mai

Of the many things that alter the trajectory of their lives, nothing comes close to fatherhood. All of a sudden, Yibo’s sharp and heavy hiking gears are stored in the overhead cupboard, Xiaozhan significantly reduces the amount of sweets in his diet because he wants to set an example, and their arguments mostly circle around Suo-er. “This shirt is mostly polyester, come on” “Oh my God, look at his rash. Promise we won’t hug him with so much makeup and strong perfume on us anymore” Which is why Xiaozhan is currently wiping his face clean with wet cotton pads in front of the sink inside the paddock. He leaves the door slightly ajar, his fingers scrubbing the damp pad across his cheek while his eyes focus on the large screen at the far end of the room. On the monitor, his husband is nothing but a blur of speeding vehicle. Xiaozhan squints in an attempt to see better and curses himself immediately. Damn it, he should have brought his glasses. “….Wang Yibo is wheel to wheel with the Ferrari driver…. aaand he just got through! Nice textbook overtakes” The commentator’s voice reverberates through the speakers, followed by a series of yells from the management team in black polos watching along inside the pit. Xiaozhan finally lets himself breathe a little easier, his shoulders easing with a long exhale. Yibo is doing well. He is fine. Xiaozhan turns his attention to the unmoving bundle sleeping inside the small crib a few steps away from the bathroom. The mahogany crib is painted in white, tucked against the wall to safely shield Suo-er from most of the foot traffic passing in and out of the paddock. A handful of toys dangle from the rails, all in shades of green, black, and dark blue, each one shaped like a tiny race car or bearing some other racing-themed design. Xiaozhan is sincerely grateful that Suo-er is already used to visiting Yibo during his racing days that the roar of engines, the chatter of the crew members, and the occasional cheer erupting from the pit no longer faze him. His son has spent the day accompanying him on set, happily playing with the staff whenever Xiaozhan is needed in front of the camera and the only time the four years old stops running around is when he plops himself down at the table to munch on the fruit cuts prepared by the team. By the time Xiaozhan buckles him into his car seat, the little boy is already fighting to keep his eyes open, and when Xiaozhan lays him down in his crib, it takes only a few minutes for the exhausted little boy to drift off. “…and the rain is here. I hope those drivers are on their slick tires.” Xiaozhan’s heart plummets into his stomach, and his eyes are back on the monitor. The screen shows a view from one of the drivers’ seats, rain splattering against the windshield as the commentator continues rambling about how the drivers need to play their cards right as they proceed with the race. Inside the garage, the rain beats in an even rhythm against the roof, its relentless drumming mixing with the chatter and commotion around them. The smell of damp tires and wet asphalt quickly invades the air, mixing with the sharp odor of fuel and exhaust. Xiaozhan scrunches his nose at the unpleasant scent. Xiaozhan takes one last look at his son before lowering his face toward the sink to wash it. A rain, a slippery track, a riskier race. Are they still going to continue? Xiaozhan wonders idly. He takes a towel from the open duffel bag near the sink and begins drying his face. When he lowers the fabric, his eyes lift to the mirror to meet his own reflection. A worried version of himself stares back at him, looking nothing like the superstar Xiaozhan who had just finished his YSL photoshoot a few hours ago. Bare-faced like this, he can spot the fine lines around his eyes and a faded pimple mark near his ear. He huffs a breath. But, oh well. Whatever. Last night, he had fallen asleep with The Wang Yibo pressing kisses to each of the beauty marks on his face, whispering “I love you” between each one, anyway. Xiaozhan peeks through the door one more time and his heart punches through his chest. Suo-er is standing in his crib with his two little hands braced against the rails. His son must have heard his gasp because he looks startled when he turns his head toward him. Oh, please don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Xiaozhan prays inside his heart. “Hey, baby.” Xiaozhan forces a smile despite the panic, his voice coming out a little too bright as he busies himself with packing his things into the bag. “You’re awake” Suo-er blinks at him silently. Then he lifts one little finger and points into the distance on the other side of the room beyond Xiaozhan’s vision. “Daddy.” Xiaozhan slings his bag over his shoulder before walking out of the bathroom. He turns his head toward the direction his son is pointing, one eyebrow raised curiously. “Oh,” he says when he is met with a standee of Yibo in