Chapter 7 #3
Up until that moment, Roses had never even wondered aloud what the gender of their baby might be—April later learned that
this was because of her superstitions. But right there, Roses had never hugged April harder as her face broke into the most
glorious of smiles. And April had never seen her mother happier.
Everything fell quickly into place after that. Spare bedrooms were turned into nurseries and playrooms, future legions of
nannies and tutors were lined up, and the best schools in the country were notified. Money was moved around, millions and
millions of dollars, as Roses prepared for the future heir of the Sun Clan. Cristiano became Roses’s favorite person of all
time—she even bought his parents a brand-new Mercedes.
Everyone gathered around April, taking turns checking up on her, clucking over her, bringing her gifts. Before Lewis was born,
April already had a mountain of the best organic diapers, a walk-in closet stuffed with toddler toys and picture books, and
a designated kitchen cabinet full of every smelly Chinese traditional medicine for pregnant mothers and newborn infants.
Even Wayward eventually came around with a gift: a gold chain with a sun pendant for his future nephew.
Lewis Sun was born on a perfect autumn day, without a cloud in the sky.
He was an utterly beautiful baby, with wildly expressive eyes and strong hands that held tightly onto any offered fingers.
April used to say that she did not think he was ever placed in his crib for the first six months of his life—because Roses never put her grandson down once, holding him tight as the most sacred of treasures.
Big Boss Sun was in the depths of crippling dementia by this time, but when the Sun Clan presented his great-grandson Lewis
to him, he had a moment of lucidity and kissed the baby boy on the forehead. There was not a dry eye in the room.
With Lewis, the Suns had come full circle.
As April finished her sandwich half, more cheerful people were descending upon El Matador, ready to start their weekends.
It was time for her to go. She stood up, patting the sand off of her.
She had been newly pregnant with Meadow when Lewis took his first steps at this very spot. Cristiano probably still had video
of it somewhere on his phone. April thought about the timing of it all. That would have been one of the last videos they took
of their baby boy, just as he was about to turn one, the sound of the lapping tide pools harmonizing with a young mother and
father’s joyful cheers.
Because not even a week later, April had come to Lewis’s crib to pick him up when she realized he was cool to the touch.
She’d brought him close and he did not breathe.
She’d looked into his expressive eyes but they were dulled and blank.
All she could do was hold him and scream.
In some ways, April was still screaming, eight years after Lewis’s death—even if no one else could hear it. She wondered how
the other merry beachgoers would react, if she just stood there at the edge of the ocean . . . and screamed and screamed.
Maybe if she screamed out loud, the screaming would finally stop in her head.
But instead, she silently headed back, walking up the dirt steps, mounting her bike to make the mostly uphill journey home.
Still perched on its fluttering napkin, the other half of April’s sandwich sat alone on the beach, forgotten like all of its predecessors she left behind every Friday.
Some might say that this banana-and-peanut-butter sandwich, which had been the first food Lewis had loved before his untimely passing, was purposely placed there by his grieving mother as an offering to him.
Yet April would voraciously deny that to the very end. No, unlike her mother, April Sun did not believe in hungry ghosts.
But little did April know . . . not all ghosts are hungry.
Wayward was walking up to Roses’s Malibu compound when he heard an excited whoop.
“Uncle Weiwei!”
Meadow rushed out of the open front door and bounced into his arms, spindly limbs all akimbo. Wayward laughed as they pecked
on the lips. He did not see his goddaughter enough, not these days anyway. Not but a few steps behind her, a trio of pit bull
puppies scampered out onto the driveway.
As he held Meadow, one of the puppies nuzzled its pink nose against his thigh. It had a black patch on its forehead and stared
up at him with endearing wet eyes.
“I missed you,” Meadow said.
Right then, Wayward was glad that he was still alive.
“You are getting so big!” he said, bouncing her up and down as the pups barked at them. “Soon you’ll be the one picking me
up!”
“No, you’re still too heavy,” Meadow sensibly said.
“Uncle Weiwei!” Now Cristiano was charging out of the house toward them, as though he too was going to leap into Wayward’s
arms.
“Daddy, you’ll squish us,” Meadow scolded, holding up an imperious hand.
Wayward set her down to give Cristiano a quick hug.
“What are you doing here?” Cristiano asked. “We’re about to take Meadow to see my parents in Gardena. One of Roses’s mandatory suggestions, you know how it is. But get this: She’s sending me with literally five figures’ worth of caviar to give to them.”
