Chapter 21
Hua An
Yuan dynasty. Suffered through the Red Turban rebellion.
Heart note // Reinforce bravery
Base note // Camellia
Fragments of dreams drift around me as I edge toward waking, and I cling to them as a way to keep in the sweet zone of unconsciousness.
That’s until a firm hand shakes my shoulder. “Luling.”
It’s my mother. I roll over and curl back under the blankets like I’m fifteen again. “More sleep.”
“Luling. It’s morning.”
I crack my eyes open to see she’s correct in the sense that dawn has risen. “The store opens at eleven.”
She makes a tsking noise. “What do you do until then? Waste your day by sleeping?”
Sitting up on the couch with the duvet wrapped around me, I yawn. “Sometimes.”
“No. The day is for working. Waste your time later.”
“Tell me what you really think,” I mumble to the pillow.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
By the time I get out of the bathroom, Mom has made her bed, started boiling water for breakfast noodles and tea, stripped the couch, folded all the bedding, and brought it to my room.
I don’t have to check to know her suitcase is empty and the two drawers I gave her are filled with neatly organized piles of clothes.
My suitcase remains open on the floor near the couch, and she eyes it with disapproval.
I’m not thrilled with having it out of place, either, but it seemed easier than going into what is now my mother’s room to get things I need.
I take down two cups and put them on the counter with tea bags, which she brushes aside. Out comes a tin of her own blend, plus the teapot Ana gave me from her collection when I moved in.
I’ve dressed up a bit today, with my nicest jeans and a black sweater I spent ten minutes fixing a pulled thread on to make it perfect, but my mother has outdone me in a pair of tailored slacks, a striped blouse, and a blazer she’s pushed up at her elbows like an old-school J.Crew model.
Her hair is smoothed back and small gold studs adorn her ears.
Like me, she wears nothing on her fingers or her wrists, and all our necklaces sit close to our throats, a habit to keep ourselves and our jewelry safe at work.
She says nothing about my appearance, which I take as a blessing.
“Your lab is at your store,” Mom says as she pours the water over the leaves.
It’s a scent so intertwined with my childhood, that for a moment, I can’t answer as I stop and breathe it in.
Her favorite milk oolong is lighter and more floral than a regular oolong, with a buttery, creamy taste.
“Drink first,” she says, pouring me a cup. “We’ll eat after.”
Mom never likes to mix her morning tea with food, saying it wrecks the taste of the tea. Although it’s a habit I’ve let go over the years, as I sip the tea with her, I can see the meditative benefits.
Or I could, if she didn’t fix me with a gimlet gaze across the counter. “Your lab is at your store,” she repeats.
“Yes.”
“We’ll go after breakfast.”
“Ana may be there,” I say, as a warning that we might not be able to have the moli talk Mom wants.
“She may not. We have time to work around her. I’ll be here until we solve this.”
On that ominous note, Mom grabs the old bamboo chopsticks to dish out a bowl of spaghetti noodles she’s mixed with soy sauce, sesame oil, garlic, and ginger.
It’s one of those mishmash meals most immigrant families have, using the ingredients available at the grocery store to make equivalents to beloved dishes when they can’t get to a specialty grocer.
Although lo mein and ramen noodles are available most places these days, I prefer it this way, with store-brand pasta, but feel a little queasy at the sight of the food.
“I don’t usually eat breakfast.”
“I can tell. Your skin is dull. You need more vegetables.” She puts the bowl in front of me, and although I want to push it away out of spite, I eat a few bites to get her off my case.
It’s only nine by the time we leave for the store. A morning walk is sacrosanct to her, and as we head out, I realize it is to me as well.
“Why did you choose this neighborhood to live?” Mom asks as we step out into the spring sunshine. It’s going to be warm today, and this cheers me.
“The rent was low.” This is true enough, although I gradually opened to the charms of the location. I point out a few places I like—a coffee shop, a tiny gift store, and a corner store with the best selection of fresh herbs I’ve seen, all year around.
“Do you walk to work every day?”
“It’s only about thirty minutes, so yeah.”
“Good. Exercise works the brain.” She glances over. “It might help with your skin too.”
I clamp my mouth shut. We get to Kensington Market and Mom looks around with a little smile. “I came here years ago when I was last in Toronto. There was a place on the corner that made vegan muffins bigger than my hand. It must have shut down. Too bad.”
I like Kensington in the morning, when its shops are closed and streets quiet. In the day, especially on a summer weekend, it can feel chaotic, but at times like this, it seems like a secret only a few know.
