (warm, fuzzy feeling there), but there's still circles under her eyes that her makeup only somewhat covers. That's international travel for you. We don't have wi-fi yet, or she might be posting some of her pictures. She hasn't posted anything with me in it yet, but she should soon.

I hope.

The airport is so quiet in this area, wide open but mostly empty except for a few other passengers. I expected something dingier, more industrial, but the floors and walls are bright and light as we turn left and right and left again down corridors that vary in size, bypassing the airport's terminals either above or below us. I've watched a lot of movies and videos in Mandarin for listening practice the last few months--call that 学习 and not 勉強--so I have more context for the China of today than many Americans would, but I still imagined someplace old and worn. Silly in retrospect.

Even the customs area is a fresh, modern white, with neatly arranged channels next to glass-encased booths that can pass many arriving passengers through with great efficiency. It reminds me plenty of Narita Airport. As I glance around at the others filling the lines to exit, it's a diverse crowd, although Jett and I are definitely in the minority.

Eric and Violette are on existing visas while we're on new ones, so after a brief exchange of hugs we split off from them in our own line. I'm so wiped I can barely pick up anything, which is actually great because Jett might as well be made of spiders for how creepy-crawly his anxiety feels from the small taste I get.

"Calm down, man, it's just customs," I tell him with a nudge of my elbow.

"I know, I know. I just don't want to get separated. Our phones aren't working yet. What if they get held up?"

"They'll probably beat us out and be waiting right there. It's gonna be easy."

Jett sighs deeply and cracks his neck. "You're right, but it's the homestretch, so I can't help but think of nightmare scenarios."

We fall into an uncomfortable silence, both picturing our own version of that. There's no reason to catastrophize, but what else are you supposed to do when the line's slow and you have all the time in the world?

When we reach the head of the line, Jett goes ahead of me. His posture is stiff but obedient, demure even, as he has his photo taken and his passport inspected. Will he lie about the reason he's here? Pretend he's marrying a Chinese woman, not a Chinese man? Just say he's visiting his spouse's family, which is true? It's funny that some people look at Jett and see a large, threatening Black man, not a softhearted, neurotic pushover. I've seen people cross the street to avoid him; racism is very stupid. I dodge some of that nonsense by being slender and not as dark, but I still hear the bullshit that people think, let alone say.

I used to fantasize about bettering the whole human race. Wanted to be a therapist too, thought I might be able to dig into people's problems and fix them from the inside out. Last time around, I decided it was too much trouble to help; I wanted to make people worse instead. This time, I've mostly kept my head down, but now I feel like I'm locked in a stalemate between my heart and my desires, wondering who I'll become.

My dad told me not to change my grandparents, and I listened--I don't regret that. But Violette told me to change Christy, and I don't regret that either. Then again, Christy barely needed a push to embrace her succubus side. Same with Jett. We remembered the tension between us so much, too much. Playing with the two of them felt almost like freebies, violations I could justify. That's not how it used to be. I knew what I was doing was wrong, and didn't try to justify anything--just took, and took, and took.

The customs agent calls for the next person. I see Jett smiling at me from the other side, holding his passport up as if to say "I made it!" Something in the way he looks at me makes my head hurt. Hating someone is a lot easier than caring about them.

Lost in that thought, I follow in his footsteps and hardly notice my answers to the polite stranger's softly accented questions. I have the address where we're staying, I'm here with my girlfriend's family, leaving in the early new year. Sounds so simple when you put it like that, but I have a feeling it's not going to feel that way. A premonition, if you will. Something's gotta force me out of this stasis I've fallen into. Violette already gave me the push I needed. The rest is in my hands.

The customs agent returns my passport to me before I can even realize he's done. It feels much lighter than it did when I packed it.

"Have a pleasant stay," he says in a clipped voice.

"Thank you--xièxie," I reply, and then hurry to where Jett, since joined by Eric and Violette, are waiting for me.

* * *

All of our luggage, four SIM cards, and no cavity searches later, we make it out of the cordoned-off part of the airport into the general arrivals area. nEric is trying and failing to get his phone to connect to the network so he can call his brother when Violette says "伯伯!"

She points at the profile of a thin man around Jett's height in the distance. He's standing what must be a hundred yards away across the long stretch of speckled linoleum, near one of the many exits. I'd be surprised she spotted him, but his height, despite a slight stoop, does make him stand out.

"是吗?" Eric stops what he's doing and follows the direction of her finger before breaking into a grin. "It sure is! 大哥, hey, over here!"

Alas, no matter how loud Eric is--enough that he startles several passersby--and how dramatically he waves his arm, it's really too far to catch Bo-Wen's attention unless he turns this way. Without another word, we start hiking toward him, our luggage wheeling behind us. There's a collective tiredness that keeps our conversation to a minimum, but we know our goal. Everyone just wants to get to Bo-Wen and get our ride out of here.

