“I have my moli.” I say the words to the empty room, and with that, it finally sinks in enough to let me feel it. The fears and worries disappear under a deep relief and then a burgeoning joy I thought was permanently excised from my life. Finally, I’m the person I was meant to be, one who’s worthy of the women in my family. I’m not a failure. I’m a fifth Hua daughter in more than name. Tears leak from my eyes as if I’m literally overflowing.
The only damper on this is that I don’t know why it happened, and that nags at me. No, I won’t let it take over. I have my moli, and for once in my life, I won’t look at what-ifs or wait for the other shoe to drop. I will allow myself to be happy without strings. I fall over on the couch, hugging the bottle and grinning at the ceiling.
The phone rings, disturbing my inner celebration. It’s Ana. “Are you coming in today?” she asks.
Shit, I’m late. Huge epiphanies have a way of shoving aside daily worries, but daily worries are insidious enough to distract me from the huge epiphany. It’s the modern circle of life. “Sorry. I got delayed.”
“Are you okay?” she asks. “You sound a little wild.”
I stop the hysterical laugh from bubbling over. “I’m good. Be there soon.”
I’m not usually a morning shower person, but I take one to get the lingering smell of metabolized alcohol off my skin. I throw down one of the shower bombs I’ve been experimenting with, and overdose myself on an energizing blast of tangerine that makes me sneeze. I’ll need to tweak the formula, but even this product fail makes me feel like singing. After wiping the steam off the mirror, I examine my face and see my lips have tilted up in a smile. It grows wider as I watch, and my mother’s face smiles back at me. I haven’t realized I’ve started to resemble her so strongly, and I give our reflection a small salute, then shake my head. I’m crossing over into silly. Time to rein it in so Ana doesn’t ask more questions about my mood.
I finally arrive to find Ana staring out the window so avidly I want to ask if she needs popcorn. “They’re fighting,” she says as I come in.
“Really?” At least everything at the shop is normal. I join her at the window to see Elvis and Priscilla. They’re not making out this time, but staring at each other with crossed arms. Priscilla is the one to throw up her hands and walk away.
“Ohh, she’s not looking back,” says Ana.
“Boss move.”
She glances over. “You look happy.”
I shrug. “Having a good day.”
“We all need those.” She holds out her hand and I high-five her. “It looks good on you,” she adds.
My mood slowly erodes as the hours pass. It’s busy, and I begrudge every customer because all I want is to read the register I brought with me to try to figure out what’s happened. I’ve been taking peeksat it all day, each time getting a rush of adrenaline that gradually turns into trepidation as more what-ifs cross my mind. What if I’m wrong? What if there’s something bad about my moli? What if Mom doesn’t believe me?
Plus, Rafe hasn’t called, although he does send a brief reply to my text, asking me how I’m feeling and telling me he’ll be in meetings all day but wants to talk. I say okay. We should talk, although my guilt at telling him my secret last night has been minimized by the thought that I have my moli. There’s no doubt in my mind Mom will forgive the Rafe indiscretion if I can show her I’ve finally proven myself.
Finally, Ana heads out with a cheery goodbye, locking the door behind her, and I’m left alone.
I heave out the register, thankful to finally be able to concentrate. First, a quick scan. I start with the Tang dynasty’s Aiai and page through at a steady pace, focusing on the women’s accounts of the days when each were able to access their power.
After an hour, I start to get depressed. After two hours, my arm cramps from flipping pages and I’m only at the Song dynasty.
Eras of Chinese history are unfolding in front of me like a fan, and not one of them has a single bit of useful information. I slam the book shut and stick my legs out until I’m stiff as a board in the chair. With my mind mush and frustration looming like a nova on the edge of my patience, I pick up one of my perfumes. This time I work with a confidence I haven’t felt since I was twenty and Mom and Waipo were standing at my side with their silent support. It comes to me as easily as it did that day, each movement part of a ritual dance that feels exactly like it needs to. Once the last huo stroke is complete and the sticker placed on the bottle, I force myself to calm down. I’ve done it before. It worked. It’s going to work again.
This time my power rushes into me like I’m opening a gate. I take a moment to feel that oneness with the surrounding energy before I direct it at the bottle.
I slump down as the energy rushes out, leaving a sense of rightness, a ghostly sensation of absolute certainty I assume is similar to what one feels when faced with one’s true love. I twist the bottle in my hands and stare into it as if I can see the change. How much easier this whole thing would be if the perfume glowed, or glittered, or a circle of flower goddesses appeared out of the sky to holler, “It worked, Lucy, don’t worry!”
None of these things happen. I uncap the bottle cautiously to give a test sniff, knowing it’s useless since the smell doesn’t change.
I put the bottle carefully on the table and check myself over. I’m a little tired, the way I should be. Then the misgiving assails me again, evaporating all my excitement. These are all the feelings I felt while Ms. Kang waited impatiently for me to change her life, and look what happened. Nothing but endless quizzing from Mom, so intense that by the end, I doubted my own name. It’s the same way I begin to doubt myself now, although I’ve followed the instructions to a T and completed every step perfectly. That’s enough, isn’t it?
Or am I simply so desperate for it to work that I’m overhyping the very reasonable outcome of a bunch of women of marriageable age getting married? If my moli really had worked, wouldn’t all twenty of those women from the list be ordering their Jo Malone dupes in luxury gift bags emblazoned with BRIDE in fancy gold script, instead of only half of them?
I don’t know.
But Mom will.
I look at my phone and shake my head. For this, I need to go back home.
14
Hua Suyin
