One of the first principles of arithmetic every good student learns is that it is impossible to divide by zero. We believe for years when our teachers tell us that the quotient of any number divided by zero does not exist. And then we take calculus.

Now, let’s replace the denominator “zero” with a very small number like 0.1. Well, that would result in a very large quotient, wouldn’t it? And if we made the denominator even smaller? 0.01? 0.001? 0.0001? The quotient would just keep getting bigger and bigger the closer and closer the denominator gets to zero. We could get infinitely close to zero by adding more and more zeros to the denominator’s decimal places, and the result would just keep getting larger and larger to infinity.

Calculus calls this an infinite limit. Basically, the limit is the number that “y” approaches as “x” approaches zero in the function “y=1/x”. The thing is, although we say the limit is infinity, it also, technically doesn’t exist either. Just think about it. How can a limit be infinity? A limit necessitates a cap. An end. A cessation of the behavior. 

So what does all this have to do with the too perfect, overly charming Mr. Zixin Zhang?

Absolutely nothing at all.

Except that, as the awkward family dinner progresses, I can’t stop imagining my parents and I are arguing about the existence of a limit. I try to sit with Gugu, but Zixin obtrusively chooses the middle seat opposite my niece and nephew, leaving only the edge seats open for Yuchen, Daiyu, Gugu, and, of course, me. Ma smiles and Pa hums approvingly as I begrudgingly sit next to Zixin, as if shoving us closer together will somehow make it more likely for me to suddenly fall in love with him. Amatures. 

Don’t they realize that all their efforts to set me up are for not? No matter how close this y chromosome gets to my x, he will never touch it. The limit does not exist! “Oh, but it does,” they seem to say. “It’s infinity.”

I make a disparaging comment like, “I’ve never had a boyfriend before,” hoping this Zhang fellow takes a hint. The limit does not exist. There is nothing there and never will be. My mother says, “Mei has very, very high standards when it comes to men.” The limit is infinity. Only the perfect man will do for me and apparently Zixin Zhang is “it”. 

I ignore him sitting next to me completely, asking Daiyu to pass me a rice ball even though it’s closer to him. The limit does not exist. I’m the common denominator in every failed potential relationship my parents have concocted over the years, and I’m zero. He can never approach me, no matter how hard he tries, because I have no love to give. 

He passes me the requested rice ball before my sister can, smiling at me with that creepy smile, and Ba nods approvingly from his place at the head of the table. The limit is infinity. “He’s already attentive to your needs without any prompting,” that nod seems to say. “Imagine how well he’ll take care of you once you’re married.”

Zixin asks me about my job: “I’m married to my work.”

He asks if I ever want children: “I have hundreds of children already. My niece, nephew, and all of my students. I don’t need any more.”

“What about pets?” he asks. 

“If I ever got a pet it would be a cat, preferably one that scratches unwanted visitors so I don’t have to make up excuses why they shouldn’t bother me in the first place.” 

“Well that works out perfectly,” he smiles. 

“Excuse me?”

“I really admire career women. I would never dream of asking my wife to not work. And I’m so busy with my job too, I would feel bad if I ever had children, like I was neglecting them. Not giving them enough attention. So I guess an antisocial cat who doesn’t require much would be ideal for both of us. I actually really like cats. Had one as a kid.”

I stare, dumbfounded. 

How can anyone be this dense? I’ve surely never met anyone so completely, hopelessly oblivious. Can’t he take a hint?

“What kind of cat did you have, Zixin?” Yuchen takes over the conversation when I don’t respond. 

Somehow I make it to the end of dinner without excusing myself from the table, but when Daiyu and Yuchen take the kids upstairs to play, my parents pounce. Well, more like bite down harder. 

“Zixin,” my father says in his well-practiced English, “what were you telling me just yesterday about your restaurant?” 

“Oh! Yes,” Zixin daps his mouth with his napkin before he continues speaking, “Our grand opening of our third location is next Friday evening.” He shines with obvious pride, and well, perhaps he should be proud. I might even congratulate him as friends do, if only he didn’t continue talking. “I’d be honored if you would accompany me to the event, Miss Mei.”

