Chapter 37
Hua Meilin
Vancouver, Canada
First, gel. Then hairspray. Meilin had worked hard on the swoop of her bangs—high above her forehead, but with a thin fringe to her eyebrows—and trial and error had taught her the exact order of products required to make it perfect.
She’d tried mousse, but the lack of staying power meant by the end of the day, her bangs would be a soft wave, and a total travesty.
Hopefully, Kevin would notice. She thought he would.
He was the kind of person who noticed everything, and she liked that, especially when it was about her.
She didn’t know the last time someone looked at her and saw Meilin.
Not a Chinese girl or a Hua daughter. He saw Mei, someone he liked to spend time with because he thought she was funny, and sweet.
That’s what he’d called her the last time they met, and he’d bought her ice cream.
“Sweet like you,” he’d said as he handed the cone over, and Meilin knew she’d gone red. She might have giggled. Kevin did that to her.
She smiled at her reflection and added some more Toast of New York to her lips before blotting it off. Kevin didn’t like too much makeup. It smeared on his face while they kissed, he’d told her last time, handing her a tissue.
The butterflies that rose every time she thought of him fluttered high into her chest. They’d met through friends, at a dance club downtown, and he’d bought her a drink, then another, smiling as she tried to make him laugh by lip-synching to Roxette.
He was the most handsome man she’d seen—Chinese, which was surprising since most of the people she knew were white—and from Shanghai, although his accent sounded almost British.
He’d come to Canada for school. He was a few inches taller than her, and his black hair was long on the top.
Sometimes it flopped over his eyes, a look she loved, although he shoved it back with an impatient hand.
He’d gotten her number from her friend, and soon they were talking on the phone every night.
He wanted to be an accountant or something to do with numbers, in an established firm, the kind where he had to wear a suit.
Most of her friends were working in retail, so Kevin’s dream of a solid job was almost exotic.
Kevin didn’t seem to have many friends or go out much—he was always studying—and he’d only been at the club because one of his roommates insisted he come.
Meilin, of course, was working at Yixiang.
Although she’d resented being forced to spend all her free time there in her youth, now she loved it.
Knowing it would someday be hers meant each morning when she opened the door, it was like walking into her future.
This location was all she’d known, although she’d seen the original storefront in Chinatown.
Her mother said the old store had been too small and cluttered, although spotlessly clean.
She often complained about how her own great-grandmother had made sure of that.
In that store, the only customers who crossed the threshold arrived thanks to word of mouth.
The same wasn’t true here. The old customers still came, but now they had people walk in off the street, intrigued by the idea of buying exclusive perfume not available anywhere else in the world.
Meilin wanted to play this up further. She wanted to change the flowered wallpaper to dark green, or possibly burgundy, although that was less flattering to her skin tone.
She wanted to get new floors, and beautiful wood counters and displays to showcase their fragrances.
Her mother agreed, and some of Meilin’s favorite days were when the two of them would make the rounds of other stores, noting what worked and, even better, gossiping cheerfully about what didn’t.
When Kevin came by the store, it had been unexpected, so much so that she’d simply stared when he’d walked in, briefly unable to identify the familiar face.
She’d taken the lilies he handed her, and breathed in their funeral scent as she followed his glance.
In his eyes was reflected not the glimmering future but the pragmatic present.
Kevin wasn’t the kind to dream about what could be, and when she told him of their renovation plans, he had immediately started asking about their financing and other boring things.
She tried to distract him by explaining all the perfumes to him.
He’d sniffed a few, pointing out when one was too strong or too light before telling her she should close up early and come to dinner with him.
Her mother had come out from the back of the shop and stared at her, and Meilin had said no.
After Kevin left, her mother had turned to Meilin. “Is he a perfumer?”
“You know he’s not.” The lilies would look nice on the counter. Meilin fetched a vase.
“Take those away; they’ll interfere with the scent of our perfumes,” her mother commanded.
Meilin sighed and brought them to the back, and her mother followed.
“The reason I asked if he was a perfumer was because he seemed to have plenty of advice for what we should make.”
“Everyone has opinions.”
Her mother snorted. “Some more than others, and perhaps when they shouldn’t.”
“You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Mothers worry about daughters because we know what daughters don’t.”
