“Is she . . .”
“She’s okay,” Riki says, and repeats the information yet again.
They all crowd around Vera’s bed, gazing down at her quietly. Then little Emma says, “I miss Grandma.” And the tension breaks. They all look at one another with hesitant smiles.
“I miss my morning beach picnics with her,” Sana says.
“I miss waking up to her cooking,” Julia says. “And coming home to a house with her in it.”
“I miss having her tell me that I’m doing okay,” Riki says.
“I miss having her boss me around,” Oliver says.
They all laugh at that, nodding in agreement. “She did cross a few lines,” Julia says.
Oliver snorts. “Try breaking a few laws.”
They laugh again. “But that’s what makes her so . . .” Sana struggles to find the right words. “So very Vera.” They all nod.
“I miss you,” Riki blurts out.
It seems as though everyone stops breathing. “Sorry,” Riki says, “I don’t know why—uh, sorry, forget I—”
It spills out of Sana. “I miss you too.” She goes around the bed and flings her arms around Riki. “You shitty asshole—oh, sorry, Emma. Don’t ever say those words.”
“Shitty asshole,” Emma says, and Sana groans.
Julia gives Sana a mock glower. “You owe me at least a babysitting session for that.”
“You got it.” Sana turns her attention back to Riki, who’s gazing at her like she’s his salvation. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you did, and—”
“It was inexcusable, I know, I—”
“Shush and let me talk.”
Riki’s mouth snaps shut.
“What you did was really wrong, but I’m not in a position to judge. I’ve always been comfortable. My mom may be hard in some ways, but she provides me with financial stability, and I never truly appreciated it. And if I’d been in your position, with all that pressure bearing down on me, who knows what I might’ve done? I’m not saying it’s right, but . . . I can see why you did it.” There. It’s finally out, and once it’s off her chest, Sana feels so much lighter. Color seeps back into her world. For the first time, she no longer feels that same bitterness toward other people. Even her mother. She’s sure that her mom will manage to push her buttons soon enough, but for now, Sana thinks of her mom and sees that she is, in fact, lucky to have her as a mother.
The door opens again, and an Asian guy in his twenties walks in. He stops when he sees the crowd, and checks the number on the door. “Uh, is this where Vera Wong is?”
“Yeah,” Oliver says.
The guy stares at them. “Who are you?”
“We’re her family,” Julia says. “Who’re you?”
“Uh . . . I’m her son?”
Sana narrows her eyes. “The famous Tilly. We’ve got a lot to talk to you about how you treat your mother, young man.” It strikes Sana that Tilly is probably older than she is, but she chooses to ignore that fact for now.
Tilly’s mouth drops open. “It’s Tilbert, actually.”
“Hmm,” Julia says in a way that reminds Sana very much of Vera. “We’ll see about that, Tilly.”
* * *
• • •
Much later, Sana stands in the middle of Vera Wang’s World-Famous Teahouse with a massive paintbrush in her hand. Oliver has sanded down the walls to make them smooth and now it’s down to her to paint it the way she wants. A blank canvas just for her, and while Sana can still feel the familiar terror lurking inside her, waiting to pounce and overwhelm her, weeks of drawing in the sand have taught her that there is nothing to be afraid of, that even if she ends up coming up with the worst painting that was ever painted, it will somehow still be okay. Because she’s learned now that nothing is permanent. The waves will always be there to wash every mistake, every flaw, away. And like she’s taught Emma, sometimes mistakes can be turned into something beautiful.
There is now something sparking inside her—hope, and excitement, and the knowledge that she is doing exactly what she has always been meant to do. To use her paintbrush to create something beautiful and true.
Smiling, Sana dips the brush in the pot of paint and begins to draw.
THIRTY-NINE
JULIA
For Julia, there is nothing quite like the joy of photographing Emma. The only thing better than that is photographing Emma when she is splashed with paint, working alongside Sana in her usual overly serious way. Sana has given Emma the very important task of painting teeny-tiny hearts here and there on the rich mural that she has drawn all over Vera’s walls. Julia is still blown away by the fact that in just two days, Sana has transformed the walls of Vera’s teahouse into something out of a Shanghainese dream—a river in the nighttime, its waters reflecting the tiny dotted stars up above, and on the riverbank, a huge Chinese teahouse, adorned with hundreds of red lanterns, patrons wearing colorful qipao and changshan spilling out of it. The sign above says: VERA WANG’S WORLD-FAMOUS TEAHORSE. Sana blames the spelling of “teahorse” on lack of sleep and says she will correct it if Vera complains.
Aside from the matter of the spelling error, the rest of the painting is incredible, larger than life, jaw-dropping. And combined with Riki’s refurbished furniture and Oliver’s new lighting, it has transformed Vera’s shop into something that would have impressed even the pickiest customer. In theory, that is. Because despite the impressive changes, nobody knows about Vera’s teahouse (or, indeed, her teahorse). Still, Julia would bet money that none of them regrets spending all this time and energy renovating Vera’s teahouse. It’s the least they can do, given how she has changed all of their lives in such a short period of time.
The tinkling of the doorbell catches Julia’s attention. It’s Oliver, carrying his toolkit. He’s fixing the electrics up in Vera’s living quarters since Riki told him how cold and dank her house is. He presses his lips into a thin line when he sees Julia, and gives her the barest of nods. Julia turns to Sana and says, “Sana, can you watch Emma for a bit?” Sana nods, and Julia reaches out, touching Oliver’s arm as he passes by. “Can we talk?”
Oliver looks hesitant but nods and follows her outside.
“Uh, so . . .” God, why must these things be so difficult? “I just wanted to know how things are going with—you know—Officer Gray and all that?” Even though she still feels a bit squicky about how things went down between her and Oliver, she doesn’t want him to get the blame for Marshall’s death. She feels responsible for landing him in trouble in the first place.