by Lillian Li
“What was that all about?” her dad asked, rumbled awake.
“My hand slipped.” She gave him the breeziest smile she could muster. “Go back to sleep.”
*
Johnny’s mother was waiting for him when they pulled into the circular driveway. Dead leaves, leaves that his mother usually cleared away in the morning, surrounded the weeping willow in the center. His mother’s small face was visible from behind the side window. She did not wave or otherwise acknowledge the car.
“We’re going to talk about your new friend when I finish this,” Johnny said, opening the car door. “I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to tell me about the relationship, but we need to go over your behavior. And his.”
“Dad, close the door.” Annie pressed the lock button prematurely. “You’re letting in the heat.”
He shut the door with more force than necessary and instantly regretted that both his mother and daughter had witnessed his frustration. His mother’s face remained in the side window until he walked up the front steps. The sheer drape sprang back into place and her face disappeared. Seconds later, he heard the heavy click of the deadbolt, and when he pushed the door open, he felt her pulling from the other side. His mother couldn’t even let him open a door without interfering.
“Good, you’re here,” she said, when he stepped into the foyer. The temperature of the house was in the eighties, a sucker punch after the heat outside. His mother appeared to be wearing at least five layers of sweaters. The extra cotton padding swallowed up her thin body. If he asked about her health too directly, she would accuse him of wanting his inheritance early, but it was his responsibility to make sure she wasn’t a danger to herself. A year ago she’d slipped on the stairs and broken her leg. He and Jimmy had looked into some retirement communities after the accident, but they hadn’t committed to anything.
“Ma, how are you; have you eaten?” Johnny slipped out of his shoes. She’d laid out his father’s old sandals, which were made of hard plastic, with nubs meant to massage the feet. Every step pinched his skin. He followed her into the kitchen.
“This is what happens when you run off to Hong Kong and leave your family behind,” she continued, ignoring his niceties. “Did you forget you’re a grown man? You looked ridiculous. At least you stayed out of Beijing and didn’t saddle my family with your nonsense. You missed so many charity dinners while you were gone. You could have made some connections for the restaurant. Now you don’t even have a restaurant to make connections for!”
“I’m back now,” Johnny said. He felt a dull stab of worry at the mention of his unemployment. “You need to calm down. You’ll give yourself a heart attack.”
“This boy goes and teaches one class and now he thinks he can lecture his own mother.” She looked off to the side, addressing the invisible audience that witnessed all their family’s disagreements.
“Sit down and I’ll make tea,” he said. He pulled a chair out for her.
The kitchen counter was dull and sticky, lacking the perfume of bleach and lemons that once followed his mother everywhere. He’d been right to worry about the upkeep of the house. When he was younger, he’d never wondered how the mansion was kept so spotless, every corner free of dust and cobwebs, and every toilet, of which they had eight, scrubbed clean. Once, a friend had asked what maid service they used, and when Johnny said that his mother did all the cleaning, the friend had called him a liar. Keeping their house clean on her own, when she worked nearly full-time, must have required superhuman strength. But his mother was no longer superhuman. She was just human now, a senior human at that, who could no longer keep even the kitchen island clean.
At least the hot-water dispenser was full. Johnny filled the teapot, packed loose tea leaves into the strainer drying by the sink, and grabbed two mugs.
His mother had gotten up soundlessly. Surprising him, she took the mugs and teapot out of his hands.
“Ma, let me.” She was already setting the items down on the table.
She looked him over while they waited for the tea to steep.
“You’ve gotten fatter,” she said.
“I’m just puffy from the flight,” he said. He tugged at the waistline of his pants, which were tighter, but not, he reassured himself, uncomfortably so.
“You’re looking older too. You need to sleep more. You’ll catch a cold.”
“I would be sleeping now if you hadn’t asked me to come here immediately.”
His mother made a sucking noise with her tongue, as dismissive as an eye roll but with extra juice. Johnny grabbed the teapot, scalding his fingers, and filled their mugs.
“The tea isn’t ready!” she scolded. The liquid came out a pale, translucent green.
“You’re clearly freezing.” He pinched the sleeve of her sweater. “You need something to warm you up.”
“The heat is good for your health.” She inspected her cup petulantly. “This is why Americans die young. Their houses are too cold.”
Talking to his mother was like talking to a toddler. Her reasoning didn’t take steps; it leaped and bounded with strides too long for any person to follow. She was steadfast in her opinions, and the only person more stubborn was Jimmy. No wonder Jimmy was her favorite, a piece of knowledge that sometimes made it easier for Johnny to be patient with his mother and sometimes drove him to tell her he was the only one who cared.
“You shouldn’t be sweating in your own house,” he said. He warmed his already hot hands against the teacup. “Does Jimmy know I’m back?”
“He doesn’t answer my calls. Who knows if he listens to my messages?” His mother sniffed and turned her head. “What did I do in a past life to deserve these sons?”
Something about the way his mother addressed her invisible audience sounded different. Her voice had taken on the goading tone she’d used to get his father’s attention when he was alive. Had his mother replaced her audience with his father?
“Are you lonely?” he asked her. “Do you miss Dad?”