his white racing suit, standing alongside the other racers of the Uno Racing Team. “Yeah, that’s Daddy, baby. Let’s go see Daddy closer?” he asks, and Suo-er responds immediately with enthusiastic nods. His eyes and nose peek out from inside his lion onesie, the light brown hood hugging his face snuggly making his cheeks look even fuller. Xiaozhan unzips the onesie down to his son’s waist and pushes the hood back, revealing dark, slightly flattened curly hair. He gently wipes his son’s sweaty forehead with the back of his hand before picking him up. “Are you feeling hot? Do you want to take your onesie off?” Xiaozhan asks, adjusting Suo-er in his arms. The little boy’s weight rests against his hip with the ease of long practice, his one small hand curling loosely around the collar of Xiaozhan’s hoodie. Suo-er rubs his eyes with his other hand as he shakes his head. “No,” he answers in a barely audible murmur. Xiaozhan huffs a quiet laugh and presses a short kiss to the top of his son’s head. The long locks feel soft and slightly damp against his lips, carrying the scent of baby shampoo and the faint, clean sweat of a toddler; an oasis amidst the metallic smell of rain that draws up off the hot tarmac. He shifts Suo-er higher on his hip and begins walking toward the monitor area. From this close, the paddock feels livelier. The commentator’s voice blasts loudly through the speakers, mixing with the radio chatter of the race engineers’ escaping from the headphones around the crews’ necks, and the conversations exchanged by everyone standing around. Xiaozhan can now finally see the cars clearly as they weave past one another, while the timing table scrolls in white monospace displaying car numbers climbing and falling with every change in position. His eyes linger on the screen when he spots “Wang Yibo/Melvin Moh” flashing in 9th position. The man in front of him turns around and Xiaozhan crinkles his eyes instantly to mirror his friendly expression. “Hellooo,” he greets warmly, and Xiaozhan slightly nods his head towards him as he returns his greeting. “Hello, Melvin ge.” Melvin Moh stands with the quiet maturity of someone who has experienced the different pressures of the track. He has an angular jaw, tan skin from the blazing sun of Southeast Asia, and small creases around his almond eyes that always make him look welcoming. The white racing suit of the Uno Racing Team fits him cleanly, zipped up to the collar, with bold sponsor branding across his arms and a large Red Bull logo with the twin-bull crest dominating the center of his chest. His short hair is hidden beneath a black cap with the “Pirelli” logo printed on its brim. His eyes rest on Xiaozhan for a moment before flickering down to Suo-er in his arms. “Ah,” Melvin says, his voice rising excitedly. “Wake up from your nap already, Suosuo?” He tilts his head slightly to get into Suo-er’s line of vision, his expression softening even further as the corners of his mouth lift higher. Suo-er stares at the man quietly through a pair of sleepy eyes. His small body feels warm and limp in Xiaozhan’s embrace with his cheek squished flat against his chest. Whenever he looks like this, people usually can’t help but coo over him, unable to resist giving his blushy cheeks a soft pinch. But Melvin remains standing at a respectful distance despite his apparent interest in the boy. Yibo has probably made it clear enough by now to his team members that “I know he is the cutest baby you will ever see, but no touching, please. My son has sensitive skin.” Xiaozhan gently rocks him in his arms in a slow, steady sway. “Yes, Uncle Melvin,” he encourages in a small voice, looking down at his son. “Can you say hi to uncle?” Suo-er continues to look at the man dazedly, his thick brows furrowing slightly before he lifts one arm hesitantly. His small fingers curl, then uncurl again in a tiny wave that barely moves the air. “Hewwo,” he murmurs, the word soft and thick with a lisp. “Uncew Mewvin.” The man lets out a gleeful “Aww!” at Suo-er, and Xiaozhan laughs along with him politely. “Hello, Suosuo! Aren’t you the cutest?” he compliments. “Thank you,” Xiaozhan replies with a short smile. “Looks like Wang Yibo finds a gap on the inside. That’s very, very brave in this drizzle.” Xiaozhan’s smile falters instantly. The commentator’s voice immediately draws their attention back to the monitor. Worry returns its clutch on his mind, settling heavily inside his chest as his heart picks up its speed amidst the loud roar of the car engines. His hold on Suo-er tightens, his palm resting flat against the little boy’s back as his fingers curl slightly into the soft cotton of his clothes. He swallows heavily; eyes fixed on the monitor following the movement of Yibo’s car intently. On the screen, car number 85 slices toward the inside line. The gap is small, only a sliver of slightly dry tarmac between a slower car and the edge of the