Eric tries calling for him again when we're most of the way there, and this time Bo-Wen hears him and turns. He doesn't call back, just nods and raises one hand in greeting.

"You made it," he says when we reach him, his voice measured and calm, with a mild Chinese accent from learning English later in life, I suppose.

"We did!" Eric does not match his brother's understated level of enthusiasm and instead wraps Bo-Wen in one of his crushing hugs.

I don't think he minds, but it could be that Eric's feelings, the loudest thing around, are drowning out any discomfort I might sense from Bo-Wen. Still, he doesn't struggle or complain, so he really might be fine with it. Eric's his sweet little brother, right? Size difference or not. I do have some memories of the affection my heart crafted when Jett and Violette were my fake siblings, so while I've never had a real one, I think I can imagine the fond exasperation he's going through.

Eric lets go of Bo-Wen eventually. He adjusts his glasses and straightens his buttoned shirt, then shifts his eyes to us and smiles slightly.

I can compare him to the photo albums now. Up close, he's about an inch taller than Jett; with any other brother than Eric, I'm sure he'd be the tallest. However, unlike Eric, he has an undeniable skinny nerd quality, from his wireframe glasses to the way his narrow shoulders curve forward and down. He must habitually stoop over his patients, or maybe he's done it since he was a kid. He's in his early forties but looks like he could be closer to fifty, with white streaking the short black hair at his temples and age spots dotting his face. Despite that, he's got a certain charm to him that didn't come through in the photos, and he can smile, in a moderate way that reminds me of Violette. He seems... nice, actually. Certainly less severe than I was expecting.

He greets Jett first with a handshake, thanking him for taking care of his younger brother. Next, he opens his arms to Violette, who was hanging back behind Eric until then. At the invitation, she steps forward and pushes her face into his chest and hugs him. Aw. I guess she does like her uncle. She was never very good at articulating her feelings on her family when I asked, and I didn't push.

He pats her on the head when she's done hugging him, neither of them having exchanged a word. Cute. I wondered if some of her family would be reserved like her, since Eric is as outgoing as you get, and his mom loves to talk too.

"You must be Oran. The non-binary nephew," Bo-Wen says to me, his hand still on Violette's head.

"That's me. The only one. They haven't made any others yet." I don't know why I said that. I'm trying to make a good impression, but I really want to go to bed. The snark filter turned itself off.

"You'll have to talk to my sister about that. She'll be very surprised."

"Pardon?" I ask, trying to parse that and failing.

"One of her children also identifies that way, so she'd be surprised to hear there's only one. Isn't it getting more common these days, despite all the fuss?"

Violette nods as he says it, then seems to process more of his words. She stops for several long seconds, then finally asks, "One of my cousins is non-binary too? Which one?"

"Well, it's--no, I'm not supposed to use that name anymore. But they used to--I suppose telling you that isn't allowed either. It's a bit hard to explain, isn't it?"

Hey. This guy's supposed to be a doctor, isn't he? I assumed he would be a mega-genius like my mom, but could it be that he's just as socially inept as Violette? Like when people joke about making a character who's all intelligence and no wisdom or charisma? I might end up liking him more than I expected.

"You can just tell her which one they are by age," I point out. My stats are very well-balanced, thank you. I've never played a tabletop game but, you know, approximate knowledge and all that.

"Oh, yes, true. You'll see them when they arrive next week. They're her oldest. They're going by Grackle now."

"Like the bird?" I ask, trying not to laugh when I think about naming yourself after an ugly bird with an even uglier name. He nods. Yup, that's my people. Lovingly, some of us are so fucking cringe. I do sympathize--I lucked out and like my birth name, but I'm sure it's hard to find the right one when you didn't. Still. Grackle!

"Ohhh, I know who you mean, cool," Violette says, and then she yawns so large and long that I worry her jaw might get stuck in that position. Then Eric matches her, and soon we're all yawning.

"My apogies for chatting when we should be getting you home. My wife is waiting with the car, please follow me," Bo-Wen says. Sweeter words were never spoken.

The inside of the airport we just walked through wasn't that different from any airport in the U.S. or Japan, despite the Chinese signs that I kept expecting to make more sense than they did. As we step outside, I still feel the same. The pickup and drop-off areas are filled with taxis and other vehicles slotting in and out of spaces, busy people hopping out and dragging luggage, the cars that deposited them pulling away as soon as they can, waved on by airport staff. Despite the different faces and languages, the rhythm of the world is so recognizable in places like this, where globalization has its teeth sunk deep.

