Searching for Sylvie Lee by Jean Kwok Page A

for me, he would have dared to stand up to her. He would not have hidden every caress of my hair, every tiny gift.
    I felt the solid warmth of Lukas at my back.
    Helena smiled and spoke to me in Dutch, probably hoping for me to stumble. As always, her accent was flawless. She had been born here. “Sylvie, you are exactly what I had expected.”
    I replied fluently in the same language. “As are you, Cousin Helena.”
    She blinked a moment, taken aback, and then we exchanged three empty air kisses, neither of us touching the other’s skin. I turned to Willem and we did the same, but I felt the urgency of his lips against my cheek, the way his hands clutched my arms. He whispered, his voice trembling with emotion, “I have missed you so, Sylvie.”
    He had always loved me too much, albeit surreptitiously. I pulled away before Helena could notice but also knew it was too late. She had always seen us. I smiled at him and said nothing, only tossed my hair so the diamond studs he had given me glittered. By his quick intake of breath, I understood he recognized them.
    “How is your ma?” he asked, with a furtive glance at Helena, as if trying to distract her.
    “Fine.” I exhaled, relieved. I was glad to distance myself from this excess of emotion. “Ma and Pa are both in good health.”
    Helena chattered as we all went into the kitchen. She was playing the gracious hostess. I had not noticed earlier that they were carrying bags of food from their restaurant, which smelled delicious. But as they were unpacking, Helena said, “This is a bit of a celebration lunch to have our Lukas return to us.”
    I glanced at him. “When did you get back?”
    “Last night. My project was coming to an end and this seemed like a good time not to take on anything else yet.” I heard the words he had not said: since Grandma is dying.
    “Anyway,” Helena said, stepping between us as she set the table with the traditional red glazed Chinese plates I still remembered, “we have brought back his favorite dishes—Szechuan prawns and sea bass braised in black bean sauce. I completely forgot that you are allergic to seafood. I hope you do not find it a difficulty, Sylvie?”
    I stood there a moment, as if she had slapped me. This was the Helena I knew. So quickly did we shed the wisdom and kindness of accumulated years, how easily we reverted to our former selves in the company of those who had known us before. I had just arrived, jet-lagged and exhausted, to the house where I had been a member of this family for the first nine years of my life, and Helena wanted to remind me how much of an outsider I was, how much they did not need me. The ground sank away beneath my feet. The worst was seeing how Lukas’s head snapped up, his eyes widened in shock and cheeks reddened with shame. Willem too stared at Helena, aghast. He clearly had not known what they were bringing home and the message it would send.
    “Mother, I am sure we have food for Sylvie in the refrigerator,” Lukas said, pulling open the fridge door with unnecessary force.
    “Naturally,” said Willem, making an effort to smile at me. We all did such a good job of pretending we believed in Helena’s “accident.” “I can also cook something fresh for you, Sylvie.”
    “Not a problem.” I knew how this game was played. When I was little, I would have slunk to my room and hidden in the blankets, willing myself not to cry. No more. “I am as full as an egg. The way they feed you in first class, it is like they think you are starving,” I lied. Fortunately, I had learned all about humble-bragging from my so-called friends. They often came up with statements like Oh, we’re flying private to our vacation house on the island, not that we do that all the time—just when it’s more convenient .
    Lukas said, “Are you certain, Sylvie? We have—”
    “Oh no,” I said, even though I was willing my stomach not to growl. Hunger makes raw beans sweet, but I smiled and sank with