Chapter Thirty I Think I Might Be in Trouble
Adelina
He gives me a confused look. Why wouldn’t he?
West doesn’t know that just the sight of Mom’s caller ID is enough to send me into a downward spiral.
I haven’t even answered yet, and I can already imagine all the terrible things she’ll have to say.
Or worse—how she’ll give me the silent treatment until I’m the one to break first.
Mom loves to do that. Whenever we’re having an argument, she ices me out, letting me suffocate in my own silence until I can’t stand it anymore.
It never used to occur to me just how messed up it was that I would prefer to have her yell at me than say nothing at all.
At least if she yelled at me, she could get it off her chest, and we could put whatever heinous crime I’d committed behind us and move on.
But when she bottled it up, I was left to walk on eggshells, terrified that she would explode at any moment.
I’d rather get it over with and risk minor cuts rather than major burns.
I consider ignoring my phone, but she’s video calling and that never happens.
It could be a pocket dial. It’s highly likely that Mom was trying to get in contact with Lily and accidentally mixed up our numbers.
Apart from our awful encounter at Lily’s celebration dinner, we haven’t exchanged so much as a text message in six years.
This has to be some sort of mistake. It’s far more likely that someone has stolen Mom’s phone and accidentally gave me a ring.
But it isn’t long before the doubts creep in. What if it’s important? Someone could be dying. Mom must have something urgent to say if she’s the one reaching out. What if I miss her call the way I missed Dad’s and I live to regret it?
I can’t do that to myself again.
With a trembling hand, I accept the call.
Mom’s face fills the screen. She didn’t always look like she was carved from stone.
I remember her smiling a lot when I was a little girl.
Always when I did something she approved of, of course, but I craved her warmth and praise more than anything.
Whenever I did something exemplary (earned an academic award, won first place at a school track and field meet, became captain of my robotics team), I shared in her pride.
I loved it when she boasted to her friends and family, adored that sparkle in Mom’s eyes when she showed me off.
To me, her love and approval were one and the same.
I wish I could go back in time and slap some sense into me. Or maybe give myself a hug. Because that line of thinking is a double-edged sword. At some point, her disapproval was ever-present, and therefore her love was always out of reach. Conditional. Weaponized.
“Yes?” I say dryly. My guts are in knots. She’s going to yell at me any second now.
“Are you proud of yourself?”
“What?”
“You talked her into it.” Her words are sharp. Bitter.
“Talked who into what?”
“Lily. She’s not talking to me.”
I set my jaw. “I’m sure she’s just busy. She’s traveling, after all.”
“Not one phone call or text message since the family dinner!”
“Can you blame her? You embarrassed her.”
“You embarrassed her,” Mom snaps. “Ga sai la.”
I don’t know what that particular phrase means, but her tone is aggressive. Probably nothing nice.
“I didn’t do anything,” I insist, heat creeping up the back of my neck. “You were the one making a scene.”
“Always making excuses. You were the one who left.”
My eyes prickle with the sting of salt. It’s true I left, but…shit, am I remembering wrong? It’s been a while since the dinner, and I’ve frankly had a lot on my plate since then. I recall being prepared to be combative, but I’m always like that where Mom’s concerned.
“That’s not what happened,” I reply, my voice wavering. “And even if I did—”
“So you admit it.”
“That’s not what I’m saying—”
“And now you’ve convinced your sister not to talk to me either! You two are so ungrateful. How can you do this to your own mother?”
My mind spins as she continues berating me.
Her admonishments flow over me, wave after terrible wave.
Mom lists all the ways I’ve wronged her.
How she put a roof over my head, provided three square meals a day, made sure I did well in school—all to be treated like this.
And as she tells me I have no respect, no sense of honor—I retreat into myself.
Her words float into my ear, but they lose all meaning.
We’ve done this song and dance before. It’s better if I close my heart to it, just blank my mind and let the storm pass.
They’re just words, I tell myself. They can’t hurt me.
“What are you even going to do with your life?” Mom asks. “Stupid girl—dropping out of school. You couldn’t put up with one more semester? All that time and money wasted. Who will hire you now? How are you going to make money and take care of yourself?”
