“I can do it myself.”
“Look, I know if I let you, you’re going to literally do it yourself. I don’t want you and a neighbor lifting couches into a rented truck.”
“You’re so busy these days. I’ll make do.”
The conversation still doesn’t feel quite right. Sam tries to correct it. “How’s your work?”
“Fine.”
When her mother doesn’t elaborate, Sam says, “You know you don’t have to work so hard anymore. You don’t ever have to work again, even. I can take care of everything for you.”
The oil crackles and springs from the pot, and her mother tugs down her sleeves to protect her arms. “I don’t need you to take care of everything for me.”
Sam feels like she’s five years old again, trying to gauge her mother’s mood. As her mother continues frying the chicken in silence, Sam sets the table, pulls out the place mats she’s used since she was a child, the same chopsticks and knives and plates, the napkins under the cabinet.
As her mother puts their food down, Sam says, “You’ve never bought new dishes since you moved here? They’re all chipping.”
“They work just fine.”
“I’ll get you new place mats.”
“Don’t bring anything,” her mother says. “I’ll just throw it away. Everything works fine.”
Sam puts down her chopsticks. “Why do you have to be like this? What do you want from me?”
Her mother takes a sip of egg soup. “Like what?”
“All my life, you’ve wanted me to work hard, to be able to support myself and take care of you.”
“I’ve never asked you to take care of me.”
“It’s what I want to do. And now I’ve worked hard, and I’m trying to take care of you, and you’re rejecting all of it. Like you’re ashamed of me.”
“I don’t need you buying things for me.”
“Iwantto buy things for you. Iwantto use the money I’ve made, foryou.”
“How do you make your money, Sam?” she asks quietly.
Sam throws her hands up and grabs her chopsticks again, stabbing them into a piece of chicken. “I don’t know how else to explain it to you, Mama,” she snaps. “I have a job.”
“Sam,” her mother says, putting her bowl down to stare at her. “Stop lying to me.”
“Is this still about my flight?”
“About everything, Sam.” Her mother pats her chest. “There’s a weight on you. I have felt it there for a long time. Months? Maybe years. You don’t tell me. But now you show up and you’ve bought me a multimillion-dollar house in cash. Sam, that doesn’t make sense. What are you really doing?”
“Nothing,Mama,” Sam says angrily. “I make money.”
Mother and daughter stare at each other for a long time.
“You think you’re invincible, that you’ll never make a mistake,” her mother says.
“I’m not. But I won’t.”
Her mother scoffs under her breath. “Don’t be a stupid girl.”
She spits the wordstupid,and Sam flinches. The last time she’d been called that was the day her mother cut up her Rabbit.
