5
Jia’s memories of her grandmother’s home in the Sunset Hills retirement community were of hot-as-Hades summer days where barefoot
on the pavement was not an option and plenty of eggs could be found in driveways frying due to curiosity and childish experiments.
Off-season was what they called the months at the height of the summer, where locals fled, tourism dropped off, and the rules of Sunset
Hills were loosened. The neighborhood was for people fifty-five years or older. But in the summers, at least while Jia was
growing up, kids came and visited grand- and great-grandparents for months at a time. No one questioned it, and no one complained.
The summers came, and with it, so did the kids. At least those who could handle the extreme weather.
Jia loved extremes.
The extremes were where she thrived. She always had.
She never complained about hundred-and-fifteen-degree temps.
Instead, she spent her days creating synchronized swimming routines with her cousin Somi in the nearly empty pool of Sunset Hills.
She even encouraged her grandmother to wade into the pool and participate as well.
By the time she had her neighbors Betty, Mildred, and Edith joining, she’d created an entire synchronized swimming team and choreographed a routine for them all.
If nothing else, they had the cutest swim caps.
Jia loved those summers. She loved interacting with the residents. She loved hearing their stories about life and heartstrings,
about families, about war. She didn’t love that each summer, a familiar name was no longer with them. Edith had passed when
Jia graduated high school. Mimi had told her of a few others since, but Jia took Edith’s loss hard.
Maybe that was why Jia hadn’t been back in so long.
As the plane began its decent into the Palm Springs airport, Jia hung on the best memories of The Sunset. She felt hopeful
for the first time in days. Maybe even longer if she were being honest with herself. The desert might not have all the answers
she was looking for, but it would buy her some time. And that, in this moment, was the greatest gift of all.
Jia was hit with the heat the moment she stepped off the plane onto the stairs of the jet bridge leading down to the ground.
She took in a deep breath of the dry desert air, tied her hair back into a knot, and descended into the past.
That was how it always felt when she came here.
The Palm Springs airport was small and dated, fewer than twenty gates total.
But like most of the city, that was part of the charm.
There was only one direct flight from New York to Palm Springs each day.
Jia was lucky there was even one on this day as the air traffic significantly slowed down during the off-season.
It was all a stark difference from JFK where she’d just flown from.
Also different, the people. Brightly colored shirts, flip-flops, mismatched patterns. And smiles everywhere. Some oohed and
aahed at the palm trees that lined the walkways around the terminal. Others finally released a breath as they prepared themselves
to slow down while they were here. Such was its magic.
Jia had packed carefully. She brought the Zimmerman sundress that she’d bought off ThredUp for a Miami wedding she went to
last year. And the gorgeous Alice + Olivia tank dress could not be left behind. It was made for Palm Springs. Though there
wasn’t likely anyone around her age to even try to impress, she still brought some of her favorite summer staples just in
case. Her one large suitcase with her favorites, along with a few pairs of shorts and tank tops and sandals, the cute ones
of course, came with her, and the rest were jammed into Lizzy’s storage unit in the city. Bless that girl. She made a mental
note to bring her back a huge bag of saltwater taffy from the candy shop downtown.
So as she stood there watching the baggage-claim carousel, one of only three in the whole airport, go round and round a few
times, she began to panic. Not a bright yellow roller bag with butterflies splashed all over it in sight. She told herself
and others that she’d bought the loud children’s bag so that it would be easily noticeable among the sea of all-the-same black
zippered bags. But in all honesty, she just loved it. It made her happy.
And now that it hadn’t arrived, she was sad at the thought of never seeing it again, along with everything inside.
“No sign of your bag? Do you think someone may have picked it up by mistake?” The deep voice dragged Jia from her own thoughts of doom and mental cataloging of everything she’d now likely have to buy and replace with money she did not have.
“I doubt it. It’s a standout. I think maybe it might just be . . . lost.”
“Excuse me,” he said back to her. “This one’s mine.” A large hand grabbed the handle of the bag on the baggage belt right
in front of where she stood, the respective arm lifting it as if it weighed nothing.
Well, okay then. Her mouth suddenly went dry.
Damn desert air.
She pretended to have an itch on her cheek that she’d rub with her shoulder so she could sneak a peek at the man with the
sexy voice.
