The first time Vera does this, Julia follows, worry clawing at her. What if Vera is, in fact, a bad person with bad intentions toward Emma? So Julia follows, and Vera huffs and rolls her eyes, and at the playground, Julia watches, astounded, as Vera plops Emma right next to another little girl, and the two girls begin to—well, not play with each other as much as play next to each other. Still, it has always been such a struggle for Julia to get Emma within five steps of another child before Emma shouts, “No, I’m shy!” that this is a shock to see. How does Vera do it?
This question becomes an anthem for the whole day, and the next, and the next. How does Vera do it? How does Vera clean the house so tidily, how does Vera cook so quickly, how does Vera do anything? If someone told Julia that Vera is half-magic, she would believe them.
In the evenings, Vera retires to the master bedroom, where Julia has graciously put her after Vera lamented on the first day she arrived how in Chinese culture, the elders will always get the best room in the house. There, Vera snuggles in the king-sized bed and reads Oliver’s manuscript. Vera has never been a big reader, but she knows enough to gauge that Oliver’s manuscript is far from polished. It’s too raw, the pacing rushed in some parts, then slowing down to a crawl in others. But the thing that makes Vera keep reading is the story, which is about two brothers, one of whom is the perfect kid, or so everyone else thinks, and the other is the disappointment who skulks in his brother’s shadow, watching silently as his brother cheats his way through life. The shy brother falls in love with a girl who ends up marrying the golden brother. Vera is wondering if it will end with the shy brother poisoning the golden boy, maybe by smothering him with a down pillow? Part of her wants to skip to the end, but she hates spoilers, so here she is, patiently reading it page by page, and despite the erratic pacing, she’s sort of enjoying it.
It is on the fourth day of Vera’s stay, as she and Emma make pulled noodles in the kitchen, that there is a shout from the bedroom. Moments later, Julia comes thundering down the hallway and arrives all out of breath, her blond hair falling wildly around her face. She takes in the sight before her, of Emma covered in floury handprints, with strands of noodle dough in her brown curls, mid-laugh, and pauses. Vera can tell that Julia’s instinctive reaction is one of horror. The old Julia, Vera guesses, would’ve scooped Emma up and hurried away to clean her off. Probably before Marshall gets home. But then Vera sees the dawning in Julia’s eyes. The realization that Marshall isn’t coming home. Marshall isn’t going to be around to bitch about the mess, or inappropriateness, or whatever the hell Marshall would get angry about. And then Julia opens her mouth and laughs, and god, Vera thinks, what a sound it is.
It comes straight out of Julia’s belly, an unfettered laugh that is both joyful and unashamed of its rawness. Emma stares for a moment, then she joins in, giggling and smushing more noodle dough on her cheeks, throwing her head back and laughing some more. Vera herself can’t help but join in, and she can’t remember the last time she’s enjoyed herself so much. They all laugh until their sides hurt, until they’re gasping for breath; then, still breathing hard, Vera asks Julia what’s just happened.
“Oh!” Julia says, as though she’s forgotten what made her rush over here in the first place. “I got it! A photography job!” She looks half-stunned when she says this, her expression a cross between fear and excitement.
Vera doesn’t give any time for the fear to take over. She whoops and envelopes Julia in a hug. “Oh, good job, you!” She beckons to Emma to join the hug. “Come, your mama going to be photographer.”
“Wow! Wow!” Emma shouts. She probably doesn’t even really know what a photographer is, but she’s more than happy to jump in and wrap her short arms around the two of them.
“Now, you tell me all about it,” Vera says, stepping back.
“It’s a small job,” Julia begins apologetically, and Vera’s hand immediately shoots up and smacks her lightly on the side of the head. “Ow, what the—! What the . . . heck, Vera?”
“You don’t describe your job like that,” Vera scolds. “Is a ‘small job,’ hah! Can you see men saying that? No, men will talk it up with bullshit, that is why they get even bigger job next time. There is no such thing as ‘small job.’ And don’t say in that silly tone, oh so apologetic, I am just silly woman having a small job. No!” Her index finger shoots up and points at Julia’s face like a sword. “You go and do this job proudly.”
“Uh . . . okay.” Julia gingerly pushes Vera’s formidable index finger down. “So it’s a sm—it’s a portrait photography session for an influencer. Well, she’s not quite an influencer yet, but she’s getting there and she needs headshots, so.” Julia pauses and Vera can tell she’s about to apologize again, or say something else to minimize the job, but she manages to stop herself. Vera nods and harrumphs.
“Sound good to me.”
“The pay isn’t much,” Julia blurts out.
Vera sighs. She supposes it’s too much to expect for Julia to embrace this new empowered side of herself in a single day. “The first time I open a teahouse, each pot of tea only cost two cents. Now I charge three dollars.”
“And that’s inflaaation,” Emma sings.
Both Julia and Vera stare at her for a while, but Emma just continues playing with the noodle dough. Finally Vera says, “Yes, that is not wrong. Maybe you shouldn’t be an architect, maybe an economist. Or a hedge fund manager, yes. Anyway,” she says, turning her attention back on Julia. “You will go and do this job and you will be very confident, none of this”—she gestures at Julia—“sorry look. You will be good. Very good. More than very good.”
“Very gooder,” Emma says.
“Yes,” Vera says. “Very gooder. Now you go away, Emma and I making dinner.”
Julia walks out of the kitchen in a daze, and Vera looks down at Emma, who looks up at her and smiles. “We make something out of your mama, eh?”
Emma gives a solemn nod, and the two of them resume pulling noodles for dinner.
* * *
• • •
The next morning, Julia is insufferable. From the moment she gets up, she is so jittery and nervous that Vera finally sets her to cleaning the bathroom. The bathroom doesn’t need cleaning, of course, because Vera has cleaned it to within an inch of its life, but it’s clear that Julia needs to do something with all that nervous energy. Julia’s nerves have affected Emma as well, and now Emma is having a hard time going through her new morning routine. As Vera struggles to keep Emma from wriggling away while she tries to tie up the little girl’s hair, she wonders if perhaps this used to be the norm in the before times. When Marshall was alive, maybe Julia always carried this nervous energy with her, and maybe that’s why Emma was so insecure. Vera sighs. So many maybes.