Dim Sum Days
A fictional short story about mother-daughter relationships over dim sum. Inspired by several Sundays’ worth of sui mai with my Po Po.
In the free fall of retirement, Ming An Fen looked forward to Sundays. Usually, she slept in and only woke when the ache in her back could no longer be ignored. On Sundays, however, An Fen set a five o’clock alarm. She needed enough time to boil coffee, wake her husband, read the Chinese newspaper, pick out her Sunday best, put in pearl earrings, and gossip over WeChat before her daughter arrived. She did this all while refusing to eat. An Fen didn’t allow her lo gung to eat either, which made him grumpy, but it meant they’d eat their money’s worth without rushing the meal. Days like these required such care. After all, Sundays were dim sum days and dim sum days meant family.
Their daughter, Lei Li, lived by schedules and arrived at eleven o’clock sharp. At 10:55 a.m., An Fen wrestled the lint out of her vest and readjusted the clip in her short, gray hair. On their way out of the apartment, she reminded her lo gung to grab his wallet a second time. They argued their way downstairs to the apartment parking lot where Lei Li waited in a white SUV. Lei Li flashed an impatient smile.
An Fen greeted Lei Li as her lo gung took the other passenger seat. The car was missing its usual giggles and hugs. Lei Li explained that her daughters were with James at a basketball game, they’d meet at the restaurant later. As they navigated San Gabriel’s wide streets, An Fen talked about her potted chilis on the patio. Her daughter could convince her lemon tree to fruit if — suddenly Lei Li blared the horn. An Fen fell silent as her daughter cursed in English.
Perhaps she should let Lei Li drive in silence. An Fen swatted at her lo gung to stop dictating a text message on WeChat. She felt bad about placing the burden of chauffeur on her only child, especially when it kept Lei Li from attending basketball games. The discussion always led to argument though. With An Fen’s growing forgetfulness and her lo gung’s back surgery last year, Lei Li said they had reached the age where driving was no longer an option. Lo gung proposed something called “Oobah” or “Leef” but Lei Li dismissed the idea of riding with strangers, especially when they couldn’t speak English. Until now, An Fen and her lo gung had navigated San Gabriel fine. Strip malls passed, graceful names of restaurants and Chinese groceries next to sharp English letters. An Fen’s granddaughters had tried to teach her English, but An Fen never remembered which letter made which sound. She was too old to learn. When An Fen’s words failed her and her daughter, sometimes it was easier to talk about house plants.
When An Fen’s words failed her and her daughter, sometimes it was easier to talk about house plants.
When Lei Li stopped shaking her head, An Fen continued in Cantonese, “Oh, I finally got those pictures from First Aunt. She’s so forgetful. I think she’s getting worse with age.”
“WeChat is hard to use, Ma.”
“Tiu! My eldest sister is old but not dumb. She knows WeChat well enough to send me all those videos of dancing dogs. Does she not remember how to send photos of family?”
“People get busy.”
“Too busy to remember loved ones?” An Fen said. Her daughter always took the wrong side. “She couldn’t have. I’ve been asking for those photos for days now. No, this is because she’s still angry with me. Her grandson got into UC Davis and I wasn’t quick enough to congratulate him. Of course, how was I supposed to know? She only told Second Aunt.”
“What are these photos of?” Lei Li said, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.
“Her birthday dinner! You forgot?” An Fen said. Again, Lei Li had forgotten something An Fen mentioned so often during their calls. Sometimes it seemed she was somewhere else when they talked. Worrying, always worrying. It struck An Fen that First Aunt might be angry with her forgetful daughter. “You remembered to wish First Aunt a happy birthday, yes?”
“Of course, we greeted her as soon as the kids woke up.”
An Fen nodded and watched her lo gung scroll through WeChat. Three days had passed but the family group chat still hummed with First Aunt’s 80th birthday dinner. An Fen pieced the meal together through pictures, audio recordings, and stickers. All three of her sisters and their families had gathered around a table full of long noodles, roasted quail, and lobster to celebrate First Aunt’s achievements.
“Our message was nice,” Lei Li said, “I’ll show you later. The girls sang her a song.”
An Fen nodded. First Aunt must be pleased; she loved attention growing up. An Fen had sent her own recording, praising First Aunt for living so long — their parents only lived to their seventies — and for having smart grandchildren. She spent an hour rehearsing. How could An Fen possibly express her relief at her sister’s health, her sorrow at the last twenty birthdays missed, and her fears of their fading connection? An Fen settled on a thirty-second recording and a happy dog sticker.
