by Liwen Ho
TWO
Three hours later, Sam was a law-abiding citizen once again. That is, if you didn’t count the eviction notice plotting her demise in the glove compartment. She still had thirty days left to vacate the building she was renting for work, so she hadn’t broken any laws … yet. Although at the rate her morning—and life—was going, she could foresee another visit from the police in her future.
She started her studio two years ago to teach art classes and host creative birthday parties. The first year had been wonderful, in other words, profitable. Advertising at the local elementary and preschools had generated enough business to require two full-time assistants. She even planned to relocate to a bigger location.
Then came tax season.
Problem number one was not hiring a professional to do the job. When she finally dished out the money for a CPA, problem number two surfaced. She had as usual misplaced her receipts so she couldn’t write off as many of her expenses as deductions. And problem number three was owing the government more money than she had anticipated—or saved.
Darn those Nordstrom half-yearly sales.
At this point in her life, she was lucky to have one very part-time college kid left on her payroll and a month’s supply of ramen noodles in her apartment. And, lest she forget, the great pleasure of running into Mr. I-Have-My-Life-Together this morning.
Seeing Lucas Choi had been a wake-up call to how pitiful her life had become. Three and a half years of college with no degree to show for it. A business on the brink of bankruptcy. Zero prospects in the area of love.
She was only twenty-eight, but she was tired. Tired of struggling. Tired of failing. And tired of being a one-woman show.
Sighing, she pulled her car into the corner parking lot of her workplace, grabbed her belongings as she got out, and kicked the door shut with her leopard print wedge. She squinted against the midday sun and eyed the new green vehicle registration sticker on the license plate. What a waste of time. At least it complements the car. Satisfied with its placement, she strode to the front door of a brick building.
“Thanks for holding down the fort, Monica,” Sam called out to the bubble gum chewing young woman at the front desk. “That was some line! I had to wait an hour in the sun like a crayon left to melt on the sidewalk. At least I got to hide under the umbrella of the Chinese lady in front of me.”
She dropped her belongings on a table and tilted her face up toward a vent overhead. The tension in her shoulders eased as cold air blew down and separated her cotton blouse from her sticky skin. Smiling, she soaked in the perk of having central air conditioning at work. It wasn’t the only reason she liked coming to the studio though; it was her own slice of paradise. She had chosen the location for its floor-to-ceiling windows, and had painted the walls a shade of cloud white to enhance the room’s brightness. It was the ideal setting for creativity, both for herself and her students. A few quiet minutes in the studio could shift her mood entirely. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”
Several popping sounds, followed by a grunt, emerged from Monica’s mouth. The landline on the desk rang, and she picked it up. “Junior Picasso,” she mumbled. “No. Uh-huh. Okay. Bye.”
Sam arched an eyebrow at the curt response. It was a good thing she had hired Monica for her artistic talents and not her communication skills. “Who was that?”
“Your sister.”
When Monica didn’t elaborate, she pressed further, “Mel or Billie?”
“Uh …”
It was a good thing she wasn’t paying her much either. “Did you hear kids in the background or the buzz of a dentist’s drill?”
“Kids.”
“That would be Mel. What did she say?”
“She said she’ll be here soon.”
Sam’s mouth dropped open at the complete sentence. “Great. Anything happen while I was out?”
A single shake of her assistant’s pink dyed head gave her the answer. She checked the artist palette clock hanging on the wall. “Go ahead and take a break. When you come back, I’ll need you to pack up the supplies for tomorrow’s party. And change out those pictures.” She pointed to the area where her students’ artwork hung on wooden clipboards nailed to the wall.
Monica popped her gum in affirmation and walked out the door as a young brown-haired boy bounded in.
“Auntie!”
“Benji, hi!” Sam scooped her nephew into a bear hug, lifting him off the ground. She planted a kiss on his head and breathed in his familiar scent of sweat and maple syrup. “Where’s your mom and sister?”
“Dunno.” He struggled out of her embrace and ran toward a table with colored stools.
“We’re here,” a heavily pregnant woman called out from the doorway. “Always ten steps behind him.” The pig-tailed toddler holding her hand stumbled toward Sam with a big grin on her face.
“Hiya, Ellie belly,” Sam called out as she tickled her niece’s stomach and kissed her berry-stained cheek. “Go sit with your brother. I’ll bring the finger paints over.” Eyeing her older sister’s growing stomach, she asked, “How long now till the big day? You look about ready to explode.”
“Three more weeks,” Melanie panted as she sat down on a wooden bench, “assuming he doesn’t stay past his due date.”
“If that kid’s smart, he’ll stay inside as long as he can.” Addressing her sister’s tummy, she warned, “It’s a cruel, cruel world out here, buddy. Enjoy your safe haven while you can. At least your landlord won’t fine you for staying too long.”
“You’re talking about being evicted, aren’t you? Did you talk to Ma and Ba yet? You don’t have much time. If you want to save this place, you have to get the money together quickly.”