She recoiled at his questions. A puff of breath shot out from her mouth.
“I’m fine.” She rooted through her pockets. “You ask useless questions. More like the baby of the family than the oldest. I should’ve kept trying for a girl.” She pulled out a small tin of mints and crunched one between her teeth. “A girl would keep her mother company. A girl would’ve made your father smile, even in his grave, instead of making him weep in the dirt.”
Johnny quickly drank down his tea and walked his cup to the sink. The extra distance dampened his mother’s volume. He was tired from traveling, too tired to absorb the shock of his brother’s actions, his daughter’s behavior, and certainly too tired to listen to his mother’s accusations. Even her wishful thinking was hostile. How could one woman be so hateful and yet so clearly obsessed with love? He turned back to face her, leaning his waist against the sink. She’d let the gray take over her hair. He didn’t like the look. The gray didn’t so much age her as sharpen her. His mother didn’t need to look more severe and put-upon. Even so, she seemed to be shrinking behind the large mahogany table, dwarfed by the high back of her chair. She was too small for such a big house.
“Why am I driving you to Jimmy’s?” Johnny asked.
“We should’ve already left.” She checked her watch. “But you had to make tea.”
“If you wanted to leave, you should have said so.”
“Don’t pout.” She poured her tea back into the pot. “You were always too sensitive. At least your brother’s got thick skin.”
“I spent the past six months teaching lecture halls full of college kids,” Johnny said, following his mother into the garage. “I don’t think a sensitive man could’ve handled that.”
“Only a sensitive man would surround himself with children who don’t have an original thought in their heads,” she shot back. She ducked around to grab his shoes from the foyer.
“You are impossible to talk to!” He was a teenager again, surly because his
mother had forced his hand.
She set down his shoes, fussing with a small scuff on the leather. “Jimmy is expecting us,” she said. “Apparently he’s brought over his real estate agent. I bet she’s a real looker.”
Johnny brought up his most recent image, from almost ten years ago, of Jimmy’s ex-wife, Helen: painfully thin, with an impossibly large chest, and big teeth that showed whether she smiled or scowled. Jimmy had, of course, met her at a club.
“Be nice,” Johnny said.
“I raised two fools,” his mother yelled over the crashing groan of the garage door. She zipped herself into a large puffy jacket, looking like a sleeping bag with legs. Walking toward the hulking SUV she’d picked out for her birthday a few years ago, she paused at the passenger door. “Now help Ma into her car. My hip is too stiff to use the step.”
13
Johnny and their mother were minutes from arriving, but Jimmy was more preoccupied with every step Janine was taking in his condo. He’d lived there since his thirties, hiding out after his divorce. He’d signed the lease as a temporary solution—until he found a good woman to take pity on him, his mother liked to say. But the years had passed.
He’d forgotten what it was like to re-see his space through a lover’s eyes, and Janine’s eyes in particular did not gloss over details. Her head swiveled while she walked around his living room, taking in every thoughtless choice he’d made. The condo had an industrial design: exposed piping, useless pillars, and cold concrete floors, which he’d minimally covered with a few rugs. His TV was large and thin, like a slab of black ice. A leather couch curved around the room, ugly and brown, but so comfortable that he’d spent many nights curled against its back. The coffee table was crowded with remotes, and an old, stained coaster teetered on the edge. Janine took a seat at the end of the couch, anticipating but unable to stop the rude squeak of the leather.
“What a place you’ve got here,” she said, hands on her knees.
“I’d show you around, but my cleaner is on vacation,” he said. His mother had trained messiness out of the entire family, but better to save the rest of his apartment from scrutiny.
“How’re you planning on telling Johnny and your mother?” She was still looking around the living room.
“I’m sure Johnny’s briefed Feng Fei,” he said. “We just need to make sure they don’t team up.”
“Divided they fall,” Janine agreed.
“Leave it to me,” he said. “You talk business and profits.”
“The sexy bits,” she said, crossing her legs.
Jimmy sat down next to her and skimmed his hand up her thigh.
“I can’t wait to get ahold of your sexy bits.” He tucked his fingers under the hem of her skirt. She pushed his hand away.
“Stay focused,” she said.
“Just a small handful,” he said.
“I’ll give you more if you just wait.”
They were both aware of how unappealing her promise sounded. So Janine was nervous. She placed a soft kiss on Jimmy’s neck, an apology for allowing her performance to slip. His discovery of her gambits had cast a penetrating light on their interactions, but it hadn’t reduced the pleasure he took in her attention. He didn’t enjoy her more; the enjoyment was just more intimate. The way that laughter at a joke and laughter at an inside joke took on separate registers felt different in the throat.
The doorbell rang and a flurry of knocks sounded against the wood. His mother’s signature greeting. Jimmy burrowed his head into Janine’s chest, murmured that he needed the luck, before going to let his family in.
“You gain weight,” his mother said when he opened the door. She always spoke English to him and Chinese to Johnny. Unless she was very angry. “You need new pants. I pick some up for you.” She went to check his size on the inside of his waistband, but he stepped out of reach.
“Good to see you,” said Johnny, following close behind.