Though An Fen no longer saw herself living in Guangzhou, her spirit ached to return. She wanted authentic dim sum: the silky rice noodles that made the tongue weep and the deep teas that welcomed the new day. She wanted to cross through open-air markets, their overflowing produce crowding the sidewalk, on the way to First Aunt’s apartment. She wanted big dinner tables and drunken laughter and the ache of too much food. This yearning was unrealistic, of course. A plane ticket was far too much to ask of her daughter. Perhaps An Fen could save up for First Aunt’s 90th. After all, love was meant to be shared in person.
She wanted authentic dim sum: the silky rice noodles that made the tongue weep and the deep teas that welcomed the new day.
“Third Aunt posted photos,” Lei Li said, “She’s traveling now, no?”
“Her family took her to Shanghai, yes,” An Fen said, meeting Lei Li’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Lei Li had her father’s long face and auspicious nose, but An Fen’s eyes. They were dark and round, transparent in their annoyance or joy. An Fen caught a tinge of the former, was Lei Li still bothered by their tardiness? An Fen mirrored back a smile.
An Fen was being foolish. Her family was here, about to enjoy dim sum. When Lei Li looked away, An Fen told her lo gung that they’d treat. He nodded and continued to scroll.
Red Bao Dim Sum House sat on the third floor of a strip mall above a 99 Ranch Market and three herbal medicine stores. The only parking spot sat across the lot. An Fen navigated the maze of Toyotas and BMWs in her black loafers, sturdy ones she found for only three dollars, while Lei Li supported lo gung close behind. Inside the strip mall, they took a right turn — newcomers missed the elevator tucked away to the right — and rode two-floors to Red Bao’s lobby. Sunday morning patrons packed every square foot. Hungry elders, quiet parents, and impatient college students crowded a hostess with their tickets. Her voice carried numbers in Cantonese and English over a loudspeaker. An Fen snickered and left her family for the restaurant floor. Only newcomers grabbed a number.
An Fen pushed past people on their phones and stepped into the left-side of the restaurant. A hundred clothed tables shone with tin baskets. Families laughed with chopsticks and argued between stuffed cheeks. Servers wheeled shopping-cart-sized steel carts in the valleys between chairs. They called out various dishes, desserts, and snacks through spit guards and ribbons of steam. The chorus shook the fake chandeliers overhead and drowned out ESPN highlights on flat-screen TVs. A little girl ran past An Fen with a toy car.
Standing on her tiptoes at five-foot-four, An Fen waved over the new manager, Cheng. He was a tall balding man with a wiry goatee. Unlike the old manager, who had left with their decade-long rapport six months ago, Cheng did not cross the room to greet her. An Fen chased him down, slipping a $5 red envelope into his palm. The gift and smiles summoned an empty table, settings, and a pot of Oolong. An Fen used to get everything with a smile.
An Fen sat at the table by the time her lo gung and Lei Li squeezed into the restaurant.
“Aiya, so fast?” Lei Li said.
“Lo po, which old lady did you fight off this time?” Lo gung said, chuckling. He set his canvas hat and coat over his seat.
“Tiu! Sit,” An Fen said, wiping her chopsticks with her napkin, “I got Oolong. Tell James we’re here and ask him what the kids want. Anything they want! Gung Gung is paying.”
Her lo gung gave a thumbs-up as he took his seat.
“Ma, you paid last week,” Lei Li said. She poured tea, filling everyone’s cup before filling her own. “You know it’s our turn.”
“No!” An Fen said in English. Lei Li loved throwing a fit about paying. Today An Fen would take care of her daughter for once. “We pay on Sundays. That is how it is.”
“We only eat together on Sundays!” Lei Li said.
“Then you should make the drive and eat with us more!” An Fen said.
Lei Li’s smile fell. An Fen hated the sudden tightness in the air. It was a joke!
An Fen knew eating together was more complicated than a thirty-minute drive. Two cities separated them, but the kids’ basketball practices and Lei Li’s real-estate meetings kept them apart. An Fen knew she was lucky to see her daughter each week, but there was also a selfish bitterness at how life had left An Fen with Sunday mornings. Daily conversations over the phone weren’t enough. Love needed to be shared in person.
