My mother grew up in Korea’s Chinatown in Incheon. My understanding was that her parents thought Mao would invade Taiwan at any moment, making it unsafe to go there. Those plans backfired, of course, with the outbreak of the Korean War. I don’t know what exactly happened to my mother during the war; she never talked about it, and I never asked. Her father — my grandfather — died in the Chinese Civil War just a few years prior. Sometime in the 60s, my mother and grandmother moved to Taiwan.
My mother managed to get a degree in Japanese, and she worked in some sort of government office until I was born. She met my father at a low key military ball, held for soldiers who participated in Project National Glory. My father served his mandatory military service on Mazu, and though he never told me himself, my mother and most anyone I spoke to assured me it was hell. He participated in an attack in 1963 that ended in the annihilation of half of his squad. Despite that, he volunteered for the disastrous 1965 operation as well. These raids — part of Project National Glory — were an attempt for the Republic of China to retake the mainland during, and a bit after, the Great Leap Forward. Though those operations failed, and my father never participated in any more, the Project’s cause was one he would continue to believe in for the rest of his life.
When the Project National Glory planning commission disbanded in 1972 my father was furious. He drank even harder than usual, and he used every curse he could muster in the Chinese language. He got involved in The Union soon after, and we moved to the United States when I had just started junior high school in the late 70s. It was a move my mother deeply regretted. She never said so directly, but anybody could tell she wanted to go home.
Though my mother spoke three languages fluently enough to have made a living out of them, she was never very good at English, was not particularly fond of Maryland, and counted on my father to communicate with anyone outside their immediate circle. She made some money working at The Republic of China Embassy in DC even after the last ambassador left, but otherwise spent most of her time taking care of me and my brother. The United States was not working out for my brother, who went back to stay with my grandparents after a few years. I always thought she loved him more, and with my father gone now, it was only a matter of time before she would try to leave.
“I got a job from the Tourism Department,” she said a few weeks after my father died. “There’s nothing for me here.”
I turned to my mother and looked at her exhausted expression. We had spent most of the days after the funeral sitting in silence or watching movies from Hong Kong. At night she would pack our things into boxes. She hardly slept. I knew deep down that this would give her much needed relief from her misery. But all I could think about was Fiona, and how my mother was taking me from her.
“I’m not leaving,” I said.
“Yiren—“
“I will not leave.”
“You think you and that girl are going to last? And what about the army?”
“I can defer service.”
“If we go back I can make money to get you into college there. Maybe even pull some connections to defer your enlistment while I save. I’ll look for a post you want. My friend from Korea Meiying has a daughter, she’s—“
“Shut up! I’m not leaving!” I said firmly as I stood up. “I’m going to get work.”
“In this economy?”
“The recession ended years ago. People are hiring.”
“What wishful thinking.”
My mother had never spoken to me like that before. That sort of sarcastic, cutting remark was normally from my father. But to see me take away her dream of going back home, her eyes were shifting like a dog who had had a treat waved before its eyes only for it to be snatched away. I suddenly knelt in front of my mother, which caused her eyes to grow wide.
“Six months,” I said. “I’m going to find enough work to support us. If in six months I can’t make enough we’re going to go home. But before then, please stay with me. Yixun has wai gong and wai po, but I only have you. Please.” “We will go back if it doesn’t work,” I repeated. “And if it comes to that, I’ll enlist immediately too.”
My mom turned her head. There was a moment her lip quivered, but when she spoke, her voice was even. “Get up. My son does not kneel.”
I stood up and walked slowly to the door. As I shut it, I did not look back into the room.
The walk to Uncle Qiu’s house was even longer than it had been the day I found Mrs. Qiu in the kitchen. When I arrived, the door that was always open was locked, and it took a few tries before Uncle Qiu showed up at the door in his wheelchair, having obviously been woken from his sleep.
“Yiren! Come in.” He was forcing a smile.
“Did you eat yet? Are you recovering?” I asked.
“Dave put enough in the fridge for me to last the week. Just need to put it in the microwave a bit.”