track. Xiaozhan isn’t even sure if it’s a good idea for Yibo to speed up and attempt such a maneuver in this weather. He glances sideways at Melvin Moh to gauge his reaction. The driver’s shoulders have squared and his body has straightened, his eyes fixed sharply on the monitor beneath the brim of his cap, but he shows no sign of disapproval. The car twitches once, the rear stepping out just slightly, and Xiaozhan’s stomach drops. Then Yibo corrects, smooth and swift, and the car straightens triumphantly into position. Wang Yibo and Melvin Moh now rise to 8th position. The commentator’s voice blooms with approval. The crews in front of Xiaozhan exchange loud, satisfied noises. Some of them take a double look when they notice him, and he gives them a courteous smile accompanied by a small nod. Xiaozhan hopes his face doesn’t look too strained. “Dada,” comes Suo-er’s small voice with a slight tug on the drawstring of Xiaozhan’s hoodie. “Hmm? Yes, baby?” Xiaozhan glances down at his son. “I want miwkies, pwease?” “You want milkies? Suree,” Xiaozhan says with a relieved sigh, thankful that his body now has something else to do for all the leftover adrenaline still coursing through him. He turns around and takes a quick step toward the diaper bag near the crib, passing a few of the crew members who turn their heads at them as he goes. Xiaozhan lowers himself and easily reaches for the bottle of milk. His son accepts it with a small “Thank you, Dada” before latching onto it immediately. “Let’s go back and see Daddy again.” Xiaozhan straightens and cradles Suo-er in both arms. Xiaozhan turns toward the monitor area, taking a few steps before Suo-er suddenly pulls the bottle from his mouth with a loud little pop. His lips smack once around the remaining trace of milk before he lets out a whine and points in the opposite direction. “What?” Xiaozhan asks, following his son’s pointing finger with a confused glance. “Daddy is over here.” He pauses in his tracks and points toward the monitor with his chin. “Noooo, Daddyyyyy,” Suo-er whines, his little body twisting in Xiaozhan’s arms as his torso angles toward the far side where Yibo’s standee stands tall. The movement makes him sway in Xiaozhan’s hold, and Xiaozhan had to tighten his arms around him by shifting his weight to keep his squirming son secure. Xiaozhan exhales heavily. Right. Of course. Even though Suo-er is usually fascinated by the cars and their cool sounds, he is still far too young to fully understand that his dad is inside one of those cars. He knows that Daddy is racing, but what is a tiny moving dot on a screen supposed to mean to a toddler when there is a huge standee of Yibo standing right there in his full racing gear with his face clearly visible for his son to see? Part of Xiaozhan wants to stay where he is, where he can keep an eye on the monitor without having to squint and push his poor eyesight too much. But the standee is tucked farther away near the wall where they also kept a display of the racers’ helmet inside a glass cabinet. With a resigned sigh, Xiaozhan walks a little closer to the standee instead, finding a spot where he can keep Suo-er within reach while still having the monitor in his peripheral vision. “Okay,” he says in resignation between Suo-er’s cry. “Go and say hi to Daddy, then.” Xiaozhan crouches down and lets his son walk over. When Xiaozhan returns his attention to the race, the cars are moving through the wet track as the commentator’s voice continues to rise and fall with every overtake and position change. He notes happily that Yibo is still in his position. Every few seconds, however, Xiaozhan finds himself glancing over his shoulder. Suo-er is standing right in front of the standee now, his little head tipped all the way back as he looks up at the towering image of his father. His two small hands wrapped around his milk bottle, holding it against his chest as he stares at the unmoving photo with quiet fascination. Xiaozhan quickly takes his phone from his hoodie pocket and snaps a photo of their baby. He then stares quietly at the result on his screen, a small smile grows on his lips. Suo-er barely reaches Yibo’s waist in the picture, yet he has already gotten so much bigger since the last time they visited Yibo during his race. His onesie hangs loosely around his small frame; the hood pushed back from his head now rests dangling between his shoulders, and the tiny lion tail trails down behind him with its tip almost brushing the floor. How has it already been four years since this little boy came into their lives and turned their world upside down? He wonders. “—and there’s contact! Eighty-five is sideways, he’s spinning, spinning—ooh, come on—” Blood drains from Xiaozhan’s fingers, his grip clamps around his phone so tightly his knuckles start to ache. Did he just say eighty-five? Xiaozhan stares unblinkingly at the black-and-green car spinning around