“Aiya, no more talking. I want to spoil my granddaughters today,” An Fen said. She waved over a cart lady. “There’s siu mai. How many can they eat?”
“Grab two,” Lei Li said.
A server placed two metal baskets on the lazy Susan. Each basket had three carefully wrapped siu mai with their signature crinkly egg wash wrappers and a pinch of orange roe. An Fen smiled at the thought of her granddaughters stuffing their cheeks. Lei Li wrapped her fingers around her teacup. Gung Gung watched his videos. Their hunger could wait.
Ma started a one-sided conversation that Lily nodded along to. Their daily calls taught Lily the tone indicating Ma wanted to be heard rather than engaged with. So far, the former. “Your father’s back is better. Oh, and that other medication made his rash go away…”
The chatter gave Lily time to process. Ma loved playing the guilt card. In middle school Ma said, Baba cooks for you and you’d rather go to a movie? In college, How will you support your family with an English degree? Couldn’t Ma appreciate the moment? Eat with us more! They were sitting at the table!
Lily caught herself. She knew Ma didn’t mean half the things she said, though her words often sparked a fire. When Lily was a teenager, her anger and embarrassment fizzled out hours after their arguments. Now, some twenty-five years later, the heat stayed in her soul for days or weeks, mixing with oily guilt until it burned her inside out. Lily still called every day, sent gifts, and drove them around. Like a grease fire, smothering usually did the trick.
Lily swallowed the heat and refilled her cup last. Rice wrapped ha gao and pei dan congee filled the table. Baba blasted his volume close to his ear, even though Lily had bought him earbuds last month. To his right, Ma waved over nearby cart ladies as she described their last doctor’s visit. Lily nodded and fed Ma a question. Their order sheet filled with red stamps as though more food would bring the girls faster. Lily might as well think up ways to get to the bill first. Maybe she’d run to the bathroom…
After the siu mai lost its steam, Lily texted James for his ETA. She imagined the Subaru that cut them off on the way here. Her breath caught. Of course, the kids were fine. James must’ve offered Mia or Sophie’s teammates a ride home.
Ma paused and met Lily’s eyes. She finally wanted a conversation instead of nods. Lily swiped Do Not Disturb. She needed her full attention to keep conversations with Ma pleasant. Any topic could start innocent until it riled Ma up or tore Lily down. The most important part about Sundays was ensuring they returned the next week.
The most important part about Sundays was ensuring they returned the next week.
“Small world! Li Ying Wei sent me a WeChat request! She had a boy in your grade.”
“He doesn’t sound familiar…” Lily said. Of course, she remembered Francis Li, they went to Junior prom together. After Arcadia High, Francis went to Stanford and then UPenn for his MBA. Considering her Bachelor’s in Business Economics at UCLA, this was a guaranteed nosedive. “Speaking of middle school, did I tell you Mia is running for Treasurer in her leadership class? We’ve been working on her campaign — ”
“Didn’t you like Francis?” Ma said. “I remember you would hog up the phone line talking into the night. Late too! Lap-lap-sang all day. It was very cute.”
“We were talking about homework,” Lily said, shooing a cart lady that came too close. The girls didn’t like taro puffs anyway. “Sophie’s done well with schoolwork lately. All A’s!”
“You sure sounded happy for homework! No wonder you got that C in geometry.”
For a woman who called about lost glasses every other week, she sure had a good memory. “That reminds me. For summer, James proposed a basketball camp, but I think we should start preparing the girls for high school. Mia will be a freshman soon and that’s when colleges start looking at transcripts. You said there was a college prep place near your apartment? Harvard-something? Maybe the girls could spend time with you and — ”
“Let them enjoy basketball with friends. They’re very smart,” Ma said, adjusting her glasses. “You worry too much. Be careful. Worrying adds more wrinkles.”
Lily considered sharing what her therapist thought the real source of her stress was. Eight dishes, bowls, and baskets filled the lazy Susan — already too much food for the six of them. A bowl of pei dan jook, its thousand-year-old egg chunks like black pearls in rice porridge, shadowed plates and baskets. Shrimp ha chun glistened in a pool of soy sauce, the translucent rice noodles hinting at the fat prawns underneath. Sesame-studded, lotus paste balls sat pretty in a basket. Dangling strips of braised tripe for Baba streaked burnt orange on the bowl. Jellyfish noodles for Mia, Lily’s eldest, jiggled with every turn. Did Ma want everything to be cold by the time they arrived? Where was James anyway? Was there an accident on the freeway?
