“I’m serious, Eden.”
“I’m sure he won’t,” she says, more to herself than to him. “It’ll be fine. I’ll word it super politely or something.”
He’s clearly dissatisfied with the answer, but has no response. He settles for kissing the tip of her nose.
“Will you promise to text me when you get there?” she asks after a while.
“I promise.”
She holds onto him for a little while longer, relieved to find the weight bearing down on her chest has subsided. Eden doesn’t want him to go, but she also understands that this is what he needs.
The only thing she wants is what’s best for him.
Even if that means they have to be apart. Even for just a little while.
Pulling into the driveway of his childhood home is surreal. Everything in Bellingham, Washington is the same, but it also isn’t.
The porch swing is still there, but its white paint job has been chipped away from years of exposure to wind and rain. His mother’s rose garden, the one tucked directly in front of the porch, is still here, too. But it isn’t as grand or as vibrant as it used to be. It’s entirely likely that Chen Xu Hong simply doesn’t have time to tend to the garden anymore. Especially since looking after her husband has become a full-time occupation.
No thanks to me.
The neighborhood is nice and quiet. They live in a polite little cul-de-sac deep in the suburbs of Chicago, so the roaring sounds of the city that Alexander is used to is effectively non-existent. It’s a nice change of pace. Peaceful, calm. But as he approaches the front door of the house, he knows his momentary respite won’t last for long.
He rings the doorbell, listens to it chime inside. A part of him panics. He still has time to turn around and drive back to the city if he wants to. He definitely wants to.
The door opens.
It’s too late to retreat now.
He has to dip his head down to look Xu Hong in the eye. It’s startling how different she looks. Older, wiser. Tired. The rich black hair he remembers her having is now peppered with white and silver, especially at the temples. Her face has aged elegantly, fine lines and wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and brow. Her lips have thinned out, but they still wear the same gentle smile.
She reaches out to hug him, patting him comfortingly on the back. “Welcome home,” she whispers.
Alexander hugs her back. Holding his mother feels like a foreign experience, but is somehow familiar all the same. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s not even sure if there’s anything to say. So he settles for hugging Xu Hong and tries not to think about how alarmingly small and frail she’s become.
“How was the drive?” she asks, hooking her arm around his to guide him inside.
“Not bad. Nice and light.”
“Good. That’s good. I heard there might have been delays on the I-43 due to construction.”
“Must have missed rush hour.”
“I see.”
Alexander feels... weird. It’s evident that neither of them particularly gives a damn about the traffic. They’re talking about nothing.
But at least they’re talking. Thirty seconds in and nobody’s screaming, so Alexander’s going to count that as a win and roll with it. It’s a new world record for them. His phone call the other day lasted only fifteen seconds before Xu Hong demanded to know why the hell a stranger was calling her so late claiming to be her son.
Aiyah, this is one of those scams, isn’t it? You’re not going to trick me out of my social security number!
Her initial inability to recognize his voice had hurt him, but he understood all the same.
He had barely recognized her voice, too.
Time tends to do that to a person’s memories.
And the distance he chose will forever be his burden to bear. The guilt has been eating away at him for years, but he’s here now. He’s here now and in some small way, he’s proud of himself for that.
