“It was for a moli scent,” she says.
“Oh.”
“It was one of the only ones I did that year.”
This makes my head shoot up. “So few? Are you serious?”
“Demand dropped,” she says. “People seem to care less about the magic of our perfumes. Or they don’t believe. Like your father, they think it’s all science and they can find a solution for themselves online. Or they don’t need my mood boost because they have so many other options they’re told will make them feel better. My moli was always one of the weakest, especially compared to your great-grandmother’s. She had people begging for her to cure their heartbreak until she died.”
Mom doesn’t sound defeated, only like she’s sharing facts.
“Tingwen said her moli was a curse,” I say.
“I understand why,” my mother says, causing me to stop working in surprise.
“You never thought it was a curse,” I say. If ever there was a moli cheerleader, it’s my mother.
“When I had to watch each word I said? When I was already toodifferent thanks to being Chinese? We didn’t live in Chinatown—you know that—so I had no community at school. It was hard enough to make friends without telling them I couldn’t go out because Waipo was punishing me for forgetting to macerate a scent, or she wanted me to re-create the smell of a hyacinth in salt water, or something ridiculous. I had to spend every spare minute in the store. Of course I hated it. And loved it. That’s why I thought of it as a curse. The hate in the love and the love in the hate is what makes it so difficult.”
I don’t know what to say, and Mom shrugs at my expression. “I got over it. You need mastery before you can enjoy a skill, and that takes time and effort. Like your moli.”
Ana comes in then to say that someone wants to talk about perfumes. Both Mom and I stand up before Mom waves me on. When I come back after giving the woman a sample to try at home before she buys, Mom is hovering over my mods for Ana’s jewelry.
“5D is the best,” she declares.
It’s as if our argument didn’t happen at all. I watch her apprehensively for the rest of the day, waiting for her to come back at me with some underhanded comment about my moli, or work ethic, or our fight, but she doesn’t. It’s as if she listened to me for the first time in my life and got off my case.
It’s what I wanted—what I demanded—so why do I feel abandoned? Am I like my mother, needing to be coaxed into doing what I truly want? Because part of me, perversely, does want her nagging at me.
Like it’s proof she cares.
It’s early afternoon when Mom decides to go for a walk. The second she’s out, Ana turns to me with huge eyes. “Your mom is great. She’s so knowledgeable.”
I lean against a table, surprised at Ana’s enthusiasm. “About perfume, yeah.”
“Oh, that, absolutely. The room fragrance she made for Jayne?Like, who would have thought a bar should smell good? The way it matches Jayne’s ambience is incredible. She’s going to ask your mom if she can sell it.”
“That’s cool.” Although I’m not sure if Mom would think of it as a comedown for the Yixiang brand.
“She talked with me more about Jayne.”
“How are things there?”
“Good.” Ana’s face is dreamy. “We went to her place last night, and Jayne rigged up a blanket tent fort thing, and we huddled in there with the dog, and it was perfect—except the dog had really bad breath.”
“Yeah?”
“I think I have a girlfriend now, and we’re in love and going to have beautiful fur and non-fur babies.”
This seems like a moment where people would hug, so I smile at her. “I can’t believe you were going to give up.”
“I was wrong,” she chirps. “Thanks to your mom.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Sounds like you two had a great time.”
Ana sighs. “I know you weren’t home for a long time and family dynamics are messy, but I think she wants to spend time with you.”
I stare at her. “She what?”
