“Ma?”
“What’s wrong?” My mother picked up on my mood despite being thousands of miles away.
I detailed the meeting with Girard and the situation with Marc. I yearned for guidance and her wisdom.
“For Evelyn, there isn’t anything left for you to do.” There was a pause and the sound of sipping coffee. “As for your boyfriend, Vanessa, you know what to do. Why are you really calling?”
Forty-Five
Ma’s powers of perception overshadowed my own when it came to my emotions. She already knew. I’d ask if she had clairvoyance, but her insight only pertained to me. A form of foresight forged by maternal love.
“I can’t hide much from you, can I?” I asked her over the phone.
“I love you and, of course, I pay attention because I care. I only made you and no replacements.” My mother often used that phrase to denote my lack of siblings.
“I feel lost, Ma. I don’t know what to do with my life, or even where to look for answers.”
“Your life changed recently. It would be unusual to not be introspective, but you’re young still, you can take the time to figure it out. I don’t know what you’ll become, but I know the moment you get an inkling, your feet won’t be able to run fast enough to get you there.” She chuckled.
“I hope it’s soon. You know how impatient I am.”
“I do. And you’ll make this work with Marc. As for Evelyn, we’ll have to wait and see. I have never seen her upset. She is one of those rare types who keep their emotions to themselves. As upset as she is, though, I don’t see her holding on to grudges for long. That’s Ning’s specialty. Evelyn is strong. She is a Yu, whether she admits it or not.”
“I love you, Ma.”
“I love you too. Try and enjoy your stay there. You’re coming home soon and it hasn’t been much of a restful vacation.”
I made a face and laughed. “I’ll call you soon. Send Dad my love.”
“I’ll tell him you called.”
Energized by my conversation with my mother, I decided to surprise my aunt with dinner, and began foraging for takeout ideas while waiting for her to close the store for the day.
One way to show love was through food: the act of preparation, feeding, and eating. For weekend get-togethers, my aunties spent between a night and several days making their signature dishes. Each ingredient and seasoning was picked with meticulous care. The recipes they used were their own creations, or else passed down through their direct ancestors. Tradition guided their hands.
Feeding was more than an act of nourishment. The call of an auntie to eat during a visit was equivalent to a demonstration of affection. To coax a relative toward the ladened dinner table was an unspoken inquiry into their well-being, creating an endless paradox of constant offerings of food and unwanted observations of expanding waistlines.
Communal eating fostered and strengthened our family. Food was the official reason why we gathered, yet the comfort of each other’s company remained the underlying cause. My cousin Chester once likened our parties to a biblical locust swarm: no trace of food was left in the aftermath.
Aunt Evelyn needed support. She wouldn’t accept any comfort from me through words or an embrace, but she wouldn’t turn down the offer of dinner. There was a sushi restaurant I had spotted a block from the apartment. No language barrier could prevent a Yu from ordering an assortment of maki and sashimi.
* * *
* * *
The shop closed at six in the evening, and Aunt Evelyn made her way upstairs. I had laid out the giant platter of sushi, maki, and sashimi. Rainbow, unagi, and dragon rolls clustered around each other like colorful mosaic tiles in a mural medallion. Strips of raw, marbled salmon, crimson tuna belly, bicolored surf clam, fine slices of avocado, and creamy snapper rested on waves of spiralized daikon radish and pink roses made of pickled ginger. The bounty on the table was more than enough for four people, let alone two. Like the women in my family, I intended to smother my aunt with edible affection.
Aunt Evelyn put away her shawl and almost bypassed the feast waiting for her.
“I thought you’d be hungry.” I pulled out a chair.
Her tight smile betrayed effort. She took her seat and gave the food a cursory survey. I knew her appetite was waning. “This is too much food, Vanessa.” She picked up the takeout chopsticks, pulled them apart, and rubbed them together to remove any stray splinters.
I joined her at the table and performed the same ritual with the chopsticks. “How was your day at the shop?”
“I had three customers. Ines’s mother, Fatima, along with her two sisters, came to show their support and bought a few tins. While I appreciate the gesture, it’s not sustainable.” Aunt Evelyn plucked a toro sushi and two pieces of matching sashimi off the platter. “It’s not right for my friends to shoulder the burden.”
Without a word, I added three more pieces of red tuna to her plate. “What is your plan to counteract the boycott?”
“I don’t think there is anything I can do anymore. I contacted the business associations in the area, but ran into interference. The grand opening was supposed to be modest, steady, and sustainable. That didn’t last beyond the first few days. How could I anticipate a boycott? I’m insured against natural disasters and fire, not bigotry. Unless something changes, I’ll need to contact my realtor and sell.”
I opened my mouth to make a suggestion about alternative financing, but I doubted she’d be receptive. The fight had gone out of her; my aunt was the portrait of resignation.
“I want to help.”
She winced and looked through me, her eyes bloodshot and glassy.
I had hurt her, again.
Before, my barbs were born of frustration with my situation, like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Today, however, I had the unearned confidence of a teen, sure of my cause without regard to the consequences, and created a wake of drama, another mess for the adults to clean up.
“I know I’ve screwed up,” I said. “I’ve made it worse for your business and between you and Girard. It’s my fault. You don’t deserve any of this.” She raised her hand and parted her lips to speak, but I continued, halting her objection. “Before you say anything, I want you to know how sorry I am for what I have done.”
“I’m not angry with you, Vanessa, just hurt.” She put her food down, and rested her cheek on the back of her right hand, elbow on the table. “You had good intentions. You thought you were helping and, even though I had warned you against interfering in people’s lives, you did so anyway, and mucked it up. Hopefully you’ve grown and learned that, sometimes, things don’t work out the way we intended, planned, or hoped.”