“Why did you pick here?” Mom gazes at the slightly dilapidated storefronts across the street, with their tattered Tibetan prayer flags. “I would have thought your perfumes would sell better if they were stocked in higher-end locations.”
I hiccup from the root beer. “I don’t like those stores. They’reintimidating.”
“Luling, I’ve told you that you need to be braver and fight for what you want.”
“Not that,” I say. “For customers. Everyone deserves to feel they have a scent that makes them feel like themselves, or brave or attractive or seductive or handsome. The people who shop at those stores already belong to that environment; they already know perfumes have power.”
“You sound like Aiai.” Mom puts her can of sparkling water to the side. “She was such an egalitarian, but the money is with those other people.”
“I make enough,” I say.
“You could do both,” Mom says. “Sell wholesale to the bigger stores and do your customizations here.”
“I could, but I’m only one person.”
“There’s always Yixiang.”
I push myself up from the creaky bench and grab my shovel without answering. By the time the garden is ready for the plants, my hands are blistering inside the cheap gloves, and my shoulders have developed a tightness that will morph into pain by tomorrow, if not tonight. Not to mention my lower back. I stand and stretch, dirt shaking off me as I move.
We decide to break for a late lunch, and by the time I return with sandwiches, Mom has set out the plants in a pattern I pause to admire. Thin rows of tarragon form a cross in the middle. In each quadrant is a little circle of lavender, rosemary, and sage. Thyme sits in each corner as a groundcover. Mom is nowhere to be found, so she must be in the store to get out of the sun, which has come out with a vengeance that I welcome after the long winter. I send a photo to Rafe, who has been asking for updates. He offered to come help, but I wanted the day with my mother, and he understood.
Rafe:Will you meet me for drinks tomorrow, though? There’s a place I think you’ll love.
Me:Yes but I might need a straw. My hands are getting too sore to lift anything.
Rafe:I’ll hold it for you.
The bells seem to be broken since they don’t ring when I open the door. I can hear Mom arguing with someone, and my greeting dies as my hand tightens on the bag of food dangling at my side. She has the phone on speaker, as usual, and I can hear my father’s voice clearly from where she is in the back of the store.
“I hope you’re happy,” Dad says.
“This has nothing to do with me.” Mom’s voice is quiet.
“You’re delusional. Your own son says it’s your fault.”
“You were the one to bring up our moli at dinner.”
“Go ahead, blame it on me. I’m the worst. All my fault, as usual.”
“Kevin, enough. It’s not my fault Eric and his wife are separating. I only found out when you told me.”
Whoa, I didn’t know that. You’d think that would have been one of the texts he sent this morning.
Dad has been talking over her. “That’s right, it is enough. You’ve never been able to compromise, Meilin. Not with your children, not with your husband.”
“Because all the compromise you wanted involved my dreams,” she snaps. “Never yours. You’re only upset because you think everything I want steals something from you. If I want to work, it steals time from you. If I want to create, it steals attention from you. Cleaning my store was time I could have spent cleaning the house.”
“You owe it to your family to be there for them,” he says. “You never were.”
She laughs. “Never? Tell me, Kevin. Eric was upset I wasn’t at Owen’s birthday. What did you get your grandson for a gift? For thatmatter, when have you bought any of the children gifts? Where were you in Owen’s party photos? How about all those school plays and sports tournaments? How many after-school lessons did you sign the kids up for? Who stayed home when they were sick?”
One of my hands has come up to my mouth. There’s a rawness in my mother’s voice I don’t think any child should have to hear. Moms should be calm. Moms should be strong. Moms should never sound so hurt and beaten. So human.
“I knew you never respected what I bring to this family,” Dad says. “You did your best to isolate me from my children.”
“I didn’t have to do anything. The way you locked yourself in your office every night did that.”
“You preferred it that way, so don’t come across all high and mighty now,” Dad says, and he doesn’t sound like my father anymore. He’s colder. “It gave you time to turn Lucy into a little mini-me. I thought you’d lose your mind when she left. I know it wasn’t because you were worried; you were angry about the store. That’s all you care about.”
