by Jackie Lau
My mother liked to critique little things in my life. We’d argue a lot, but when it came down to it, I think she understood me better than anyone else.
Or maybe I’m wrong about that. Maybe I’m misremembering.
It’s been five years.
What would we be like together now? How much would our relationship have changed?
I think we would have gotten along better as I got older; we wouldn’t have had so many stupid disagreements, though I suspect she’d still critique my choice of paint color.
Yet, if my mother had lived, I doubt I would have opened Ginger Scoops.
For a moment, I hate that this place exists, I hate what it represents. Then I take a deep breath and drag my mind away from the could-have-beens. It’s not productive to think of those.
“Chloe?” Drew is standing across the counter from me again. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He looks doubtful, but he’s not pushing me to tell the truth, which makes me want to tell him.
“That picture...of my mom and me...my mother is dead.” I can’t seem to form a coherent sentence.
“I’m sorry, Chloe.” He puts his hand on the counter, beside the cash register, as though offering comfort if I want to take it. I put down the ice cream scoop and place my right hand on top of his.
We say nothing for a long moment; we simply touch. He puts his other hand on top of mine and squeezes. His hands are warm and large and immensely comforting.
I can’t help wanting more of this, but I slide my hand away and go back to scooping the chocolate-raspberry ice cream.
“Michelle asked if she would be as pretty as you when she grows up,” he says, presumably in an effort to distract me.
“Do you think I’m pretty?”
Oops. The question just popped out of my mouth.
He raises his eyebrows, just slightly. “Objectively, you’re very pretty.”
“Objectively?”
“You have nice features. I’m sure most men would agree.”
“Mm-hmm. I wasn’t asking for an objective opinion, but a personal one.”
I’m being a bit flirtatious. Huh. Flirting is not something I’ve done much of lately, and we were just talking about my mother a minute ago. This conversation is confusing the crap out of me.
“Personally, I think you’re pretty.”
He doesn’t sound cocky and confident, unlike the man who tried to pick me up at a bar last month. But I’m pretty sure Drew isn’t looking for a relationship right now.
Although that doesn’t mean he’s not looking for some fun in the bedroom...
My face heats, and we look at each other like two sixteen-year-old kids who have no idea what we’re doing, and oh God, why do I find this so endearing?
“Anyway.” He clears his throat, but his voice is still croaky afterward. “You were going to give me some strawberry-lychee sorbet?”
“Yes, yes. Of course.” I grab the last pint and quickly scoop the sorbet into it.
It’s been over six months since I’ve gone to bed with anyone. Hannah and I weren’t in a relationship; we just slept together a few times. Before that, there was a one-night stand with a guy named Brett. Or was it Brent? I’m not sure, and I feel embarrassed for not remembering the name of a guy I slept with.
No, it was Brett. I’m pretty sure.
I remind myself that there’s no shame in forgetting the name of a one-night stand.
Drew might look a touch awkward now, but I think if we actually went to bed together, he wouldn’t be awkward it all.
I swallow and put the three pints on the counter. “Will that be everything for today? Would you like a coffee?”
“Not tonight,” he says, “but I’d like to ask you a question.”
Oh? Every inch of my skin feels very aware of his presence. Maybe he’s going to ask if he can kiss me or take me back to his place after all.
“Your store and Michelle’s bedroom have a similar aesthetic,” he says. “Any suggestions for where I might, uh, buy her a birthday present?”
Totally not what I was expecting.
“There’s a place on Queen West called Libby’s Gifts,” I say, trying to hide my disappointment. “That’s where I got the stuffed alpacas.” I point to a shelf along one wall of the store.
“Right. Somehow I never noticed the alpacas before.”
“You were too overwhelmed by the rainbows and unicorns and pink walls.”
“Something like that.”
“Your niece’s birthday party is this weekend, and you still haven’t gotten her a present? You’re a little behind, aren’t you, Drew?” I tease.
“I got her main present on Sunday, but I thought I’d get her something else, something that’s actually...cute and intended for children.”
“What have you gotten her already?”
“A pasta maker and some expensive olive oil to have with crusty bread.”
I stare at him. “You got your niece a pasta maker? A real one, not a kids’ toy?”
He nods. “Like I said, she’s a real foodie. She’ll like it, trust me.”
I’m a little skeptical, but he knows her better than me.
I ring up the three pints of ice cream. Drew hands over his credit card, and I slide it into the machine. As I’m giving it back to him, I notice the last name on his card.
“Lum,” I say. “The only other person I knew with that name was a friend of my late grandmother’s. They were from the same area in China.” I can’t help the hope from creeping into my voice, can’t help desperately wanting that connection, but for all I know, it could be a meaningless coincidence. Perhaps it’s common in many parts of China—I know nothing about names.
“My dad’s family is from Toisan,” he says as he enters his pin number.
“My mother’s family, too! You speak the language?”
“I don’t, but my dad does. Kind of. He was born here.”
“Like my mom.”
I know it’s stupid, but this makes me happy. Toronto has an enormous Chinese population, and I had many Chinese friends growing up, but their family backgrounds were all different from my own. When I meet someone who is Chinese and over the age of fifty and doesn’t have an accent—someone who sounds like they grew up in Canada, I mean—I feel like we’re related.
