by Roselle Lim
“I care about the neighborhood and the people in it.” And my mother.
He scoffed. “You care about your guilt. You ruined their lives as much as you ruined your mother’s.”
Ma-ma. I wanted him to stop, but my cowardice rendered me mute.
“She threw everything away after your grandmother died. She should have honored her mother by running the restaurant. Instead, she closed it. She abandoned her duty and shut herself in to avoid the shame of disappointing the community. Your grandmother worked hard to make something from nothing, and then you and your mother profited from her while disrespecting her legacy. Selfish. So selfish. Everything you have, you did not earn. You, like your mother, are carrion feeding off your grandmother’s corpse!”
I wiped my face with the back of my hand. His words cut into my skin, leaving a swath of tiny lacerations across my collarbones. Blood bloomed against the cotton weave of my blouse and mingled with the tears of my sorrow and shame.
I stumbled out of the restaurant sobbing with a wounded heart.
* * *
I ran home, over the fractures in the sidewalk, past the shops. I fished inside my purse for the keys to unlock the restaurant door. The crisscross cuts on my collarbones stung, but the psychological wounds hurt even more. Old Wu’s accusations held kernels of truth that I couldn’t deny: I had ruined my neighbors’ lives, Laolao’s recipes were backfiring because of me, and I was underqualified to run a restaurant. Worst of all, I was responsible for my mother dying alone.
The door unlocked and I slipped inside.
Smoke!
Puffy dark clouds billowed from the kitchen, spilling into the dining room area. Under the thick veil of black, flashes of orange burst through. The fire was coming from the stove.
My grandmother’s recipe book and her photograph were beside it. My family’s history had begun with this heirloom, and I would not be the one to lose it. Shielding my eyes and nose, I plunged forward into the gray, gulping, gasping, burning with each breath. It was as if I were swimming through deep waters, my arms moving in strokes to clear the clouds while my lungs screamed for air.
The silhouette of the thick leather-bound book was faint against the rising inky billows of smoke. Laolao’s photograph curled from the heat before bursting into flames. Laolao! Heat blasted my exposed skin as I reached forward, but my body convulsed in a series of coughing fits. The wall of smoke and heat proved impenetrable.
Suddenly, I was pulled backward into the dining room.
“What are you doing?” Celia demanded.
I blinked and coughed. “What are you doing here?”
“I smelled the smoke and ran over to check.”
All I could see was Laolao’s picture curling in on itself as it burned. “I lost her picture! But Laolao’s recipe book. I have to get it back—”
“Your grandmother would rather the building remain standing and her grandchild still be alive than have her bloody book rescued. Don’t go back in there.” Celia held me back as I tried to surge forward into the restaurant again. “I already called 911. We need to get out of here, right now.”
I stretched out my hand toward the gathering darkness. Laolao’s precious book was gone.
The cat! What if the fire spread and reached the apartment? Meimei was upstairs. “I have to get my cat,” I said to Celia. “I can’t lose her.”
She nodded. “Go quickly.”
I ran up the stairs and unlocked the door. I had to find Meimei fast because the stairs would be the first route of escape the fire would attack if it were to spread. I would need to exit through the window and down the fire escape after I found her.
“Meimei!” I called out.
The cat wasn’t in her usual spot on the chair. I could hear the fire crackling downstairs as my panic rose. I ran to my bedroom and the bathroom and she wasn’t there. The door to Ma-ma’s room was still closed, so she couldn’t be there either.
“Meimei!” I screamed again, tears streaming down my cheeks.
I couldn’t lose her. She was Ma-ma’s, and to lose her now . . . There was too much I had lost already.
I lowered myself to my hands and knees and scanned the underside of the sofa. A ball of fluff curled near the back wall followed by a soft meow. She was terrified.
“Come on out, my love. We need to get out of here.” I called out to her.
She mewed and didn’t move.
I contorted my body so I could extend my reach. Without a word, I snatched her into my arms, tighter than she wanted because I heard a yelp, and ran to the window. I yanked it open and crawled onto the fire escape outside.
* * *
The heart of the restaurant was gutted. Ugly scars marred the galley kitchen from the ceiling to the floor: oily, angry, swallowing steel and the walls. Putting out the blaze had resulted in lingering water damage. The damp had seeped into everything porous. The fireman said it was an electrical fire from the old knob and tube wiring, and that it could have been worse—the entire building could have gone up in flames. The structural damage wasn’t severe enough to compromise the first floor, which was a relief, yet the loss of the kitchen destroyed any chance of a future here for me.
Despite our fractured friendship, Celia dealt with the authorities and ordered me to stay inside what was left of the restaurant.
The cat climbed onto a stool, then onto the charred counter, and napped. I wished I had her ability to forget everything. I wanted nothing more than to fly away, far away from everything and everyone, or curl up in a ball beside the cat and slumber for a year.
A small crowd gathered outside, gawking. Unwanted pigeons. I spied a familiar blond real estate agent among the spectators. Extremely unwanted vulture. If only I had the energy to disperse them. My neighbors were on the other side of the glass, content to stay out.
