“It went well. We found him in the Pearl District. A councilman.”
“Ah, good for her. I pray they have a happy and prosperous marriage.”
I shrug off my outer robe, moving to drape it over my mother’s tiny lap for warmth. She has been getting thinner and thinner, shivering at all hours of the day.
“I finally have enough to buy that new medicine from Doctor Qi,” I explain. “He says his colleagues in the Southern Kingdom believe it to be one of the best remedies out there.”
“He says, he says,” my mother mutters bitterly. “Coins down the well, I tell you. You should be saving this money to fund your own search.”
I sigh. “We’ve been over this. I’m not leaving you here.”
“You should be married by now! With a house full of children.” My mother grasps my forearm and gives the meat of it a squeeze. “Who wouldn’t want someone as handsome and as strong as you for a husband?”
It’s only natural for a mother to sing her son’s praises. As I roll my eyes, I happen upon my reflection in the small upright mirror on the corner table. It’s true that I’m almost five and twenty, though I don’t look a day over nine and ten. Doctor Qi tells me my growth must be stunted. A-Ma has stood by her claim of my excellent genetics. I, however, prefer to think that I’m one of the Gods’chosen favorites, blessed with dashing good looks and a winning personality.
I mostly take after my father. Wide shoulders and strong arms, but slender legs. My dark brown hair looks almost black most days, but standing beneath the sun reveals its richer reddish hues. I’m admittedly a bit soft around the middle, about which I’m mildly self-conscious. Growing up in a teahouse has meant easy access to sweet treats at all hours of the day. A-Ba was a fiend when it came to sneaking me an extra almond cookie or two—or five—while A-Ma was busy tending to guests. She would later scold us, the crumbs at the corners of our lips confessing to our crimes. It was a wonder we didn’t lose the teahouse to debtors, the way we ate into our profits.
My mother shakes her head. “You have been blessed with this wonderful gift by the Gods! Are you not curious at all about your Fated One?”
I glance down at my mother’s hand. Her red thread is no more. Instead, a closed black loop is wrapped around her little finger. The day my father passed, all I could do was watch in horror as the thread connecting my parents—two halves of a whole—disintegrated before my very eyes, their connection broken only in death.
It’s not a pleasant thing to dwell on, the death of one’s parents. But there are days that I think it cruel that they did not go together. While A-Ba passed on and his thread fell from around his finger, A-Ma’s turned black. These are a common sight when I am out and about. A mere glimpse is enough to make me hurt for others.
My mother has not been the same since my father passed on ten years ago. Her light has dimmed. She doesn’t laugh as hard as she used to, doesn’t smile as wide as I remember. Of course, I have to wonder if her grief is exacerbating her failing health.
All the more reason to see Doctor Qi as soon as possible.
“You could have found them three times over by now,” my mother continues. “You must seek out your other half before it’s too late.”
“Too late?” I echo her words, amused. “I’m still young; there’s no need for such dramatics.”
“What if they decide to settle and marry the wrong person? A tragedy for the ages, I tell you. Take the money you’ve earned today to fund your trek. There’s only one present, Sai. Follow your own thread and find them before your bones grow too weary for such a journey.”
I shake my head and laugh. “And what about you?”
“Whataboutme?”
“Who will take care of you if I’m gone?”
“Your Auntie Ying.”
“I’ve been led to believe that Auntie Ying hates you.”
“She does, but she’s still obligated to help out her sister-in-law—”
A-Ma breaks into a sudden coughing fit, hacking and wheezing hard enough to rattle her bones. I’m quick to grab her a cup of water from the pitcher I’ve set just off to the side of her pallet, holding it to her lips so that she can take a long, careful drink.
I rub small circles against her back just as she did for me when I was a child, quietly troubled at how frail my mother has become. It feels like just yesterday she had all the energy in the world, nagging me about the teahouse as I giggled with glee. I might have been four or five then, though the memory is hazy. Now it’s my turn to do the nagging—drink more water, stay in bed, take your medicine.
“Get some rest. I’ll be downstairs preparing congee.”
“Will you add some ginger and soy sauce? I can’t taste it otherwise.”
I kiss the back of my mother’s hand and layer several blankets on top of her. “I’ll do just that. I even splurged at the market andgrabbed us some eggs.”
My mother huffs, her lips thin and her eyes watery. “You’re too sweet, my boy. Always taking care of others. When will you let someone take care of you?”
I shrug easily in lieu of an answer.