Which isn’t quite as stupid as it sounds, since most of the earlier Chinese immigrants to Canada, like Drew’s father’s family, were from Sze Yup, the Four Counties—Toisan being one of them.
“And your mother?” I ask.
“She’s from Hong Kong. She came here for university, where she met my father.”
I nod and resist the urge to hug him. I feel a special bond with him now. It’s something I crave, now that my mother and Chinese grandparents are gone.
I put the ice cream pints in a bag and smile at him. “You have to keep ice cream in the freezer. Just so you know. Since, from the sounds of it, you are not particularly familiar with ice cream.” I try to keep my voice light.
He narrows his eyes at me, but I can see the amusement dancing in them.
“I’m not a total idiot when it comes to ice cream,” he says.
“Maybe I’ll convince you to try some one of these days.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
I smile at him and he heads to the door. When he opens it, he waves at me before walking out into the night. He doesn’t smile, and although he reminds me of Oscar the Grouch, I feel a strange lightness in my chest.
Chapter 7
Drew
Thursday after work, I head to Libby’s Gifts, which is near Trinity Bellwoods Park.
When I open the door, I look around in horror. This place is unbearably cutesy. Like, Ginger Scoops is a little over the top, but this place is...wow.
And then I smile when I think of Chloe telling me about this store. It was exactly what I had in mind when I asked for a recommendation for a place to buy Michelle a gift.
W
ell, I’ll take a look around and hopefully be out of here in five minutes, otherwise I might have nightmares of giant kittens, puppies, and unicorns chasing me through an enchanted forest.
I shiver at the thought.
There’s a large shelf devoted to Hello Kitty, the popularity of which I do not understand. There are Hello Kitties in every size, from keychains to stuffed ones that are almost as big as me. One Hello Kitty is carrying a cupcake; another is riding a unicorn.
I move on. I find cutesy notebooks, cutesy magnets, and cutesy socks, but nothing is quite right.
In the greeting card section, there are several intricate pop-up cards, including one of a couple embracing on a bridge near a Chinese pavilion and a willow tree. I stare at it for a moment. If I had a girlfriend...
What the hell?
I don’t want to be in a relationship. I’m done with relationships. Given my luck, if I were to start a relationship now, the woman would probably leave me at the altar and then write a book that would ruin both chocolate and beer for me.
I’m really not creative.
But I bet Chloe is, including in the bedroom...
I slam the door on that train of thought.
I move away from the romantic pop-up cards and find one with a mother and baby elephant, plus another with a castle that looks like it escaped from a Disney movie. After a minute of indecision, I decide to buy the latter for Michelle.
Next, I come across a section of stuffed animals, including an alpaca with a little blue hat jauntily perched on its head. Or is that a llama? I tilt my head and regard it for a moment.
No, definitely an alpaca.
I pull it off the shelf and move farther into the store, where I come across some amigurumi.
Yes, I actually know what amigurumi is. Back in university, I used to date a woman who was obsessed with them. She’d crochet tiny cute animals for stress relief. During exam period, she crocheted me a pair of giraffes.
I dumped her as soon as exam period was over. Not because of the amigurumi giraffes, which I kept because it seemed like a crime to throw them out and I’m not completely heartless, but because I’d fallen out of love with her.
She also insisted on teaching me how to crochet, and I might still have my ugly attempt at a puppy somewhere in my closet.
But here in Libby’s Gifts, there’s a perfectly-crocheted elephant, as well as a series of other animals. Lions, tigers, bears, moose, turtles and a very intricate peacock.
“Can I help you?”
I jump in surprise when I hear a woman’s voice behind me.
“Um...” I’m tongue-tied. Speechless in horror at the fact that someone has found me carefully examining an amigurumi peacock, in a shop that looks like some kind of utopia for people who are high on sunshine and kawaii.
“What are you looking for?”
I put the peacock back on the shelf. “I’m shopping for my niece. She’s turning six.”
“Perhaps she could use some glitter pens? Or a Hello Kitty lunchbox?”
“Actually, she already has one of those,” I mutter. “I’ll take a look around and let you know if I have any questions, okay?”
She walks away, and I discover a collection of amigurumi food next to the animals. There’s a hamburger, a carrot, a cabbage, an apple, an eggplant...
Hmm. Perhaps my foodie niece would appreciate some amigurumi fruit and vegetables. I pick up the eggplant, then notice the peach beside it.
I choke and push thoughts of Chloe out of my mind as I shove the eggplant back on the shelf.
Deciding I’ve had enough of amigurumi, I head toward the cash register, though I get distracted by the sticker selection—just kidding—and place my alpaca and pop-up card on the counter.
“Are you sure I can’t interest you in some glitter pens?” the woman asks.
“Uh, no, that’s quite alright.”
“What about this?”
It’s a little box with a cute hedgehog on top, and inside is some stationery with woodland creatures, plus some small pencil crayons, two strawberry erasers, gel pens, and a hedgehog pencil sharpener.