“No, thank you.” 

“Mei, be polite!” Ma scolds. 

“I was polite. I said thank you.”

“Miss—” 

“Madam or Ms please. I’m far too old for Miss.”

Zixin barely even bats an eye at my behavior as he says, undeterred, “I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you, and I would like to continue to do so. If you are busy this Friday or if the event is too much pressure, perhaps we could grab coffee sometime—”

“I actually am busy this Friday, but even if I wasn’t I would still say no, and not because I dislike the idea of either a fancy party or lowkey coffee.”

“Watch your tone, young lady, and apologize this instant.”

“No, I will not,” I tell my mother. “I do not owe this man my time or attention.”

Then Zixin has the audacity to chuckle. “I see you are just as tenacious as Yuchen warned me you’d be.”

“It’s good you have been warned. I was about to apologize for my parents’ behavior in dragging you here under false pretenses, but it appears that is unnecessary.”

“Mei! How dare you disrespect your parents!”

Zixin raises a hand in peace to my mother. “No, no. A clever and careful woman is difficult to find and even more difficult to win. I would not want one who gave herself to every man who propositioned her, so I will wait patiently until I have proved myself worthy and have earned your trust.”

My stomach churns uncomfortably at his oily words. No one can be this persistent, right?  “What did my father offer you? Loopholes to hide a cool million?”

“That is enough, daughter,” Ba says sternly. “You have been nothing but rude to my business associate all evening and have brought shame and disgrace upon this family.”

“As I have done for the past decade.”

“You will apologize immediately to us and Mr. Zhang.”

His tone, hard as ice, leaves no room for argument. I know instinctively if I do not do as he says now, I will be thrown from my parents house indefinitely. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

But the guilt always inevitably follows. Gugu saying she misses me. Daiyu pleading with me to make up with our parents. Yuchen telling me how they secretly wish to see me. But above all else—the real reason I always comply to their demands eventually—if I can’t handle an adult relationship with my parents, really, I’d just be disappointed in myself. 

Suddenly I feel very juvenile. Like a petulant child who hasn’t yet learned to just agree with the parents when they’re upset. To “yes, ma’am” and “no, sir” until they back off, and I can slip away to get on with my actual life. To agree to the date now and just not show up later. 

Swallowing my pride, I force myself to say in as submissive tone as possible, “I apologize for disrespecting you and Ma. I… should never have implied you used unscrupulous methods to encourage this man to…” To what? Marry me? Date me? “... show interest in me romantically.”

Ba listens intently to my apology, nodding in satisfaction. I bite back more of my pride. Bite back the desire to demand they apologize too. There is just no point in arguing. I can be the mature one here. 

“And your apology to Mr. Zhang?”

Maybe. 

“There is no need to apologize,” Zixin says slowly in awkward, unpracticed Mandarin. “Ms. Huang, it is I who must apologize for not being more forthright.” 

He wants to be more forthright? I close my eyes, preparing for more nonsense, but his tone of voice surprises me. 

Less pretentious, more vulnerable, almost… sincerely he says, “The truth is, I have grown quite fond of your family. As an orphan from a young age, I have never been happier than these past few months that I have spent in your family’s company. It’s true that your mother did express interest in pairing me with you romantically, but I initially did not even consider it, as I didn’t know you. But the more Yuchen and Daiyu spoke of you, praised your many virtues, your wit, independence, and kindness, I’ll admit, I grew to admire you, and perhaps even love you as much as one is able to love someone they have never met. All I can say to justify my feelings is that I love your family so very much that I could not imagine not also loving the person they love. So, if you’ll allow me, I would like to get to know you better and see if I could find a more permanent place here... with you.”

It takes him considerably longer to say all that in Mandarin than if he had just switched back to English, but I don’t interrupt. I mull over his words, my anger and frustration completely diffused. I sigh, rubbing my forehead, trying to think what to say in response. I suppose the truth might be warranted. 