When a white Toyota SUV pulls up to us, I just have to laugh. This is what I'm talking about. Wherever you go, there your brands are. Then, I notice the driver stepping out of the car, and suddenly I can't stop laughing.

"Violette... you didn't... I can't believe you..." I say in between hiccups of sound. It gets so bad I have to wipe at my watering eyes, which sting with the remnants of the eyeliner I messily wiped away on the plane.

Everyone is staring at me, including Bo-Wen's lovely wife, but--come on! First Violette has a non-binary cousin she didn't know about, and now I find out that her uncle, the golden child who can do no wrong, has a Black wife? Wasn't that an important detail? Wouldn't that have been a helpful thing to know about so I could spend my worrying dollars elsewhere? My dad had to work for my mom's family's acceptance, so I was picturing something like that. Come to find out the Li family had dealt with this little hurdle before Jett came along? Am I going to find out Sheena is a polyamorous lesbian next?

I can tell when Violette realizes why I'm losing it, because she blushes.

"Oh. Um. I was eleven last time I saw her, so I didn't notice?" she mutters.

No!!! Don't just say you didn't notice, I'll die!!! I clutch my sides and try, desperately, to control myself.

"Something I did?" Bo-Wen's poor wife asks. She cocks her head but smiles good-naturedly. She's just a chubby, forty-something light-skinned woman with a thick bundle of cornrows tied behind behind her shoulders, she really doesn't deserve to be laughed at like this, but--ahhhh! I can't stop!

Okay. Okay. I think it's passing. Breathe.

I wish I had the energy to make everyone watching forget the last minute and a half, but there's not a chance. The only mercy is that Eric and Jett went to help Bo-Wen load the suitcases rather than stay and gawk at my hysteria.

"Nothing! Nothing." By sheer force of will, I straighten up and carve a smile onto my face, silencing my fit. If I look insane, I hope she has the good graces not to say or think it. "It's so nice to meet you, really! I am just so tired."

"It's nice to meet you too, honey!" she says, her smile as warm as a cinnamon cookie. My aunties were never this sweet. "I'm Jenna. Did Violette not tell you about me? She was so little last time I saw her. I hope she didn't forget me."

"I remembered you, Aunt Jenna," Violette says defensively. I can practically hear her adding "Just not your color" in her head.

"Cars loaded up," Eric calls as he slams the trunk shut.

"Great! Bo-Wen, you take the wheel! It was scary enough doing the circuit around the airport," Jenna says. He puts his hand on her arm, the two of them sharing a silent smile, before he passes her to get in the driver's seat. I climb into the back of the SUV before anyone else can, and I am so glad the only person who gets into the backrow with me is Violette.

* * *

It's dark as we draw into the city, Shanghai flashing by us in bursts of neon and white light. The roadway weaves past storefronts, hotels, homes, and towers built both for business and apartments. This is where the place finally feels different from what I know. While I could compare it to Tokyo, Shanghai somehow has a more chaotic energy to it. There's people everywhere, and there are flashes of old, old streets, glimpses back in time that go beyond the well-maintained shrines or historical sites I know. Streets here have the sort of history people never stopped living.

I lean against the window, Violette laying against my shoulder, and try to stay awake. There's something to be said for how much riding in the backseat brings you back to being a kid, especially when everyone else in the car is some sort of older family figure. As the road flows under us, I imagine I'm a passenger on Charon's barge being ferried along to my final resting place. Which, in this case, is going to be a bed. And it won't be final. Details, details.

In the end, lulled by the rhythm of Violette's steady breathing and the blurry lights outside the SUV's window, I fall asleep.

* * *

One more dream. This is my own I think. The absence of the usual blonde main character is notable, for one thing. For another, she would never stick me in the middle of a nightmare like this. I'm stuck with a hundred variations of myself, all of us at each other's throats, fighting over some catalyst we don't remember. The only one who's above the fray is the old me, smirking in the distance while I try to reach them and wipe that stupid look of their face, if only everyone else wouldn't keep dragging me back.

When I do reach them, bloody and bruised from fighting off the rest of my endless possibilities, I hate them even more for how unaffected they look. Then, the perspective shifts, and I see myself through them, the blood running from my nose and split lip, the fire in my eyes as I clench my fists and lunge--only to find myself merging into them, their loneliness and their contempt filling my lungs like oil as I choke and gasp for air.

Caring so much that I fought like I had something to save was my first mistake. What a loser. It was so much easier to stay above it all, warping the world until it fit my fantasies. Even Violette--one day, I would've figured out a way to get inside her and carve away her sharp edges, her possessiveness and her secret thoughts, until she was really the perfect girl.

I wake up to the sound of Jett calling my name, and have to remember that I'm not ninteen, that my parents aren't gone, and that there's better things in this life than always getting my way.