“Who knows? Maybe Mia or Sophie will meet a very nice boy at basketball camp,” Ma said. “Did I ever tell you Ying Wei and I tried to get you and Francis together? You would’ve been very comfortable! Ying Wei says he makes good money at Goldman Sachs — ”
“Ma!” Lily said, flames licking her throat. How could Ma say that? They were perfectly comfortable! James taught Chemistry at Temple City High, Lily was a top producer for her real estate group. Without James’ freedom to take care of the kids, Lily would’ve never had her career. Ma should know James was off-limits. “Let’s stop talking about this. It’s in the past.”
“Yes, yes. You’ll see when your daughters are older. Mothers only want the best.”
“James is the best. You know that! You can’t just — ”
A server in a vested uniform cut Lily short. “Durian pastry, dan tat, red bean bao…”
Lily waved the man off before Ma could answer. “We have enough food.”
“But Mia loves dan tat. Let’s grab some. Those were fresh.”
“The man will come back,” Lily said. She refilled Baba’s cup, then Ma’s, then her own. She breathed heat from her lungs as she remembered Ma’s good intentions. Sensitivity wasn’t inherent to motherhood, her therapist said. Ma learned from her Ma and so forth. Lily swore to break the chain. Her daughters would learn the power of their words.
“Lei Li, I meant it when I said Baba and I are treating.”
“It’s our turn,” Lily said, taking her seat. Why couldn’t her mother listen for once?
“Fine, fine. You don’t have to be stingy though. Don’t worry about the money — ”
“It’s not about the money!” Lily shouted.
A server fell silent. A few nosy mothers arched their necks. Baba broke from his screen.
“This!” Lily said, meeting Ma’s eyes as the words boiled over. “This is why I’m afraid to bring my family here. I knew one day you’d compare them, you’d make them feel they’re not good enough when you’re the only one not happy. You always do this, Ma. You never appreciate what you have. Can’t you see how lucky we are to meet up like this? Can’t you see I’m happy? James is a wonderful husband and father. You’re lucky to have him as a son-in-law.”
Ma was silent. Baba hid behind his phone. Dread anchored Lily to her seat. She hadn’t shouted at her mother in years. Lily felt herself regressing to her teens: voices bouncing against kitchen tile, insults and I-hate-yous, a slammed bedroom door. Shouting never solved anything when their words rang hollow. Lily would keep visiting her parents. Her kids needed them.
Ma’s eyes glistened as she spoke. “I do appreciate our family. Very much.”
Was Ma… crying? The thought made her shift in her seat. “I know you do, Ma.”
“We appreciate James. I hope you know that too. We see him as our son.”
“Thank you,” Lily said. Her words hung too high to swallow back down. Ma wiped the corner of her eye with a napkin. Lily hated the heat bubbling under her skin, the way it gnawed her raw. She didn’t want to be angry at her mother anymore.
Suddenly, Sophie’s voice sounded from behind. “Po Po! Gung Gung!”
Sophie, her youngest, ran across the room in her red community league jersey. Ma melted into a wide smile as soon as Sophie hugged her. James followed close behind with Mia, their twelve-year-old. Mia kissed Baba’s cheek and put her flat cap on his head. The heat in her chest could wait. Family came first.
“Waa. Ho lang-ah,” Mia said, exaggerating ‘so pretty’ as she’d seen in movies.
“Lang-AHH,” Sophie said.
“Sorry we’re late,” James said in English before kissing Lily on the cheek. His freckles danced above his smile. He ran a hand through the curls in his auburn hair and passed over Sophie’s pink sweatshirt. “We stopped at home. Girls, don’t forget to say hi to Mommy.”
“Hi, Mommy!” Sophie and Mia shouted, their voices hitting the sugar octave.
“You stopped at home, huh?” Lily said, catching the chocolate stain on Sophie’s jersey. She glared at James’ crooked smile. Did he seriously take the kids to Wendy’s? “The kids have a lot of energy after that game — Girls! Be gentle with Gung Gung please.”
“Endorphins, wow!” James said, retreating to kiss Ma’s forehead. He used the Cantonese Lily had taught him, “Neiho, Ma. Dee ma, Ba?” He turned to Lily, “How has Dad’s back been? Any better?”