“I appreciate your honesty,” I say eventually. “However, I am simply incapable of loving you in that way.”

“May I ask why?”

“I can offer you friendship, seeing as Yuchen, Daiyu, and their children seem quite fond of you,” I continue, ignoring his question. 

“What is this nonsense, Mei?” Ma asks.

“Answer his question,” Ba commands. 

“I can’t love you or anyone else," I ignore their requests.

“Have you ever tried?” he asks earnestly.

“Why won’t you give him a chance?” Ma asks.

“I just can’t," I retort too abruptly.

“Just try. That’s all we ask.”

“No, no, I can’t," I shake my head.

“One date. Is that really so hard?”

“I can be patient." Maybe he can, but mine's running thin. "Whatever you need.”

“Please just stop," I beg, grasping at the last of my control.

“Why are you so difficult all the time?”

“Why can’t you do this one thing for us?”

“I just want to understand...”

“Why—?”

“Why—?”

“...why.”

“BECAUSE I’M ALREADY IN LOVE!” 

My heart thunders in my chest wildly.

“What?”

Well, fudge. Now I’ve done it. 

“Is it true?” Ba asks supiciously.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Ma echoes.

I fumble, my brain failing to catch up to what I just admitted.

“Who?”

For the first time Zixin looks genuinely shaken. Better to just commit now. 

“Yes, it’s true. I love someone else.”

“You have a boyfriend?” Ma asks hopefully. 

“You could say that.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Ba asks again. 

“Well, because they aren’t Chinese.” Among other things. “So I thought you wouldn’t approve.” 

“Well, of course we’ll have to meet this fellow to decide that.”

“Yes!” Ma exclaims excitedly, poor Mr. Zhang completely forgotten. “We must meet the man who finally won our Mei’s heart!” 

“Meet. Him. Right.”

“What’s he like?”

What is my fake boyfriend like? I suppose the possibilities are infinite when he doesn’t even exist.

I return to Grandville High on Monday beyond ready for the week to begin. I’ve got a dozen ideas already, and I’m in desperate need of a good romantic fix after that trainwreck of a weekend. First on the docket is asking Mr. Wright how his not-a-date went with Ms. Hart, because his text on Friday evening, accusing me of purposefully abandoning him with my project, was extremely sparse on details. I’m also looking forward to finding out about Sirena and Isabella’s alone time on Saturday. And there’s that cute couple in seventh period who are sure to give me the love-high I’m looking for. 

Except, nothing goes according to plan. That day or the rest of the week. An email from Principle Peeters that morning informs the teachers that a child died on Saturday in a freak accident at the varsity football game, and asks us to please be respectful of the family’s wishes to grieve privately. My throat clogs at the news. Even if I don’t know the student who died, I’ve seen the effects of death on families and classmates. The last student of mine to pass was a victim of a drunk driver’s accident on new year’s eve three years ago. 

I realized then, the only way I could help a grieving student was just to be patient, understanding, and consistently attentive to their practical needs. So, when a student in my last period asks for a seat reassignment, I don’t question it, even if it means separating him from his deskmate who I think could be a really good match. And when I ask Sirena about her date, and she responds despondently with, “I should have just gone to the football game instead,” I don’t push for more details. And when I see Ms. Hart uncomfortably glancing around the whispering teacher’s lounge during lunch that day, I don’t have the heart to ask her about the dinner with Mr. Wright. 

“Listen to them all,” Mr. Wright growls in disgust. “Blethering like fleas on a dog. They need to learn how to mind their own business.”

Ms. Hart quickly looks down, fiddling with her coffee cup. “I’m sure they just feel bad for the family,” she whispers. “We all do.”

Mr. Wright snorts, “I’m sure they’ll forget all about it within a week.”

“An infinite limit,” I mumble to myself. A child’s death is something that shouldn’t exist. It feels inherently wrong. Contradictory. Impossible. But in reality it affects everyone close by, and for those closest? The consequences are infinite.