Rafe:I owe you another dinner from the one we missed when you went home. I know your mom’s visit changes things, so tell me when you want to rebook. I can make any day work.
Part of me had wondered if he would let it slide and we’d continue on as we were now, with the occasional text, until he went back to Vancouver, and I hug myself knowing he still wants to go. I pick a stray thread on the couch. I don’t want to put our dinner off, at least not for long. I want to see him so I know where his head’s at and perhaps figure out my own.
Mom finishes in the bathroom as I’m tucking the sheets into the couch, not wanting to sleep with my face pressed against fabric that’s been sat on by so many others. I’ve already put a glass of water on her bedside table and taken out my pajamas, book, and a change of clothes so I don’t have to wake her if I get up early.
“Tomorrow,” she reminds me. It sounds like a threat.
She leaves the door open, and I lie on the couch, listening to thesound of another person and wondering how long it will be until I get my peace back.
Although I guess it’s good to have the company. At least for a while.
21
Hua An
Yuan dynasty. Suffered through the Red Turban rebellion.
Heart note //Reinforce bravery
Base note //Camellia
Fragments of dreams drift around me as I edge toward waking, and I cling to them as a way to keep in the sweet zone of unconsciousness.
That’s until a firm hand shakes my shoulder. “Luling.”
It’s my mother. I roll over and curl back under the blankets like I’m fifteen again. “More sleep.”
“Luling. It’s morning.”
I crack my eyes open to see she’s correct in the sense that dawn has risen. “The store opens at eleven.”
She makes a tsking noise. “What do you do until then? Waste your day by sleeping?”
Sitting up on the couch with the duvet wrapped around me, I yawn. “Sometimes.”
“No. The day is for working. Waste your time later.”
“Tell me what you really think,” I mumble to the pillow.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
By the time I get out of the bathroom, Mom has made her bed, started boiling water for breakfast noodles and tea, stripped the couch, folded all the bedding, and brought it to my room. I don’t have to check to know her suitcase is empty and the two drawers I gave her are filled with neatly organized piles of clothes. My suitcase remains open on the floor near the couch, and she eyes it with disapproval. I’m not thrilled with having it out of place, either, but it seemed easier than going into what is now my mother’s room to get things I need.
I take down two cups and put them on the counter with tea bags, which she brushes aside. Out comes a tin of her own blend, plus the teapot Ana gave me from her collection when I moved in.
I’ve dressed up a bit today, with my nicest jeans and a black sweater I spent ten minutes fixing a pulled thread on to make it perfect, but my mother has outdone me in a pair of tailored slacks, a striped blouse, and a blazer she’s pushed up at her elbows like an old-school J.Crew model. Her hair is smoothed back and small gold studs adorn her ears. Like me, she wears nothing on her fingers or her wrists, and all our necklaces sit close to our throats, a habit to keep ourselves and our jewelry safe at work.
She says nothing about my appearance, which I take as a blessing. “Your lab is at your store,” Mom says as she pours the water over the leaves. It’s a scent so intertwined with my childhood, that for a moment, I can’t answer as I stop and breathe it in. Her favorite milk oolong is lighter and more floral than a regular oolong, with a buttery, creamy taste.
“Drink first,” she says, pouring me a cup. “We’ll eat after.”
Mom never likes to mix her morning tea with food, saying it wrecks the taste of the tea. Although it’s a habit I’ve let go over the years, as I sip the tea with her, I can see the meditative benefits.
Or I could, if she didn’t fix me with a gimlet gaze across the counter. “Your lab is at your store,” she repeats.
“Yes.”