Please be hot. Please be under sixty. Please be single. The chances were slimmer and slimmer just based on the demographic of Palm Springs. She slowly turned around and was met
with a smiling, chiseled face of a very handsome man who couldn’t possibly be a day over thirty, forty tops. No ring. And
not a gaudy pattern on any item of clothing.
“Looks like mine was the last one out. Do you need help dealing with customer service?” he asked, lifting his chin in the
direction of the desk where an airline employee sat on the phone.
“No, I should be okay, but thanks.” Jia looked down at his small, efficient carry-on, wondering why he’d bothered to even check the thing in.
Didn’t he know the percentage of bags that were lost by the airlines?
She knew, since she handled—well, used to handle—all the travel for the execs at her previous job.
And, well, because she was now one of those people with lost luggage after all.
“Quick trip?” she asked, nodding to his bag.
“Something like that,” he said, not giving an inch. “You?”
“Unclear, keeping my options open,” she said, trying to sound flirty and fun.
“I’m Matthew,” he said. Nice, a solid name Matthew. She liked it. He held out his very large hand, and Jia reached hers to
meet it.
“Jia,” she said back as her hand enveloped in his.
“Nice to meet you, Jia. I hope we run into each other while you’re visiting. The Del Rey has a really good happy hour if you’re
into that kind of thing,” Matthew said. Was that an offer?
“Oh, I am very into that kind of thing,” Jia responded, raising the intonation of her last word to keep it open-ended. Damn,
she’d better get her luggage and that Zimmerman dress back in time. It showed just enough cleavage to keep a man interested.
He nodded and flashed that sexy smile again. “See you around. And good luck with your bag,” he said, turning to walk out.
That was it.
Shoot. She should’ve flirted a little harder, left the door open a little wider. But it had been a long flight, her pink seersucker
romper was a bit rumpled, and it kind of matched how she was feeling after a long travel day and an uncertain future ahead.
So she brushed off the failed opportunity and went to report her bag lost along the way . . . much like her life, apparently.
Jia walked up to the Arrivals curb and immediately saw her grandmother’s Camry waiting for her.
Mimi Chung was a small Korean woman with short hair in curls and beautiful bright pink lipstick highlighting her face.
She wore matching pink drawstring linen pants with a flowy floral blouse in the brightest shades of green and purple rounding out the ensemble.
She stood smiling by the car, arm waving in excitement.
No traffic cop would have the audacity to shoo her away from the No Stopping loading zone.
Not that anyone was in a hurry here in the desert.
“Jia, honey, over here,” she yelled.
Jia ran to her grandmother. As she got closer, though, she noticed that Mimi’s gray roots were growing out. The wrinkles framing
her face looked a little deeper. Her signature pink lipstick was worn off at the corners. Jia tried not to be alarmed, despite
the fact the Mimi she knew would never leave the house unless she was one hundred percent put-together.
She bent over to give her the heartiest but gentlest hug she could. Her grandmother’s arms wrapped around her and squeezed,
a little more fragile than she’d remembered. Was Jia overthinking it? Or did Mimi just seem much older than the last time
she’d visited?
“Mimi! It’s so good to see you. Thank you for letting me come and stay. And thank you for buying my ticket. I owe you.”
They released the embrace, and Mimi held on to Jia at arm’s length, inspecting.
“Nonsense. You don’t let me do stuff for you nearly enough. You think I’m not going to buy a ticket to get my granddaughter
out here to visit? And you’re not to worry about anything while you’re here. This is a time for you to rest and get back on
your feet.”
Jia felt emotional. Mimi’s reaction to Jia losing her job couldn’t have been more different than her parents’. She didn’t
deserve Mimi. She wished her mom and dad could be as supportive.
“But, Jia, honey, you’re too skinny. We’re gonna need to fatten you up while you’re here.”
Jia supposed the recent life of unemployment and uncertainty and a very empty bank account had stolen her appetite and made
her eating options almost nonexistent.
She couldn’t wait to be spoiled by her grandmother. Mimi loved a good restaurant, always insisting on sharing a desert after
every meal. Jia was suddenly reminded of her lack of fashion choices.
“They lost my luggage,” Jia said with a frown.
“Don’t worry, honey. They’ll find it soon enough,” Mimi said.
Simple as that.
And Jia believed her.
“Get in. Let’s rescue you from this heat,” Mimi said.