You know what? I can’t deal with any more of this store. I need to get out of here ASAP before I turn into Totoro. “Sure, whatever, I’ll buy the hedgehog stationery set, too.”
* * *
When I arrive at Adrienne’s on Saturday morning, Michelle runs up to me. She’s wearing a blue party dress and a blue ribbon in her hair.
“Happy birthday,” I say as she hugs my waist.
“Hi, Uncle Drew.” Then she drops her voice. “I’m supposed to pretend to be more interested in you than your presents.”
I laugh.
Adrienne enters the front hall and regards all the packages I’ve placed on the bench by the door. She had to switch shifts with someone so she wouldn’t miss her daughter’s birthday. “You’re spoiling her.”
I shrug. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?”
“Can I open them now, Mommy?” Michelle looks up at her mother with wide, pleading eyes.
“You can open them after lunch, which I hope your uncle brought with him.”
I hold up the bag of sushi. “It’s here.”
Apparently, Michelle wanted a make-your-own-sushi party with her friends, but Adrienne managed to convince her that a paint-your-own-unicorn party was a better idea. I glance into the living room, where a folding table has been set up. It’s covered with newspaper, and there are eight unicorn figurines, maybe six inches high.
This is the party I will help supervise this afternoon. How lovely.
“Okay, Michelle,” Adrienne says. “Uncle Drew has seen you in your party dress. Now you can go upstairs and get changed for lunch.”
“Why can’t you wear your party dress for lunch?” I ask.
Michelle sighs, as though her mother is being totally unfair. “Mommy says soy sauce and party dresses do not mix. She also says that paint and party dresses do not mix.”
“Your mother is very wise.”
“Why are you taking her side? You’re supposed to be cool.”
“You’ll think I’m very cool once you open your presents.”
“Mommy, can’t I open them now?”
Just then, the front door opens, and a male voice says, “Where’s the birthday girl?”
Adrienne’s mouth opens in surprise.
“Daddy!” Michelle shrieks and rushes toward her father. Nathan hugs Michelle then swings her into his arms, and I most certainly do not feel my eyes getting a bit misty.
But for a split second, I wish I had this life.
I thought I would, once upon a time. Lisa and I had decided we’d start trying to have kids after we’d been married for a year.
Of course, that was before she climbed out a window at the church.
Why she didn’t just walk out the door, I’m not sure.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming.” Adrienne kisses her husband, who is still carrying Michelle, on the cheek.
“I decided at the last minute and thought I’d surprise you.”
There are dark circles under his eyes, but he looks happy.
Nathan puts Michelle down. “I bought you a present, but I didn’t get a chance to wrap it.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small gray box.
Michelle opens it up and gasps. Inside is a silver necklace with a heart pendant. “It’s like grown-up jewelry!”
He chuckles. “Yes. Grown-up jewelry. Because you’re a big girl now.”
“Put it on for me, Daddy!”
He clasps the necklace around her neck, and she hugs him again.
Feeling a little superfluous in this family moment, I head to the kitchen and get out some plates for the sushi.
* * *
After lunch, Adrienne says I can leave since Nathan is there to help with the party, but I decide to stay. Not because I’m particularly excited about watching eight little girls decorate unicorns, but I’m here, so why not? What else am I going to do t
oday? Plus, I admit I’m a little tempted by that chocolate ganache cake.
However, one of the little girls came down with a fever this morning, so there’s an extra unicorn figurine, and Michelle insists I decorate it myself.
So here I am, staring at my unicorn figurine and wondering what the hell I should do. I finally decide on something simple: I’ll paint it white with a purple mane. Then I’ll give it to Michelle, since I don’t need it for myself.
I grab some white paint and start working on my unicorn. The girl beside me has also decided to go for something simple. She appears to be a Goth in training, and she’s painting the entire thing black.
I’m so intently focused on painting my unicorn—ha!—that I don’t notice there’s a problem until I hear some shrieks. (In truth, I was daydreaming about the beer I plan to have when I’m home and no longer surrounded by seven six-year-olds.) One of the girls has dumped an entire jar of glitter on her unicorn.
“Ava used all the glitter!” one of the girls whines, and two others join in.
I look around frantically for Adrienne or Nathan, but they are nowhere to be found, so it looks like I’ll have to deal with this myself. Great.
“The glitter is for everyone,” I say. “You have to share. Sharing is caring.”
Goddammit, where did that come from?
Ava looks at me as though I’m speaking a foreign language.
I sigh. “Look, most of the glitter didn’t stick to Ava’s unicorn. I can fix it, okay?”
I shake the unicorn to rid it of excess glitter, then sweep the pound of glitter on the newspaper back into the jar. The other girls are content with this, and I go back to painting my unicorn. Since my fingers are covered in glitter, I get some on my unicorn, but that’s okay. It’s a fucking unicorn.
After I finish with the white paint, I reach for the purple and start painting the tail, then the mane. Satisfied, I push it away from me and look around the table. Goth Girl has just finished painting her unicorn black, and everyone else is still busily working on making their unicorns a mess of colors and glitter.
Michelle looks up at me. “You’re already done, Uncle Drew?”