On that note, Yulan went back to their small lab in the back of the store.
Meilin stayed in the front and stood at the glass door, looking down the street to see if Kevin was still in sight.
She wished she had the nerve to do as he suggested and shut up the store so she could have fun, but she couldn’t.
She turned to the sketch her mother had done of how the store could be.
It would be rich, sumptuous, and matching the other luxury shops downtown.
Those changes would have to be saved for and planned.
A new dress sacrificed here, a second pair of shoes there.
It all added up, and would have to do, at least until Meilin’s daughter changed things for the family and the store.
Meilin often thought of her daughter. That she would have one was a given; all Hua women did.
Her daughter would be pretty, of course, and strong-willed, a trait that had run true since Aiai herself.
She was proud she would be the mother of a fifth daughter, a girl who would have rosy cheeks and a strong voice.
Her name would be Luling. She’d known for years. Hua Luling.
Meilin touched her bangs to see if they were dry, then took out the clip she used to get the height she needed. Today they were going for a walk on the Seawall. It had been Kevin’s idea, after she’d suggested the Sun Yat-Sen garden. “You smell flowers all day,” he’d said. “It’ll be a good change.”
He was right, and it was thoughtful of him to get her into the sea breeze with all those new smells. He was astounded Meilin could describe her surroundings in smell rather than what she saw or heard. Kevin called her Rain Man for a while, but with a smile that told her it was meant affectionately.
“Meilin!” It was her mother, calling from the bottom of the stairs. “Are you going out?”
“I have a date with Kevin.” Even saying his name caused shivers. He’d kissed her last time they’d met, under a lilac tree that had tickled her nose with its rich scent. She’d sneezed, and been worried she’d hurt his feelings until he laughed.
Her mother came up the stairs and shook her head. “You look like a rooster with your hair like that.”
Her mother’s hair was pulled back in a ponytail so tight it was like a cap. “It’s the style.”
“Huas make our own style.” Her mother sat down on the bed. “You’ve been seeing a lot of this boy.”
“Five or six dates.”
“You brought him to the store.”
“He came by,” Meilin corrected, giving her bangs one more quick spritz.
Her mother wrinkled her nose at the smell. “Has he had any more suggestions for how we should make perfume?”
“No,” snapped Meilin. “And he was only trying to make conversation.”
Yulan looked at her closely. “You know we need to be careful about who we share our secret with. They must be trustworthy.”
“Kevin is trustworthy.” Meilin bristled. “And he wouldn’t care. He has enough going on in his life that me having a job wouldn’t bother him.”
Her mother snorted. “You don’t have a job, girl, you have a calling. Will he be able to handle being second in your life after Yixiang?”
“He’s not that insecure, and it doesn’t matter. He’s going to Shanghai in a few months.”
“Ah.” Her mother relaxed instantly. “He is?”
“Yes, back home. He was only here for school.”
“Good.” Her mother’s concern was assuaged. “Then there’s no need to tell him anything.”
“None at all.”
Yulan paused in the door, hesitating as if she wanted to say something else.
“I have to finish getting ready,” Meilin said.
Her mother nodded. “Be home in good time. You have work tomorrow.”
Her mother left, and Meilin adjusted the cuffs of her knee-length jean shorts.
It was nice to be able to enjoy Kevin without thinking of building a future with him.
If he was staying, she would have to worry about when to tell him about her moli.
She would have to negotiate with her mother over whether she could.
She would need to sit him down and explain she wasn’t only a perfumer, and her daughter—and his—would make him richer beyond all comprehension.
But that there would be a price, and the price was that she was a Hua, and he was not, and part her life would be always closed to him.
She’d never told another person this. She’d never had to.
She never wanted to. It seemed almost sacrilegious to have to tell a man about her ability, as if she was sharing something more intimate than even her body.
If she could guarantee how someone would react, that would be better.
If only they had a moli to control unpredictability.
But they didn’t.
Almost time to go. She remembered Kevin had been off last time, upset about something or other. She glanced at the vial on her nightstand. She’d made him a moli perfume last night, similar to the fougère of the Calvin Klein Eternity For Men he usually wore. She lifted it up, then put it back down.
It would be nice if he was in a good mood. She tucked it in her pocket, pulled on her rhinestone-studded sandals, and left.