“Can I come in?”
“Of course!” He wheeled himself backwards and let me go into the house. I paused before I stepped over the threshold. Uncle Qiu frowned. After a few seconds I finally stepped into the house, and made my way immediately to the couch in the foyer. I waited for Uncle Qiu to arrive in the room before sitting down.
“Tea?” he asked.
“I’ll be all right.”
“I made it about an hour ago. It’s not hot anymore, but I can reheat it.”
“I don’t want to trouble you uncle,” I said, rising. “But it’s a bit cold today, so I’ll heat a cup for each of us.”
“Sure.”
I had been so quick to save Uncle Qiu the trouble I didn’t realize what I was saying until I arrived at the kitchen. Even he had not seen his wife lying there — he woke up much later in the hospital. I stood at the edge of the opening to the kitchen. When I turned back I could see him closing his eyes, leaning back and grimacing in pain. I then stepped forward, walking over to the tea kettle. My mind was numb as I mechanically poured and put the settings on the microwave. I must have set the time too long because the next time I blinked I could see the bubbles bursting on the surface of the tea. I pressed “stop”, took the drinks out and went back to the foyer.
“It’s too hot,” I said as I placed one cup on the coffee table next to him. I cradled mine as I sat back down on the couch. “Maybe wait a few minutes.”
He nodded slowly as he breathed out. “Ma fan ni la.”
“It’s no trouble,” I replied in Chinese.
“How’s school?” he asked.
“Semester started but I haven’t gone back. I’m going to drop out soon.”
“Oh,” he said, frowning. “Is there any other way?”
“No. I don’t think so. Going to have to find work.”
“I can help with the house payments, and the brothers’ wives will help out where they can too—”
“I’m an adult now. I’ll take care of my mother.” Besides, I had a feeling neither Uncle Qiu or The Union had any money to help us. I would later confirm that that notion was true.
“I can contact Fatty Long and get you a job,” he said. “He’s got connections to lots of businesses in the area.”
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
“I would like that,” I said.
“I’ll do it right now, get me the phone.”
“Uncle it’s all right, get some rest first—”
“Be obedient and bring it over.”
I nodded and picked up his state of the art Viper phone, a cordless one, and handed it to him. He then proceeded to call Fatty and put in the most glowing recommendation I could ever remember receiving for a job.
Uncle Qiu hung up the phone. “He wants to see you at Hunan Kitchen at six in the morning.”
“Thank you.”
We spent the rest of the time talking about Dave’s college life, how my mother was doing, and other niceties. We eventually put on First of Fury, and Uncle fell asleep in his chair about twenty minutes in. I got up quietly, locked the door from the inside, and shut it. Though I had by then downed two cups of hot tea, I was still shivering on the walk back home.
The next day Fatty met me at the agreed time but there was no formal interview. He waved me through and told me to help out where I could. I did miscellaneous prep tasks for the chefs — which I had done before at one of Eddie’s father’s restaurants — and then began taking phone calls at ten o’clock. At the end of the day Fatty paid me twice what I thought I would get, with shifts lined up for the next few months. When my shift was over, I called Fiona.
“Where’ve you been? And why haven’t you returned my calls?” she asked.
“Needed some time,” I replied. “But I got a job, and just got off work. I was hoping I could pick you up.”
“At nine thirty?”
“You want tang yuan with red bean? It’s cold out.”
“Where are you going to get that at this hour?”
“I’ll put it in some containers hot before I head out.”
“S-sure.”
I got the dessert soup and glutinous rice balls, packing them into a large brown bag. I then snatched a bottle of Fatty’s whiskey and sandwiched it between two containers. I drove over to Fiona’s street, slowing to a stop right next to where she was waiting by the curb. When I got out to open her door I saw that she was dressed in a flattering blue dress and black stockings, with a brown overcoat. She was carrying a larger bag over her shoulder. It was obvious she had redone her makeup after removing it. Of all the times I picked her up that late at night, she never showed up looking like that.
She smirked. “You going to open the door or not?”