Baba flashed a thumbs-up and gestured for the five of them to squeeze in for a picture. The phone exchanged hands as everyone joined the frame. James helped Baba share the pictures with aunts and uncles in Guangzhou as the kids took their seats.
“Good! Now, eat!” Ma said in Cantonese. She filled the girls’ plates with desserts first. “If the food is cold, we’ll re-order it! Look for carts! Gung Gung is paying!”
James leaned over as Lily translated. When he gave her a look, Lily told him they were treating, of course. She slipped her credit card into her pocket.
Lily forgot about the card in the blur of re-filled teacups and moving baskets. James ordered calamari. Ma caught Lily’s eye and ate a piece of fried squid for him. Ma never ate much during dim sim, always too busy piling food on the girls’ plates. Their little hands split open crumbling custard buns and flaky egg tarts. They fumbled with their chopsticks, the siu mai dropping and rolling on the table cloth. Ma wiped sauce off cheeks bulging with shrimp ha chun and jellyfish noodles. Halfway through the meal, the sugar rush crashed and Sophie cried when Mia took her hair tie. Ma soothed them with mango pudding and Baba told them to smile for photos. Now and then, James tapped Lily’s arm to check if she was alright. She was fine. She refused to be angry with her daughters present.
Ma never ate much during dim sim, always too busy piling food on the girls’ plates.
Full stomachs and squeaking chair backings signaled the end of the meal. The card cut into Lily’s thigh, reminding her of the tab. Lily set her stained cloth napkin on her plate and announced a trip to the bathroom. Ma didn’t seem to notice, preoccupied with one of Sophie’s basketball stories.
As Lily excused herself, Mia tugged her sleeve. “Ngo oi neih means ‘I love you,’ right?”
“Yes, very good!” Lily said. “Did you learn that off Duolingo, honey?”
“No, Po Po and Gung Gung said it,” Mia said, straightening out her cap. “They’ve said it before, I wanted to make sure I knew. You can go pee, that’s all I needed.”
Ma had said I love you? Ma sat across the table, eyes closed as Sophie played with her hair. She looked so much older and softer. The hardness of her jaw had soft wrinkles. Hints of a smile pulled at the corner of her lips. Ma looked at peace.
Yet, Lily’s heat returned with a new roar.
An Fen smiled as her youngest granddaughter played with her face. Sophie jumped with new energy, her tummy bulging under her jersey. Her palms rubbed circles into An Fen’s cheeks, stretching her mouth into a smile or frown. An Fen scrunched her face against the pull and reached for Sophie’s nose. Sophie giggled and pulled away.
James looked up from his phone to tell Sophie to stop. Sophie slumped and crossed her arms. An Fen sighed. Little girls should be silly, before the world demanded they be smart, pretty, or firm. She put her thumb to her nose and made a funny face. Sophie giggled and played with the wrinkles between An Fen’s finger bones.
Mia had already outgrown her silly phase. Acne studded her forehead and her legs looked too long for her basketball shorts. An Fen tried to remember Lei Li at that age of growing pains. What year did Lei Li leave her silly girlhood behind? When had they first started to argue? Mia was already smart, analyzing her leftover egg custard flakes with a scholar’s eye. Soon Mia and her mother would find things to disagree about.
What year did Lei Li leave her silly girlhood behind?
Lei Li had left for the restroom. An Fen knew she should not parent her granddaughters, that was Lei Li’s job. Like the thin lemon tree in Lei Li’s yard, the girls would grow under loving care until they outgrew their pot and soil. At best, An Fen could provide a stick to guide them.
“Mia, Sophie. Listen close,” An Fen said. She spoke mostly to Mia, who could speak Cantonese best. “You must learn from your mother. She is very smart, pretty, and strong. When she was little, she used to read every book in the library. She focused on her studies, always did her homework, and got good grades in most of her classes. All the boys liked her, not because she wore lots of makeup, but because she had a beautiful smile and sharp tongue. She was also hardworking. When we first came here, we had no money. Your mother learned English and cleaned bathrooms to pay for our clothes.”
An Fen’s chest swelled with pride. She searched her granddaughter’s eyes, hoping some of this had translated. The world was tough on girls. Their hearts needed a stake to brace strength. “Be more like your mother. She loves you very much.”
Lily heard her mother in the silent bathroom hallway. These days, her inner monologue resembled Ma’s nagging. So why couldn’t Lily picture Ma saying I love you?
