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Thema B

Thema B: Holding Pattern

by Jenny Xie

1
Heartbreak was its own kind of incandescence that morning, scrubbing the world raw with its
2
floodlight. I felt acutely out of place among Marin’s1 pristine streets and quaint signage, its
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veneer of health and wealth an insult I couldn’t answer. As we entered the bridal shop, my
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mother wrapped a hand around my biceps and squeaked her excitement […].

5
Inside the shop, a series of alcoves illuminated a froth of white dresses. The other clients
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were expensively dressed, model-esque women with the exception of a boy in a basketball
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jersey […], frowning at the handheld Nintendo between his knees. I cast a line of hope in his
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direction, seeking an acknowledgment of our mutual misery, but he kept his eyes trained on
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the game.

10
“Good morning, ladies!” A bridal consultant tottered toward us, legs bound by a black
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pencil skirt. “Welcome to Francesca’s,” she said in chirping tones.
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My mother fitted her sunglasses onto the crown of her head, removing her hand from my
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arm. My grief swelled again to the boundary of skin. “Hi, I’m Marissa – we have ten o’clock
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meeting.” Her halting English, which I’d grown accustomed to, newly rankled in the marmoreal2
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perfection of the shop. “This my daughter, Kathleen. Today she find the dress for wedding.”

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The consultant, who introduced herself as Greta, pumped my hand. “So exciting!
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Congratulations on the engagement, Kathleen.”
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“Actually, she’s the one getting married. I’m her maid of honor,” I said.
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Greta’s smile froze. “Oh, that’s wonderful. Why don’t you girls come back with me?”
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As we followed her, my mother whispered in Mandarin, “Let’s have fun. Don’t worry about
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how much it is.”

22
This excursion, and the Big Sur3 wedding that was three months away, was being financed
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by her fiancé. Brian Lin owned a software company called Wayfindr that, as far as I could
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understand it, leveraged personal data and real-time location to herd people into buying lattes
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or visiting the zoo. When they had started dating a little more than two years ago, my mother
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had said “I’m going to love him” in the same tone she might have used for “I’ll finally be able to
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redo the kitchen.”

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Money had always been elusive for us. We were diligent with our frugality, elevating it to
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a kind of morality – especially after my parents’ divorce. Birthday parties I attended caused
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agonizing negotiations over the spending limit, and inevitable shame when the kid unwrapped
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a mountain of presents more titillating than mine. Trips to the movies were tolerated only if we
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strung together three back-to-back screenings. I learned the strange pleasure of self-denial, of
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trying on a pair of jeans I’d lusted after for weeks only to slough them off and leave the would-
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be version of myself hanging in the dressing room. In that way, everything in my adolescence
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was calculated against assimilation, every precious dollar diverted from the frivolity of fitting in
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bringing us closer to the middle class. At the grocery store, my mother paused in each aisle as
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she sifted through the stack of coupons she’d dutifully harvested from the mail. Often, by a
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trick of sales and double coupons, the store owed her cash at the register. It had seemed like
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a triumph, however measly, over the system.

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Now we entered a cavern of dresses arranged by color, the fabrics a rustling hedge of
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satin and silk. I had never liked frills, to my mother’s frustration. Warmth crept up my cheeks. I
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felt as though I were choosing lingerie in front of an audience.

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“My bridemaid wearing pink, purple,” my mother told Greta. She tapped her phone,
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enlarged the Pinterest image – Brian must have shown her how to use the app – and held the
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screen aloft. “I think long dress. My daughter like a size six.”
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“Ten,” I amended.
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“So pretty,” said Greta, nodding at the screen. “Any preference in neckline?”
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“Not strapless,” I said, my words colliding with my mother’s, “No straps.”
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Greta laughed, exposing a long incisor. “Opinionated women! Okay, let me just grab a
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couple of dresses that I think you’ll adore, and I’ll meet you in the dressing room.”

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The private room had a trifold mirror at one end and a padded bench at the other. My
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mother set down her bag and began walking heel-toe, heel-toe toward her reflection, her body
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contoured by performance wear. I’d only been back in California for a week and I was still
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adjusting to the new Marissa Cheng. This woman was happier than the one I’d grown up with,
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more robust. This woman was empowered and had means – or at least she would be marrying
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her means atop a seaside bluff come August. With her new fiancé, she sailed under the Golden
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Gate Bridge, hiked, climbed sandstone boulders, ran loops in the Oakland hills. All things
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unimaginable for the Marissa I knew, who had spent her spare hours cleaning the house and
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watching television, a bottle of wine beside her. But now, as she described her recent outings
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with Brian, my gaze grew slack, and her face separated into two overlapping orbs. Then I
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studied the unfamiliar features. It wasn’t that the nose had grown or the lips had migrated, it
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was that I was seeing her from the perspective of a stranger, as if for the first time.

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There were, of course, real physical changes: at fifty-three, my mother had always been
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petite, but now she was trim, her hair smartly angled toward her jaw. Her recent weight loss
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had revealed the delicate planes of her face, like petals flaking away from a shrouded bud.
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She had traded her mom capris and department-store blouses for athletic gear. In her spandex
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pants and fleece half-zips, she looked sporty and self-possessed, the type of woman who
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might race up a switchback4 with a mantra pulsing in her chest: If it doesn’t challenge you, it
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doesn’t change you. I missed the old Marissa.

1Marin – Marin County, California, county in the San Francisco Bay Area

2marmoreal – made of or resembling marble

3Big Sur – section of Central Coast region of California, popular as a scenic venue for weddings

4switchback – a road which goes up a steep hill in a series of sharp bends

984 words

Xie, J. (2023). Holding Pattern. New York: Riverhead Books. pp. 1-5.

Assignments

1.

Outline the information on Marissa Cheng and the changes in her life.

(20 %)

2.

Analyze how the narrator’s emotional state is conveyed. Focus on narrative techniques and use of language.

(40 %)

3.

Choose one of the following tasks:

3.1

Taking Kathleen’s and her mother’s situation as a starting point, assess to what extent socio-economic status plays a role in the integration of immigrants into U.S. society.

or

3.2

The New York Times has invited young people to submit contributions to their annual writing contest, this year’s topic being “The American Dream Revisited”. Participants have been given the following statement by former Vice President Kamala Harris from 2017, when she was a Democratic senator representing the state of California: “[…] the American dream belongs to all of us, not just the wealthy or powerful.”

Write an article for the contest, discussing whether Harris’ claim holds true today.

(40 %)

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