LAURA
When I return to the dining table, Mom has escaped to the kitchen. Dad and Aunt Mei are staring at Antoine who’s focused on his food.
“Monsieur Yang,” Antoine says, lifting his eyes from the plate. “Do you happen to own an antique music box?”
Dad’s brows pull together. “Music box?”
For a brief moment, I’m just as bemused by the question as he is. Then I remember Pedro’s secret challenge.Wow.It sounds like Antoine is still working on it, even if the honeymoon is over.
That’s a good sign, right?
I think it is. It speaks to his tenacity and commitment to our marriage.
“Something you inherited from your parents, maybe?” Antoine turns to Aunt Mei. “A family heirloom?”
Dad and Aunt Mei shake their heads.
Mom pokes her head out from the kitchen. “Zhou, Mei, and I left China thirty years ago with nothing but determination to build a new life here.”
“Perhaps you acquired a music box here in France?” Antoine tries again. “Maybe in an antique shop, or a flea market?”
Mom and Dad exchange a scornful look.
“We don’t shop at flea markets,” Dad says. “My wife and I make enough to affordnewthings.”
I jump in. “Remember, Aunt Mei, when I was little, you sometimes took me to that thrift shop down the street? Maybe you bought a music box there and then forgot about it?”
“No,” she says. “I’d remember if I bought a music box.”
I rub my chin. “What if I bought one, and it’s packed away somewhere?”
Mom smirks. “And I’d remember if you came home with some old junk and insisted we keep it.”
“Old junk is sometimes worth millions,” Antoine points out.
“Maybe.” Dad shrugs. “But we don’t keep antiques in this house.”
“They only take up space and collect dust,” Mom explains, opening the fridge.
I turn to Aunt Mei. “Are you sure neither of us ever bought anything resembling a music box from that shop?”
“Ma chérie,we went to that secondhand store for gear, nothing else.” She pats my hand. “I haven’t set foot in there ever since I’ve been making enough to buy new clothes.”
Mom returns to the living room. “The osmanthus jelly needs ten more minutes in the fridge.”
I seize the opportunity for a time-out. “Do you mind if I show Antoine around the apartment while we wait? Including my old room?”
My parents trade an amused look.
“Go ahead,” Mom says.
I rise from my chair and make a sweeping gesture around me. “This is the living room slash dining room.”
“It’s very neat and modern,” Antoine comments.
“This way.” I head down the narrow hallway and motion for him to follow.
The first stop is my parents’ minimalistic bedroom. Antoine looks around, but his eyes don’t linger on anything for long.