Lily held the restroom door open for a young mother and her daughter, a finger leading a tiny hand. The mother cooed in Cantonese, though the care was in the context, not the words. ‘I love you’ in Cantonese sounded awkward, too quick to carry such deep sentiment.
The credit card dug into Lily’s thigh as she washed her hands. Flicked soap bubbles crusted the mirror, similar to their mirrors back home. The girls probably had another bubble fight earlier when they left to wash hands. What if they did that at one of Lily’s open houses? Lily would talk to them later. Another item for her to-dos.
You worry too much, Ma had said. Looking past the soap specks, Lily caught a few grays in her hair and bags under her eyes. Her eyelids were mismatched, one mono-lidded and the other creased. They were uniquely uneven, though Ma always said they had the same eyes. Lily traced a laugh line with her finger, wondering if Ma was right about wrinkles and worries too.
“Ngo oi neih,” Lily tested under her breath. Even their voices sounded similar. Would Lily look and sound like her mother when she got older? She considered this for a moment, surprised that becoming her mother didn’t fill her with more dread. Then again, they were already so different, deliberately so. Lily swore to never compare her daughters and to express gratitude. At Lily’s college graduation and wedding reception, Ma never said “I love you” once. Of course, she struggled to imagine an “I love you” from her mother.
Guilt flared with anger. “I love you” felt like a hollow measure of love. Ma loved differently. When Lily had Sophie and Mia, Ma took care of them so Lily and James could return to work. Whenever they visited, Ma sent Lily home with leftovers so they wouldn’t have to cook. Every day, Ma called first and hung up last. Lily could do without the daily criticism, but that came out of love too. How could Lily possibly name the last “I love you,” resent Ma for it, when Ma had taught Lily the meaning of love?
A tear slid down her cheek. Suddenly, the bathroom stall opened and Lily scrambled to blot her face with a paper towel. The young mother led her daughter to the sink and hand dryer. Stumbling with wet hands, the girl sniffed and the mother wiped her nose. A smile crossed Lily’s face. Ma probably still saw her as a little girl with sniffles. No wonder she nagged.
Lily joined the restaurant floor, avoiding busy carts and noodle dishes on elevated wrists. Their table was across the room, her family preoccupied. Ma stood by Sophie and Mia with a teapot. She was teaching them how to pour, eldest first. The girls laughed and nodded, and though Ma probably spoke too fast for them to understand, they followed her lead. Small hands and wrinkled hands carried heavy porcelain. They filled Baba’s cup, then Ma’s, completing a circle. James clapped as Gung Gung recorded.
She was teaching them how to pour, eldest first.
The fire in Lily’s chest lapsed for a moment. Ma said “I love you” all the time.
Lily found their server and produced the credit card in her pocket. She followed him to the register and signed a 20% tip that would make Ma scowl. They exchanged thank you’s and receipts. By the time Lily returned, Ma and the girls had finished refilling Lily’s cup.
“I got the tab,” Lily said in Cantonese, “Let’s go. The girls have homework to do.”
“Aiya!” Ma said, at the sight of the receipt. She let go of the teapot suddenly, the girls fumbling to pick up the slack. Hot tea slipped out the neck. Lily saw Ma jump back and cry out before she registered the spill on the tablecloth. Ma stood by her seat, cradling her right fist.
The family scrambled to Ma’s aid. Lily rushed to Ma’s side with questions, more out of concern than for answers. James stumbled over his words as he got ice water from a server. Gung Gung recovered the teapot from the girls. Mia soothed her sister’s sudden tears. The water had been hot but not boiling, Ma would be fine, but the shock threw the table into disarray. Everyone spoke or cried or cooed. Ma stood silent.
James passed a ball of wet napkin to Lily, but Ma pulled away before Lily could apply it. Anger and pain wrinkled Ma’s face. Her burnt hand shook, the other pointed at the receipt on the lazy Susan. “Lei Li, I said your Ba was treating. Are you deaf? Don’t you respect your parents?”
“What does it matter? You’re hurt!” Lily said, “Take the napkin!”
“Of course, it matters! Of course, I’m hurting!” Ma said, “You never listen!”
Lily held her retort between tight lips. Ma let the words hang, she said the rest with her pained glare. This was their language: empty words and weighted actions. A language of distance, projection, and disappointment. Perhaps their love was too sharp to get much closer.
Ma broke away first. She wiped Sophie’s sniffles and made a funny face.