I broke my gaze and took the few remaining steps toward the door, pulling on the handle. “We’re going somewhere. You can start eating if you’re worried it’ll get cold.” She gave me a look like I should know she wasn’t going to do that.
I drove her to a nearby parking garage and went all the way to the top floor, parking the car in a spot near the stairwell. I then got out and opened her door, extending my hand palm up to her as she held it. I gently lifted her as she stepped out. At the door that opened to the stairs to the roof, I took out a pick and picked the lock, pulling on the body to unlock it and opening the door. Fiona smiled as she ascended the stairs ahead of me. When we arrived at the roof she let out an involuntary shiver. I removed my coat and placed it over her shoulders.
We sat for a while on the edge of the roof, looking out at the trees and lights in the houses and office buildings.
“I’ll take you to New York in a month when I’ve saved up.”
“Nothing wrong with this view.”
“Didn’t say there was anything wrong with it. I just want to see something a bit better myself, eat something nice too.”
“Let me know when then.”
“School?”
“I’ll manage.”
“You know I’m not going back right?”
“I figured.”
“And you aren’t going to give me one of your old talks?”
Fiona shook her head. “Let’s eat.”
I nodded and took the containers out of the bag.
Fiona looked inside and raised her eyebrows. “Where’d you get that bottle?”
“It was supposed to be a surprise.”
“Uh huh.”
I ate slowly and continued to look forward at the view. “My mom’s talking about going back,” I said.
“You going to?”
“No. I told her to give me half a year to figure things out, money wise.”
She stopped eating, and though I was still looking out I could feel her gaze on me. I stopped and turned to her; she then she put her hand on my cheek, and leaned in for a kiss. I kissed her back. She smiled, and then went back to eating.
“Well we can enjoy the surprise here, or somewhere else,” I said.
“Where did you have in mind?”
We walked back down the stairs hand in hand with me clutching the brown bag in my free arm. At the bottom, I clicked the lock in place and led her to the car. It took all my willpower to concentrate on the drive to the hotel. We quickly checked in and went up to the room. I turned up the heater and brought her to the bed, kissing her deeply as I slid my hand up her stockings and hooked my thumb on the waistband. She wrapped her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist. I pulled her stockings and panties down and pushed myself into her more aggressively than usual. I didn’t have protection like I usually did, and didn’t last long.
“Dry spell,” she said, blinking as she looked from the ceiling to my face.
“Yeah,” I managed, between breaths.
“How long before you’re ready again?”
“Should be twenty minutes or less.” I looked down at her abdomen, which she promptly covered with the blanket. “You—”
Fiona pressed her lips against mine, pulling away slowly several seconds later. “Turn the TV onto a jazz channel.”
I complied, and we sat in silence as soothing piano and saxophone music played in the background. Fiona had accused me of ruining the mood before, so I learned quickly that if I wanted a good time it was best to shut up. But I felt worrying that she would be pregnant was a good reason to break the mood, particularly after I had finished and my brain fog from the previous weeks cleared up. But when I saw Fiona engrossed in the idyllic scenes of New York playing over the TV I could tell she really didn’t want me to speak, and was probably just waiting for me to be ready again.
We did it once more before she pulled the whiskey out of the bag and poured it into the mugs from the hotel. We were buzzed enough before the third time. And now having finished twice before, we went at it hard, moving from the bed to the chair, and then back again, then switching positions a twice before I finished once more. She laid on my chest as we continued to listen to the music, but in her eyes I could see she was waiting to go again, with a hunger I had never seen before. Fiona was not normally like this, which made that night all the more intoxicating, worrying, and confusing at the same time. But I chose to remain silent between sessions, allowing my mind to go blank as I listened to the music and my body to react instinctively to her movements. At the end of it all, Fiona set the alarm to three hours later and promptly fell asleep, leaving me staring at her back as her breathing grew heavier. I turned to the ceiling and pulled the blanket over my chest, trying not to think too much as the music continued playing. After some time which seemed like an eternity, I managed to fall asleep.