“What about Ah Ma?”
Yi Gor let out a purposeful burp. “What do you think?”
“Dai Gor?”
A muscle ticked in my brother’s jaw. “I forgot how annoying you are. Are you done with the questions?”
“No,” I said. Another sip. “Remember when you put a centipede in Ah Ma’s tea?”
At that, my brother’s shoulders relaxed. We snickered at the same time.
I could still hear our grandmother’s shrieks, shrill enough to crack porcelain. My brothers blamed the prank on me, of course. Dai Gor had Baba’s silvery charm, always complimenting her smooth skin and offering to cut her toenails. He was Ah Ma’s favorite, untouched by her cane. By association, Yi Gor was safe, too.
“She knew you were innocent,” said Yi Gor, “yet she punished you anyway.”
“I still hate her for it.” I swirled the soda in my mouth, enjoying the bubbles and forgetting about my stomachache. “I hate her for sending us here, too. I wish we’d never come.”
“You’re only saying that because you’ve caught on to Sai Ma.”
He had a point. Had Mama known what a two-faced viper our stepmother truly was, yet still sent us into her den? No, I told myself. She’d sent us here to make a better life for ourselves. Things had to get better.
“I’m saying that because I feel more alone here,” I answered, rubbing at the tight strap chafing my shoulder. TheglassesMama had given me were getting small. “I miss having someone on my side.”
“Here, you can finish my soda,” he said, taking my bottle and exchanging it with his.
It was more than half empty, and there were only a few bubbles left, but I knew a truce when I saw one.
You have me,spoke the gesture.We have each other.
I took his soda and finished it in one gulp.
Chapter Fourteen
My brother Richard was born on the first day of February, just before Chinese New Year. The birth was difficult, and Sai Ma was confined to bedrest for the next month to recover. Some people were meant to be mothers, but she was not one of them. Having to miss all the New Year parties put her in a foul mood, and everyone strived to stay out of her way, especially Baba.
The baby, however, was angelic. He had a triple chin and dough-soft thighs that I loved to squeeze. He never cried except when he was hungry, and he cooed at anyone who came to his bassinet. Even Lily was charmed. She liked to tickle his feet and watch him squirm.
Soon after the birth, Baba came home with a telephone. Sai Ma squealed with delight when it arrived. Brass with gold-painted filigree, it looked like a pair of antlers sitting on a cradle, and was the shiniest thing I’d ever seen. Quickly upstaging the baby, it went in the parlor, where everyone—even the maids—began making excuses to admire it.
Sai Ma used it daily, lying on the settee and dialing her friends to announce her new son. “We’ve named himRich-ard,” she’d say proudly. Even I knew whatrichmeant in English. “Yes, I had a boy, did you have any doubt? We’re talking to a fortune teller to pick a date for his full moon party. I’ll expect you there.”
After the calls, Sai Ma would get lonely and summon me or Tingting. I avoided her by sneaking out. Gu Ma’s factory was closed for a week and the last thing I wanted was to spendmy holiday massaging Sai Ma’s feet. Sui Chan and I took the ferry into Tsim Sha Tsui, threw poppers on the streets and watched lion dances, then stuffed our bellies with dumplings and strawberry candies. It was the first New Year since the war had ended, and the city’s celebration was extra raucous, extra carefree. I only wished Lily could come. Every time I passed a bookshop, I thought about getting her a present—except it was bad luck to give books since the word was a phonogram of “losing.”
In the end, I bought her an egg tart. All bakeries were closed for the New Year, but an enterprising young woman was shouting “dan tat” on the street, and the smell of butter and egg from her cart tantalized my nostrils.
“How much?” Sui Chan asked.
My friend and I gawked when she told us the price. “That’s robbery!”
“Tarts are a delicacy from the West,” replied the hawker, “only offered at fine restaurants.”
“Then how do you have them?” Sui Chan asked boldly.
“Just try a sample.”
She cut one tart into eight delicate pieces and gave us a morsel each. Sui Chan nibbled at hers, while I devoured the entire sample at once. The custard was creamy and sweet, and as smooth as the silkiest tofu. And the pastry! Its buttery crust melted in my mouth, flaking onto my tongue in crisp flecks. It was a nibble of heaven.
And for the joy it brought Lily, it was worth every cent.