“That’s random,” Wayward said, mystified as well.
Cristiano was holding a Gelson’s grocery bag and angled it so that Wayward could see the many black-and-gold cans of world-class
Russian caviar inside.
“What’s going on?” Cristiano asked as he popped open the back of his minivan.
Wayward glanced over at Meadow, who was rolling around on the pavement with the puppies, then back at Cristiano. “We have
a lot to talk about, Cris,” he said. “How about another gym sesh in a few days?”
Cristiano flexed a mountainous bicep. “Yup, getting soft. I’m gonna keep loading up the car, be right back.”
Meadow began tugging on Wayward’s sleeve, and when her father went back into the house, Wayward stooped down next to her.
“What is it, Meadow?”
She reached out to touch his face, brushing her fingers along the crinkly corners of his eyes. “Uncle Weiwei, you look like
you’re sick. Are you okay?”
Wayward blanched at his niece’s brutal candor as she looked at him with heartbreakingly worried eyes. “Oh, sweetheart . . .
Of course I’m okay,” he said quietly, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. “You don’t ever need to worry about me.”
But she shook her head at him. Neither of them believed it.
“You think that’s bad? Just wait till you hear what she says to me. My little truth bomber.”
Wayward turned as he heard April’s voice. His eldest cousin was walking her bike into the driveway, an empty picnic basket
slung over one of the handles.
Meadow rushed up to her mother, who scooped her up into a hug. “Mommy,” Meadow cried, “Uncle Weiwei is here! Can he come play
with us?”
Holding Meadow, April walked up to Wayward, a small smile on her lips. “Uncle Weiwei isn’t here to see us, Meadow,” April said. “He’s here to talk to Nainai.”
“Oh,” Meadow said. She looked between her mother and her godfather, and even though she did not understand the iciness between
them, even though she remembered the loving warmth that had been there when she was younger, she somehow knew not to ask about
it.
This was the one topic that Meadow innately knew she could not broach, no matter how cutely she asked.
When April was up close enough to Wayward, she offered her cheek, which he kissed. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it, Wayward?”
she asked lightly, but they both knew how loaded the question was.
Wayward shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortably. It did not surprise him that she somehow knew why he was there,
but it suddenly dawned on him that if he was not careful, he and Roses could easily steamroll April again . . . and this time
Meadow could be a casualty as well.
“Ape, could we talk, just the two of us, sometime soon?” he asked.
April stiffened and set Meadow down, who ran back into the house with the puppies.
“Does it matter?” April asked once Meadow was out of earshot. “You’re just going to do what you want to do, as always.”
Wayward furrowed his brow. “Is that what you think about me? You make it sound so easy.”
“No,” April replied. “I’m sure everything you are about to do won’t be easy for you. But that has never stopped you, has it,
Wayward?”
Wayward reddened but had nothing to say. Cristiano came back out just then, holding hands with Meadow and carrying the last
of their provisions.
“Ape, you’re gonna have to shower at my parents’,” Cristiano said as he opened the back-seat door for Meadow, who climbed in as she waved goodbye at Wayward. “I told Ma that Wayward’s here and she practically beamed me out like Star Trek. I’ll see you Sunday, Way!”
April nodded and got into the passenger seat without looking back at Wayward. He watched as the minivan pulled out of the
driveway, then turned to walk into the house.
Roses and Wayward sat across from each other at her massive bloodwood dining room table. There was a comically large pile
of bright red lobsters between them, enough to feed a family reunion, all of them already skillfully cracked open and ready
to eat. There was also a manila folder stuffed full of paperwork.
Mozart’s aria “O Zittre Nicht, Mein Lieber Sohn” played softly from a different part of the house.
Wayward looked at the lobster mountain. “Are we expecting more people?”
Roses shook her head grandly. “No, they are all for you, Weiwei. Help yourself.” She smiled at him.
Wayward wondered if he should remind her that he was allergic to shellfish, but instead gingerly picked one of them up and
left it untouched on his plate. “So I have been giving what we talked about on Tuesday more thought . . .” Wayward began.
“Oh, you have? I am glad to hear that,” Roses said, feigning surprise.
Wayward knew what his aunt was doing. Even though she had summoned him there and was baiting him with a bribe that had clearly