before finally stopping sideways, its rear whipping around as it spins across the wet tarmac. Spray explodes from the tires, swallowing the car in a white curtain before its nose swings through a full one-eighty. Xiaozhan tries to breathe through the heavy lump in his throat. His stomach twists violently when he takes a long step toward the monitor to get a clearer view. Around him, the paddock erupts into frantic motion. The air is thick with nervousness and anticipation as crews rush between the garage and pit wall, the radios buzzing with clipped commands and headsets are now back over everyone’s ears. But Xiaozhan can hear only one thing; nothing. Yibo’s engine note has dropped away entirely for one, two and three long seconds. Xiaozhan watches the screen with dread tightening every muscle in his body as other cars sweep past the Audi sitting motionless on the track. One after another, they disappear into the spray, while the #85 car remain stubbornly still. And with every car that passes, Yibo’s position drops. Come on, come on, please. There is a loud ringing in Xiaozhan’s ears when Yibo’s car finally makes a rough, stuttering growl before rolling forward. The nose points the wrong way for half a heartbeat before he corrects himself, finds the racing line, and eases back onto the throttle. “And he’s got it going again! Wang Yibo is back in the race. What a man, what a man! Such unbelievable composure from the young racer. He’s shuffled back to tenth position, but the fight for the podium continues…” The garage explodes into cheers, the sudden roar rivaling the frantic pounding of Xiaozhan’s heart in his chest that Xiaozhan has to remind himself to breathe, drawing air into his lungs through a shuddering inhale. He turns to his side, trying to look for Melvin Moh as a source of comfort, wanting to ask him about Yibo’s condition. Will he be okay? Is he okay? What does this mean for their chance of winning? But the man is engulfed in a circle of team members now, all speaking to one another in busy, urgent tones that Xiaozhan can only catch fragments of. “Should we get race control on the line? That contact is worth a review.” “But he’s clear, he’s fine. Let’s just focus on—” “Rear looked clean on replay. No damage—” “He is fine. The car is fine.” Yibo is fine. Something at the corner of his vision makes Xiaozhan glance away from the gathered team. Suo-er is playing by himself, studying his own reflection in the glass cabinet. His small fingers trace the outline of Yibo’s helmet through the dark reflection, following the pattern curiously while his bottle of milk sits forgotten near his feet. “Wang Suo,” Xiaozhan calls. The little boy turns around at the sound of his name, his eyes immediately finding his father across the garage. His gaze lingers on Xiaozhan’s face for a second, small brows drawn together in the middle with a slight tilt of his head. Then he bends down to pick up his forgotten bottle of milk before toddling toward his father. Xiaozhan reaches for him as soon as he gets close, easily scooping his son into his arms. He slips the bottle into the pocket of his pants near his knee before wrapping both arms securely around the little body against his chest. Xiaozhan closes his eyes and focuses his senses at the weight of Suo-er against his, his nose buried against the small shoulder as he inhales the faint, flowery scent of fabric softener clinging to his son’s lion onesie. It smells like home, Xiaozhan wants to go home. “Dada,” Suo-er murmurs hesitantly against him once he breaks away from the hug. “Hmm?” Suo-er pulls his head back just enough to look at him, those round eyes searching his face. “Dada is sad?” Xiaozhan freezes, his heart cracks at the small voice of his son and it takes him a second to understand the question; his eyes are wet. He blinks, dazedly, before lifting one hand to touch beneath his eye. His fingertips come away damp. When did he start crying? Xiaozhan hadn’t even noticed. Xiaozhan clears his throat. “Dada is not sad, baby. I’m alright, don’t worry.” He doesn’t remember the last time he has had to work this hard to smile, but thankfully his little boy is convinced and doesn’t press further. “Let’s go and ask Uncle Melvin about Daddy?” Xiaozhan suggests. His son nods, even though the pout on his lips remains. “I want Daddy.” He said shortly. I want him too, Xiaozhan replies silently inside his mind as they make their way toward Melvin Moh, weaving between the small clusters of crews still buzzing with comments. Thankfully, the senior racer is finally free from the group that had surrounded him moments ago. “He’s alright. Don’t worry,” he reassures Xiaozhan before he can even ask. Xiaozhan wonders if the fear is still palpable in his expression. He raises a hand and hurriedly wipes his eyes with the back of his sweater sleeve. He then nods, one hand moving gently up and down Suo-er’s back. Xiaozhan doesn’t think