They stared at me as if I were a zoo exhibit.
They stared at me as if I were my mother.
I was alone.
My dream had died in the fire and so had all of my hope.
Old Wu was right about me.
There was nothing left to do but run.
Chapter Twenty
I turned to the ruined goddess beside me. I had caused enough harm. I was the worst type of person. I had failed my mother. I had wrecked my neighbors’ lives. And now, the restaurant was gone. In a culture where elders and the family came before everything else, destroying Laolao’s legacy was unspeakable, the last of a long list of offenses to my name. Perhaps this was punishment for thinking I had been worthy of my grandmother’s restaurant.
Maybe Ma-ma had been right. I was doomed from the beginning. She hadn’t wanted me to open the restaurant. Had she foreseen my massive failure somehow?
Maybe it was more than that—the neighborhood, the building itself rejecting me. Yanking the Open sign off the window, I shut and locked the front door.
A hand appeared against the glass.
Daniel.
I placed my palm against his before unlocking the door.
He swept me into his arms, and I was enveloped in scents of laundered cotton, spearmint, and coffee. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he whispered. His hands rubbed my back in soothing circles as he continued to hold me tight against him.
I didn’t deserve his comfort, but I took it, soaked it in. “The fire took everything. I’ve lost my grandmother’s photograph and her recipe book,” I murmured against his chest.
“It didn’t take everything. You’re still here. That’s all that matters.”
“Is it?” I asked. “I can’t go through with opening the restaurant now.”
“You’ll find a way. There’s always another solution—”
“No.” Only hours ago, I had watched Laolao’s picture burn along with her recipe book. There was no changing that. And as for the damage, I had no funds. I’d already
cleaned out my bank account paying for the various permit and license applications. The fire had taken everything—including my will to fight.
I pushed him away. “This isn’t some sort of coding bug. This is my life and it can’t be fixed.”
Daniel raised his hands. “I know you’re upset and you have every right to be, but you can survive this. Don’t give up.”
I backed up against a wooden stool. My fingernails dug into the wood. “One of my neighbors told me recently that surviving isn’t the same as living. There is no pride in that. I can’t recover from this.”
“If it’s money you need, there are resources. You may not remember all of your grandmother’s recipes, but you can create your own dishes. You are a talented cook. Isn’t that the foundation of any successful restaurant?”
“You’re not listening to me.” The stool under my hands shifted, the wood splintering in the tiniest webs; not from the strength in my grip, but from the anger radiating inside me. The destruction of the kitchen, Laolao’s burnt book, losing my only photograph of her, and my failure to achieve my dream swirled together, fueling a fiery anger I hadn’t felt in a very long time.
He continued, “You can start over. It doesn’t have to be here. Being a chef is a portable skill; you can work anywhere. I’ve tasted your cooking—any kitchen would be lucky to have you. You could do that for a while to save up until this place is ready to go again.”
“No. I should have listened to my mother and found a different dream to chase. And now she’s dead. Laolao’s dead. And the restaurant is dead.”
The world spun around me, whirling on its axis, vomiting its contents. The seat of the stool splintered, cracking in half, causing me to stumble back. Wooden shards littered the floor like tiny daggers with each sharp end pointing toward Daniel.
“You’re still here. You are the agent of your own fate. It doesn’t look like it now, but all is not lost,” he said. His dark eyes focused on mine, pleading for me to reconsider.
He still wasn’t listening to me.
The rest of the stool shattered with a thunderous crack. The legs and seat exploded in a mass of long needles on the floor. He jumped out of the way just in time. Wooden arrows arranged by invisible hands, interlocking in an intricate fanlike pattern, all pointed to where he stood. I lowered my chin, spent from the release of my anger. “No, Daniel, I’m leaving. There’s nothing left for me here.”
“Nothing?” His hands clenched. “So you’ll run away? Because it’s so much easier? I thought you were better than that.”
“This is what I’m good at. I screw up, then I leave. And that’s what I’m going to do now.”
Daniel flinched and then stared at me with a gaze that seemed to me like a final goodbye. It was how I must have looked when I’d left Ma-ma for my travels.
“When you’re finished flying away from your problems, you know where to find me,” he declared before taking his leave.
I let him go. Time and distance were the cure for any pain. And he would forget. The girl in white would fade from his memory, like a dream leaving fleeting impressions.
I glanced at the devastation in the kitchen. Seeing darkness claim the heart of the restaurant was causing me physical pain. I had transitioned from destroying lives to destroying property. If this wasn’t a sign, I didn’t know what was.
I approached the spot on the counter where I had left Laolao’s recipe book and her photograph. There was nothing here but darkness.
I wished I had brought them upstairs to keep them safe. I wished Ma-ma were still alive. I wished the recipes had worked the way they should have. I wished I’d never meddled with things I had no business involving myself in. So many wishes. My mother had once told me, “Wishes are worth nothing because there’s so many of them. If they turned into stars, there would be no sky left.”
