“I’m glad that you’re here,” Xu Hong tells him as they enter the living room. It’s a rustic space, decorated like they live out on a ranch somewhere in the midwest. Alexander knows that his mother was originally born and raised in South Carolina in a rich farming community that boasted fields of gold wheat and corn. Maybe decorating the house this way makes her feel more comfortable, more at home.
“I’m sorry to be an inconvenience,” he says, muttering under his breath. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to tip-toe around the subject. He called his mother, practically hyperventilating not even twelve hours before.
“I’ll show you to your room.”
“I know where my room is, A-Ma.”
“We turned it into an office space after you...”
He clears his throat. “Right.”
Looks like they’re going to tip-toe around things, after all.
“All of your stuff is still there,” she assures. “We just had to turn my old office space into a room for your father since he can’t use the stairs.”
He takes a deep breath. “How is he?”
“A royal pain in my ass.”
“Unsurprising.”
Xu Hong chuckles. “He’s good. He was actually very happy to hear that you were coming to visit.” And then, much softer, “He’s missed you a lot. We all have.”
Something sharp stabs him in the chest, his fight or flight instincts finally kicking into high gear. He thought he was ready for this. He thought he was finally strong enough to come home and face his biggest fears, face the family he’d left behind. But now all he wants is to make a break for the door.
He could do it, too. It’d take four or five long strides and he’d be back outside in a jiffy.
It’s not like Xu Hong is in any condition to chase after him anymore.
That thought makes him sadder still. Xu Hong used to chase him up and down these very halls when he was a boy, always able to catch him and drag him off to take his bath. Now Alexander’s biggest worry is that if he does bolt and Xu Hong runs after, she might slip on the hallway rug and tumble and hurt herself. He honestly isn’t sure when she became so fragile to him.
All parents do, he supposes, at some point or another.
“Let’s put your things down,” she suggests gently. “Then we’ll go and see him, hm?”
Alexander nods, throat impossibly dry.
He’s shown to his room. It used to be the guest room/storage room when he was a boy. Now it’s full of his things, all neatly preserved. Almost like he never left.
His posters are still here, hanging on the walls. Alexander wonders if Xu Hong put them up all by herself, or if she had Uncle Charlie help her get to those particularly high places. There’s a shelf full of his old trophies, too, all covered in a thin layer of dust.
There’s one from the time his school’s soccer team won first place at state. There’s one from the time he earned the top academic award in the eighth grade. There’s also a plaque from the local Chicago chili cook off that he won with Uncle Charlie when he was only thirteen years old.
He smiles at his things, thinking back with a warmth he hasn’t felt in ages. It’s odd how much of a guest he feels like in his own home. He was a part of its history, but now he feels too far removed.
Alexander sets his bag down—it’s got a few shirts, clean pants, and notably nothing to do with cooking—at the foot of the bed.
He steels himself for what’s about to happen next.
It’s long overdue. He can’t keep running from his past forever.
Xu Hong takes him back downstairs and guides him toward what has now transformed into Li’s room. It’s understandable that he’d be relocated to the first floor where it’s easier to get him in and out. Alexander distinctly remembers sending a healthy check to install an elevator, but Xu Hong had declined citing the lack of enough support beams throughout the house.
He sends money often, knowing full well that Li was the main income owner of the household. It was true that Xu Hong had a nice pension plan in place from her brief time as the local mayor, but with all the medical bills and household upkeep... Sending them a part of his salary every month is his way of helping out, even if it’s distant and impersonal.
Li lies in the center of a custom-ordered bed, one designed with an adjustable bed frame so that he can choose to sit upright or lay flat with the touch of a button. The room is very much like the living room, full of color and woodwork for a nice cohesive, welcoming feel. In the opposite corner is an electric wheelchair, tucked away to recharge. It’s an older model, not too flashy and without all the bells and whistles.
“The prodigal son returns,” Li says with a good-natured chuckle. The term stings, but Alexander knows he deserves it.