he has ever been this grateful to hear such simple words. “Are they going to add additional laps?” he finally asks. Melvin Moh shakes his head at him before answering. “No. He only needs to do another three laps.” Xiaozhan hums in acknowledgment. The commentator is now calling out one driver after another as the cars navigate the wet track with caution. The rain shows no sign of stopping, and every lap seems to bring another tense update. “Lorenzo Bertazi… failed to go through…” “And ooooh, no—Leo Ye!” Xiaozhan tightens his arms around Suo-er’s little body instinctively. On the screen, a blue car suddenly slips off the track and comes to a stop outside the pit. The entire stadium seems to fill with a shocked, dramatic chorus of “Oooooh” as everyone reacts to the incident. “Is that Daddy?” Suo-er asks fearfully. “No, no, no, baby. That’s not Daddy,” Xiaozhan answers, thank God, he adds silently inside his heart. “Then when is Daddy coming, Dada?” “Shortly, okay?” Xiaozhan answers soothingly. “Let’s pray for him that he comes to us soon, hmm?” “O—okay,” the little boy replies, his lips unable to stifle a yawn. There is even more chaos in the lane now. The room has gone quieter, everyone straightened up watching with bated breath, but it is the commentator’s voice that gives words to what is on everyone’s mind. “There is more chaos up front! Bob Yu Yang and Neil Verhagen have also lost their momentum and fallen from their positions with only a few minutes to go before the checkered flag is raised.” “Seems like some of the drivers have lost their composure after seeing car #85 momentarily drift away earlier. But look who is steadily climbing back up the standings and making his way toward the podium now.” The camera pans to Yibo’s car as he makes a clean, controlled pass following the replay of several cars that have gone off track. The white car ahead of him wobbles through the final chicane, correcting wide and losing just enough momentum onto the pit straight for Yibo to slip past. “He’s got a run! And that’s podium position for the Uno Racing Team with one lap remaining. Can he hold it?” Xiaozhan can feel the muscle tension in his chest instantly evaporate, the cheer that bursts from him is loud and unrestrained alongside the rest of the Uno Racing Team crew. The sound swells around them; someone claps, yelling encouragement at the screen, and another person pats the back of a crew member with engineer uniform beside them. The garage, so quiet and controlled just minutes ago, erupts into something warm and alive. Suo-er straightens his back in Xiaozhan’s arms. He looks at the screen, then around the paddock, his small face marred with a puzzled expression. “Daddy?” he asks, his voice small beneath the celebration. “Daddy is coming?” Xiaozhan gives his little boy a slight squeeze. “Yess!!” he says, his voice comes out bright and giddy, his worry from the last hour finally breaking apart. “Just another few minutes before Daddy is coming. And did you hear that? Daddy got a podium position!” Suo-er might not be old enough to fully grasp everything, but he knows what “podium” means. It means Daddy is winning, and another trophy will soon be added to Yibo’s long collection of achievements displayed around their home. Suo-er scans the clamoring adults with wonder, seemingly taking his cue from them. His little body bounces once before he throws both arms around his father’s neck and hides his giggle beneath Xiaozhan’s chin. Xiaozhan’s heart swells at the sound, and he lowers his head to rest gently on top of Suo-er’s. “I know, right, baby? I’m so happy too.” The screen shows GT 2: Race 3 - Last Lap, with a list of drivers’ names in different colors underneath. “Wang Yibo/Melvin Moh” is currently in fifth position, but at this point, Xiaozhan finds himself not caring too much anymore. Whether they finish third or second, a podium position is already very good given Yibo’s previous circumstances. Everyone in front of him has taken off their headphones, completely fixated on the screen as they cheer aloud, even though Xiaozhan can still hear the engineering team’s steady voices through the noise. “…just bring it home. P5, hold your line, Yibo.” The commentator’s voice finally lets go of its careful control as the checkered flag comes into view. He begins shouting the names of the drivers crossing the line, calling out the podium finishers in each class one after another. Xiaozhan’s heart thumps hard against his chest at every name, waiting for the one he has been holding his breath for. “...Wang Yibo has done it! Car eighty-five crosses the line in second place! What an absolutely remarkable display of control and recovery in these conditions that have taken out almost half—” Suo-er flinches at the sudden eruption of celebration inside the garage. Xiaozhan immediately raises a hand to cover his son’s ear with his palm, gently pushing his head against his chest.