I couldn’t stand the sight of the wreckage any longer. I picked up Meimei and headed upstairs.
I was entropy’s handmaiden, bringing destruction to every life I touched. Although it was Younger Shen who’d thrown the punch, Miss Yu was in the hospital with a concussion because of me. Wayne Chiu, Anita Chiu, Older Shen, Younger Shen, Celia, Daniel, and even Ma-ma. I ruined lives—who was to say I wouldn’t have made Ma-ma’s worse if I’d stayed all those years ago?
Her letter still sat on the counter. I returned it to its spot in the toaster slot. The image of Ma-ma placing it there was one I wanted to remember. My mother had written a letter before she died, used the toaster as a mailbox, and hoped it would deliver her message to me.
I tossed my purse onto the coffee table.
The cat rubbed herself against my leg, stopped, meowed, and stared up at me, waiting to be picked up.
“Oh, Meimei,” I said, clutching her to my chest. I carried her to the sofa, where I curled into the fetal position. Warm tears trickled down my cheeks, spilling onto the sofa cushion, crystallizing into sparkling teardrops. I gathered the crystals and deposited them into one of Ma-ma’s bowls. The cat nestled her head against my neck. Her purrs made me cry harder. This little creature still loved me despite my failures. “You don’t choose the ones you love, do you?” I asked the cat through my tears. “I’m so sorry. You deserve better. I know you miss Ma-ma because I miss her, too, now more than ever.”
* * *
I handwrote a stack of letters, all apologies, ready to be mailed at the nearest post office before I headed for the airport.
Selling the building and its contents would have to wait. Mrs. Chiu and the lawyer could sort out the details. Ms. Minnows would not be involved: I would be sure to include specific instructions about who the ideal buyer should be as I owed the neighborhood that, at least. After I got a new job, I could pay for a professional packing company to come in and tuck Ma-ma’s things in storage. There wasn’t anything else left in the apartment that was valuable aside from my mother’s belongings; even those were only sentimental.
Exit plans were my forte: I always had my eye on the door from the moment I entered any room. I had my father to thank for it. He’d abandoned me and Ma-ma and left an indelible mark, teaching me that leaving was a viable solution to any problem. Fleeing was in my DNA. I’d often wondered if he had started over with a new family somewhere, if I had half siblings out there like me, but bringing up that particular line of thinking had only hurt Ma-ma. I’d always had the impression that as much pain as he had caused her, somehow a part of her had still managed to love him. I carried no such affection for the man whose genetic material contributed to my being.
He wasn’t here.
He had never been here.
He had left.
Maybe I was more like him than like my mother or Laolao.
He’d done us a favor by leaving.
And so would I.
The neighborhood was better off without me meddling in it and sticking around to rub my failures in their faces. I fell asleep with my passport on my pillow and the cat asleep on my stomach, hoping to dream about anything but what I was leaving behind. Sleep came with the heaviness of my world disintegrating. It pinned down my heart and soul until even hope couldn’t escape.
Chapter Twenty-one
The taxi pulled up as my finger was hovering over the send button on the message to Celia regarding my situation. I resolved to send it when I reached the airport. I’d bought a ticket back to Montreal, a city I’d wanted to spend more time in anyway.
As I glanced around the apartment, the cat rubbed against my legs. I picked her up and held her against my neck. “Oh, Meimei, I’m sorry, but I can’t take you with me. I’m asking Celia to take care of you. I’ll miss you. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay.”
The cat purred, sending gentle vibrations up my arms. If I could smuggle her into my shirt and past security, I would. It wasn’t fair that my mother had died, leaving her alone. It wasn’t fair that I was about to do the same.
>
Celia would take care of her. Meimei would be better off without me.
I wheeled my rolling luggage down the stairs. Each thud felt like another nail in the coffin. When I opened the door, I was surprised by who stood between me and the taxi.
“I knew you were going to run,” Mr. Kuk Wah said.
There was no sign of his erhu or its case. He crossed his arms over his chest; the writhing, tattooed dragons on his arms tightened into coils. The dragons were so lifelike I could almost hear the hiss from the rubbing scales. I waved the taxi off. I could always call another one later. I owed it to Mr. Kuk Wah to explain.
“There’s nothing left for me here,” I said.
“What about the restaurant? Your heart’s wish to open it?”
“It’s too late for that now. I’ve ruined my neighbors’ lives, and the fire destroyed the kitchen. I’m out of money. Even if there wasn’t a fire, Old Wu said he might block my permit application.”
He didn’t budge. “And you would let that stop you?”
I couldn’t answer. Instead, I walked toward the door of the restaurant and unlocked it. “You can see for yourself how hopeless it is.”
We both stepped inside. I was certain that once he saw how bad the damage was, he would understand why I chose to leave.
The thick stench of smoke still hovered in the air like an unshakable, oily blanket. I left the door open, hoping to disperse some of it.