But the questions died on his tongue. Even bringing up Artie’s namewould open a Pandora’s Box, and he had no intention of ruining this entire visit.
Instead, Winter dug into his back pocket and pulled out a red envelope, perfectly crisp. He handed it to his mother.
“Oh, baby bear,” she said, tilting her head at him and shaking her head. She smiled. “I’m supposed to be givingyouhóng bao.”
“Nah. I’m an adult, Mom,” he said, dipping his head to her once. It was his habit, the flowers and the red envelope, every time he was about to leave town for a while. After her divorce and Artie’s death, after the lengthy trauma had triggered in her endless sleepless nights and an inability to settle for longer than an hour, a therapist had suggested flowers for her as a calming ritual. So Winter brought them whenever he could. The red envelope was carefully stuffed with a couple thousand dollars in crisp new bills because he knew his mother’s aversion to cash with any wrinkles on it. Once, she had gotten stranded in France after being unable to find a bank that could give her new bills. Winter had flown there himself to deliver her the money and help her get sorted.
Besides, it was an excuse for Winter to see her. This was the only way he knew how to visit. If he didn’t, she would never ask for him, never come over, never call. Never miss him. At least their frequent farewells gave him an excuse to bring gifts over.
Mom looked at him for a moment with that wistful, searching expression, then took the envelope. “Duì ni ma zhen hao,” she said, patting his cheek.You’re good to your mother.He felt himself lean into the coolness of her touch.
“What are you doing in New York?” he asked.
“Having some fun, letting off some steam. I’m going to see this amazing new Broadway show,Highland Street Hustle, that everyone’s been talking about, and then head to a rental house upstate.” She made atsksound. “My friends all ask about you. Katie wants to know if her daughter Emma can get a signed album from you, and I told her yes.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you, baby bear. I think you’d like Emma. She’s a nice girl, and get this—she also interned for a summer in Baltimore, just like you did in senior year. I should tell her, she’d love—”
“No, don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
Winter cleared his throat gently. “I didn’t go to Baltimore. That was Artie.”
His mother’s frenetic movements by the side table suddenly paused, and when he looked over at her, she had her eyes fixed on him for the first time since he’d arrived, her entire body rigid like she was an insect trapped in amber. Her eyes widened as she realized her mistake.
“Oh,” she murmured. “Duì, Artie did.”
Winter shuffled uncomfortably, hating that he had to bring his brother up. There was nothing new about Mom mixing up his past with his late brother’s—she frequently confused Winter’s birthday with Artie’s, substituted Artie’s favorite foods and clothes and haunts in place of Winter’s. It had worsened considerably after Artie’s death. But Winter still hated that even the mere mention of Artie’s name could get his mother to halt in her tracks and forget everything else, when nothing he said or did could make her stop and pay attention to him.
Then he felt like an asshole for being jealous of his dead brother. His Peace-Corps-turned-secret-agent brother. His emotions roiled in a familiar storm.
“I’m sorry,” Mom said now, and this time she genuinely meant it. He could see the grief flood into her eyes, shrouding the restless energy that had danced in them just moments earlier. “I knew, I just—”
“Meí shì, Mom,” he interjected, giving her as carefree a smile as he could muster.It’s okay.“Emma sounds nice. Send me your rental house’s address. I’ll ask Claire to post the album to you.”
“Thank you.” His mother hesitated, her expression suddenly lost, and he felt his heart lurch in sadness. He could still remember that fateful phone call Mom had gotten at exactly six in the morning, could recall the time on his clock as he rushed out of his bedroom to the balcony at the sound of her scream. He had pressed his face against the banisters as he listened to her broken, trembling questions drift up from below.How? When? What happened? Are you sure it was him?
Since that day, Winter had never been able to sleep past six.
As much as he missed Artie, he knew his grief couldn’t compare to his mother’s, to how she had crumpled to the floor at the news of Artie’s death, to the smallness of her figure curled alone in her bed in the months that followed, the bottles of antidepressants and methylphenidate sitting open on her dresser. How she had been so lost in her sorrow that she never even noticed when Winter would sneak some of her pills to suppress his own pain. Sometimes he imagined her as a young woman cradling a newborn Artie in her arms, marveling over every tiny feature of her firstborn son. Kissing his eyelids, his nose, his little mouth, his perfect fingers. Of her delicate voice singing him lullabies, promising him the whole world. He pictured her in what must have been those heady first days of love and tried to remind himself to be gentle to her, this woman who had to endure losing that baby boy decades later. Who would never know who he’d really been or why he had really died.
Winter tried not to wonder whether she remembered she had a second baby.
Now his mother’s gaze broke away from him. A small shiver seemed to course through her body, and then her hands were moving again. She grabbed the keys from the side table and adjusted the tote on her arm. As she did, Winter stood up to leave. Neither one of them said a word.
Winter reminded her too much of everything. Of her awful, short-lived second marriage. Of the second husband she loathed. But worst of all, of the fact that her beloved firstborn son was forever gone, and that only Winter, her afterthought, remained.
As they stepped out of the apartment together and his mother locked the door behind them, she stretched up to plant a quick kiss on his forehead. Even now, she didn’t look directly at him.
“Lù shàng xiao xin, xióng baobao,” she said.Take care of yourself, baby bear.Her eyes were already turning away, her body angled toward the elevator as if she had finally reached the limit for the amount of time she could spend around him.
He could command the attention of ninety thousand people in an arena, could attract screaming throngs whenever he stepped out any door, could be on the covers of every magazine in the world. And yet he could never convince his mother to stay.