“Nice of you to come all the way from Hong Kong,” Jimmy said. He inadvertently took a step back when Johnny approached. To cover, Jimmy swept out his arm, as if displaying his apartment, which was neither new nor impressive. “Anything to drink?”
“Ma, do you want tea?” Johnny asked.
“I can make tea.” Janine jumped up. His mother looked at her as if she’d appeared from thin air.
“This is Janine, my real estate agent.” Jimmy put a hand on each woman’s shoulder and pushed the two of them a little closer together.
“Nice to meet you.” His mother switched to Chinese as she shook off his hand. “You’re from China?”
“Yes,” Janine said, also in Chinese. “Like I said on the phone. Beijing, originally.”
“A Beijing girl.” His mother adjusted her Cartier watch. “Rare to find these days.”
“I haven’t gone back in a while,” Janine said. “What about you?”
“Not in years.” His mother sat down. Disliking the sinking cushion, she relocated to the sofa’s arm. “Do you have that pu erh tea I bought you?”
Jimmy started slightly. His mother was talking to him.
“It’s on the shelf above the toaster.”
“I’ll find it,” Janine said. She seemed unruffled by the abrupt end to the conversation. All three of them watched her leave the room.
“A Beijing girl,” their mother scoffed. She preferred to tear people down in her native tongue. “Putting on airs when she lisps like a Southerner. As if I can’t hear the difference!”
“I think her family is from Beijing,” Jimmy said. “Her ex-husband is from Shanghai.”
“She’s divorced?” His mother looked pleased and scandalized. “No wonder she has to be a real estate agent.”
“Mom!” Jimmy would not permit his mother to stick her thorns into Janine. “She’s a professional and the best in her field.”
His mother looked up at him like a startled child. Then she turned her head toward Johnny and her crowd of unseen supporters.
“Your brother is in love with his real estate agent,” she said. “My grandchildren will have country blood.”
The hot-water heater bubbled and clicked in the next room. Janine came out with a tray.
They sat in a semicircle on the couch, no one truly facing anyone else.
“What we do here?” his mother asked.
“The police are deciding whether or not to get involved,” Jimmy said. “But the insurance company is almost certain it was arson, and as long as they think I had something to do with it, I can’t cash in my policy.”
“You did have something to do with it,” Johnny said, as if forgetting their mother was in the room.
“Then why haven’t the police interrogated Jimmy as a suspect?” Janine said.
“Luckily,” Jimmy interrupted both of them, “my new restaurant is opening soon, and we can make up the lost wages with the Glory. But I need money until it starts making a profit. Mom, be reasonable: You don’t need that house, and I do.”
His mother stood up from her perch and slapped him on the side of his head.
“You be reasonable!” she yelled. “You ungrateful idiot.”
“We’ll find you a better place,” Jimmy said, his head stinging. “In D.C. Near the restaurant.”
“Like I’d want to eat at your trash heap. You don’t even have the family specialties.”
“Jimmy’s restaurant is high class,” Janine said, taking a few liberties to defend him. “The buzz is already incredible. The money will be repaid.”
“And my house?” His mother stood over Janine, whose professional veneer remained solid as ice. “Will my house be given back to me? The house where I spent my last years with my husband? The house that represents all our hard work and suffering?”
“That house is overwhelming you,” Jimmy said. “I saw how cluttered and dusty everything was. You need a smaller place or you’re going to hurt yourself.” He gestured toward Johnny. “We were already planning on moving you somewhere else, before this fire business.
Janine thinks we’ll get triple what you and Dad paid.”
“So that’s why you were in my house in the middle of the night!” His mother screwed up her face. “You brought this stranger into my house while I was sleeping?”
“Of course not,” Jimmy said easily. “I told you, I was trying to find paperwork.”
“Jimmy’s right. We were already planning on moving you,” Johnny said, swerving them, to Jimmy’s complete surprise, out of danger. “Ma, it’s not safe for a woman your age to live by yourself in a house that big.”
“And were you planning on letting me live with you?” she asked, her voice sharp and yet, at the end of her question, vulnerable.
“My place is under renovation—”
“My own children.” Their mother sank back down and dug her nails into the couch. “Hire me a housekeeper. Or a part-time nurse. If you really cared about my well-being and not your own pockets, you would never sell my house.” Her teacup tumbled out of her lap and broke against the concrete floor.
“Ma, you’re shaking.” Johnny grasped her thin shoulders. “We’ve worked you up. You need to lie down.” He tried to haul her up.
“You can take my bed,” Jimmy offered.
“I’d rather sleep in a pigpen,” his mother snapped. “I can’t stand to look at you. Any of you! I’m going to the car.”
“Let me walk you down.” Johnny tugged the car keys from his pocket.
“Leave me alone.” She grabbed the keys. “Stay up here and keep plotting with your worthless little brother and his ‘real estate agent.’”
She slammed the door behind her. Janine bent down to pick up the ceramic pieces from the floor.
“You can just leave that,” Jimmy said distractedly. Janine gathered all the pieces and went to the kitchen.
“Are you happy?” Johnny asked. “You’ve probably taken five years off her life.”
“If you’re going to lecture me, you can leave,” Jimmy said.