Mom stares in open interest when we get to Auntie’s Closet. “Where’s your sign?”
“I told you, I rent. The store belongs to Ana.”
“Did I hear my name?” Ana comes up from behind me, then holds her hand out to Mom. “Ana Garcia. You must be Ms. Hua. I’m so pleased to meet you.”
Mom’s face is a study as she checks out Ana’s outfit, a black sheath with a sequined snake sewn around the shoulders like a boa and a leather jacket draped over it.
In the time I’ve been away, Ana has bleached her hair Marilyn blond and styled it like a 1950s pinup.
She looks fantastic, and I pray Mom doesn’t say something rude or judgmental.
Then Mom smiles. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to seeing your space.”
“I’d be happy… Oh, Jayne, hi.” She goes bright red as Jayne comes up, and I introduce her to my mother.
Mom holds out her hand and they shake. “Do you work in the store as well?” Her eyes dart between Ana’s makeup, which has little star stamps by the eyes, and Jayne’s classic white shirt and jeans.
Jayne laughs. “Clothes aren’t my thing, although Ana is inspiring.” Ana goes limp as Jayne continues. “I own a bar down the street. You should come for lunch, if you’re staying awhile.”
“She probably won’t be here that long,” I break in, rattling my keys as I open the door.
“I know about your company, of course, Ms. Hua.” Ana gives Jayne a wave goodbye as we enter the store. “I’d love to talk to you about how you manage to both keep it current and incorporate the history of your perfume house. It’s fascinating content for marketing.”
“Of course.” Mom goes in to stand in the middle of the room. “Engaging displays,” she says. “Luling, are you responsible for the room scent?”
“Yes.”
Ana waits for me to say more, and when I don’t, she shoots me a look and jumps in. “Lucy changes the scent based on the season, but it always sort of smells a bit the same to make sure repeat customers recognize it.”
Mom turns to me. “A base?” She closes her eyes and breathes in. “Black currant and fig. With some bay?”
I nod and Ana looks impressed. “I can’t believe how well you two can do that,” she says.
Mom smiles. “There’s a lot of memorization. My mother made me keep a scent diary.”
“A scent diary?” asks Ana.
“A notebook where you write down what you’re smelling and how it makes you feel,” says Mom. “I have Luling’s.”
“I didn’t know that,” I say. So that’s what happened to it.
“I keep it with my own.” Mom walks over to my counter, her block heels knocking on the floor. “This is your space.”
Ana goes to the back workroom and I join Mom. “It is.”
Mom’s already spraying blotters, sniffing her way through my collection, much in the way a master chef would judge her apprentice. I can’t handle the stress, so I take her coat and go to hang it up in the back.
Ana peers around me to make sure Mom isn’t there. “I don’t know what to say,” she says urgently. “How bad was this emergency? Should I be giving condolences?”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that. Sorry to worry you. I had to talk to Mom about some family stuff. It wasn’t big. No one died. Your hair looks great, by the way.”
“Thanks. I wanted to surprise you.” She takes a breath. “Whew. Your mom has, like, an aura, doesn’t she? I want to be on my best behavior and also get her approval.”
“Trust me, I know.”
She laughs. “I bet.”
“She’s going to be hanging around for the next few days,” I say. “Is that okay?”
“As if I’m going to kick out your mom. Sure. If she wants to work back here, we can figure it out. Or is she on vacation?”
I shrug as Mom comes to the back. Unlike other people, who would poke in their heads, Mom simply fills the doorway.
“You’re a silversmith.” She circles Ana’s table. “My daughter showed me your work.”
Hearing her refer to me possessively like that instead of by name makes my heart give a strange lurch.
Ana looks up from the container of overnight oats she’s opening for breakfast. “I started back up a little while ago after putting it aside for years.”
“Very nice designs,” Mom approves, looking at the board where Ana has printed out some of her tablet drawings and a few sketches torn from her notebook.
“Thank you.” She frowns. “The result is decent, but the process doesn’t feel right—or at least, not like it did. I was used to working with a collaborator.”
“I know that feeling,” Mom says. “Although Luling’s grandmother stopped working years ago, she enjoyed being in the lab. I hadn’t realized what a comfort it was to have her there to discuss ideas.”
I’m listening so hard my face tingles. I didn’t know that either.
Ana nods eagerly. “That’s how I feel. These are good—I know they are—but it’s a struggle because they can be better.” She droops. “I thought it would be fine to be on my own. I don’t know.”