“It’s my life, Mom,” I hiss, snapping back to reality.
“A life I gave you, you selfish—”
“Adelina,” West says clearly. “Hang up the phone.”
Mom frowns. “Who is that?”
My heart stutters. I don’t know what to do. I’d completely forgotten West is even here. Embarrassment and shame flood through me. Did he hear all of that? He must think I’m so pathetic, being scolded like a child. I think I’m pathetic.
West looks me in the eye, bringing a hand up to gently brace my wrist. “Will you please give me your phone?”
I nod. At least, I think I do. Every inch of my body is numb, my mind devoid of all thought. It’s easier to deal with her that way. To become transparent and allow everything to pass through rather than face it directly. I just want to disappear.
West takes my phone and glares at the screen. “I don’t know who you are, but you don’t get to talk to Adelina that way.”
“I’m her mother—”
“Don’t. Talk. To. Her. That. Way.”
Mom launches into a full tirade in Cantonese.
I can only catch bits and pieces of it. (Something none of your business, gweilo something something.) Even with a language barrier, her meaning is loud and clear.
Instead of trying to listen, to pause and reflect, she doubles down.
Mom grows louder and angrier because she thinks that makes her right.
She’s been caught out, but she would rather scream at the top of her lungs than lose face.
It might kill her to admit that maybe, just maybe, she is in the wrong.
West ends the call and sets the phone on my desk without so much as a goodbye. I’m both impressed and horrified at how easily he does it. I wish I had that kind of willpower.
“Are you okay?” he asks me, so soft and sweet it gives me whiplash.
I’m not sure how to respond after that shitshow, so I do the only thing I can think of.
Forcing a smile onto my face, I say, “I’m fine.
” West frowns, and I suddenly want to light myself on fire.
He’s disappointed with my response. Disappointed with me.
“I’m fine,” I try again, more insistent.
More desperate. If I say it over and over again, at some point it will be true. “I’m totally, totally fine.”
I am a grown woman. I should act like it. Sticks and stones, or however that stupid saying goes. I’m used to Mom’s mistreatment. I’ve endured worse.
West takes a step forward and brushes the pad of his thumb over my cheek, wiping away tears.
I can’t bring myself to look him in the eyes because we both know I’m a liar.
But he doesn’t push. Doesn’t even remotely attempt to pry an answer out of me because he knows, just as I know, how brittle I am right now.
“I…I want to go back to the hotel,” I mumble.
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll drive you.”
“I just need a nap. A reset.” I laugh quietly. It’s fake and uncomfortable. “I’m sorry you had to see that. My mother, uh…You know what? Never mind. Family drama, right? We’ve all got it.”
“Adelina—”
“Yeah, a nap sounds good.”
“Adelina,” he whispers. I finally manage to look up at him and he…he looks heartbroken. “You’re the most brilliant woman I’ve ever met.”
I’m the first to look away. “Stop it.”
“No,” he says, pulling me into a tight hug.
I melt against his touch, happy to no longer be adrift.
There’s a pleasantness to be found against his solid frame, a comfort in knowing that he wants me close.
“I mean it. The work that you do…it’s nothing short of amazing.
You’ve helped countless thousands without an ounce of the recognition you deserve. What that woman said—”
“My mother.”
“I don’t give a fuck. She could be the Queen of England—it doesn’t make a difference.
Nobody has the right to speak to you that way.
” West presses a kiss to my hair, holding me with such surety I fear I’ll grow spoiled.
What a tragedy it will be once I’ve learned to crave his touch, only to never see him again when the job is done.
My shoulders tremble, stifled sobs soaking into his shirt.
I bury my face against his chest, eager to hide from him, the world, from everyone.
West holds me that much tighter. If he notices that I cry even harder, he makes no mention of it.
I can’t remember the last time I felt this… adored. Appreciated. Safe.
Which is precisely why I know it’s going to hurt like hell when we finally part ways.
“Will you talk to me?” he asks in whispers. “Tell me your story, Adelina. I promise you’ll feel better if you do.”
I swipe at my eyes, struggling to regain control of my breathing. “Okay.”