“The last thing I want is another “I told you so” lecture from Ma. She’s got her whole Bible study praying for her daughter who dropped out of college to be a painter in Paris and didn’t even come back with a French husband. She already thinks I’m a failure for being single; I don’t want her to find out I’m losing the business, too. I’d never hear the end of it!”
“Come on, Ma’s not that bad.”
Sam groaned. “Are we talking about the same woman?”
“Okay, so she can be dramatic, but you have to admit she’s calmed down over the years. She’s now open to you having a non-Chinese husband.”
“Only because you married a white guy and Billie’s engaged to one. At this point I think she’d be happy if I married any male with a pulse.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Last night at dinner she listed off all the single men at church, including the widowed ones.”
“You wouldn’t want to marry a guy who’s been married before?”
“Not when they’re balding and almost the same age as Ba. And not if they’re looking for a replacement mother for their kids.”
“You should have more sympathy. Imagine losing your spouse and being left to raise your children by yourself.” Melanie wiped at her eyes. “Just thinking about it makes me emotional.”
“I think it’s those pregnancy hormones talking.”
“Don’t change the topic. You really shouldn’t limit yourself. The pool of available guys grows smaller as you age. And don’t forget, your biological clock is ticking.”
“Thanks, Dr. Peters, for telling me what I already know. And stop giving out medical advice on your maternity leave. I’m in no rush to get married. I’m not even sure I want kids.”
“Why wouldn’t you? Benji and Ellie love you. Your students do, too.”
Removing two plastic smocks from a wall hook, Sam brought them over to her niece and nephew and placed them over their heads. “That’s because I’m the fun aunt and the fun teacher. Can you picture me as an overbearing mother?” At the sight of her sister’s frown, she corrected herself. “I meant responsible mother. Worse yet, a stepmother? It’s hard enough taking care of your own kids, but someone else’s? No way. I have a hard enough time taking care of myself.”
“That,” Melan
ie piped up, “is a good point.”
Sam took a box of finger paints from a cabinet and set it on the table. She faced her sister with her hands on her hips. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I was just agreeing with you. You’re right. Now is not the best time for you to start dating. You have enough to think about with your finances.”
“Not to mention getting pulled over.”
“Sam! Were you speeding again? You’re always trying to run those yellow lights.”
“I was driving at the speed limit for once in my life. I just forgot to renew my registration. But you’ll never guess who the cop was.”
“Who?”
“Lucas Choi.”
“Wasn’t he the guy you asked to prom, but he turned you down?” Melanie’s eyes widened as she continued, “And the one who called the cops to break up that party where you got arrested?” Shaking her head, she eyed her younger sister with stern disapproval. “Underage drinking, Sam. I still can’t believe it. What were you thinking? You’re lucky the police released you to me. Ma would have disowned you if she found out!”
“Like I told you, I didn’t have a drop of alcohol, but they still handcuffed me. It was humiliating.”
“You were holding a cup of beer. You should be grateful they let you go with a warning.” She sighed as she massaged the side of her swelling belly. “Wait, Lucas is a police officer now?”
“Yup, he no longer has to pretend to be a cop. Now he has an official uniform to go with his straight-laced personality.” Her cheeks grew hot as she remembered his haughty smile. “He was definitely out to get me today. You should have seen him. He was as happy as a cat who caught a mouse, and I was the mouse.”
“You couldn’t talk your way out of a ticket this time?”
“Actually, I did,” Sam proclaimed with a grin.
“You are unbelievable.”
“Unbelievably good.”
“If only you could use that mouth to do something useful, like pay your bills.”
“Ha! Who said anything about using my mouth?” Her low, suggestive tone caused Melanie’s jaw to drop. “There are other body parts that are just as useful for swaying the male species.”
“The kids can hear you!”
“I don’t know what you’re thinking about,” Sam snickered, “but I was referring to my eyes. This new mascara’s supposed to give my lashes more length and volume. Guys love that kind of thing.”
“Aiya.”
“You should’ve seen the look on your face just now.”
Melanie sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Lighten up. I was just playing.”
“Sam, I’m going to be honest with you because I love you. You need to get serious about your life and stop playing around. You have a credit score to fix. You need to start thinking about commitment and having a long-term relationship. It’s time you acted like a responsible adult.”
Leave it to her sister to state the obvious. She crossed her arms in a defiant stance. “It’s a good thing you’re the mother of my favorite nephew and niece, and I know you mean well.”
“I just want what’s best for you.”
Unfortunately, Sam’s best was never good enough. She’d always been the black sheep of the family, the one who didn’t fit the cookie cutter mold of a studious and obedient Asian daughter. Maybe a genetic mutation was to blame? Unlike her sisters, she would never cut it in the medical field and it would take a lot to convince her to settle down. She had put her heart on the line before and still regretted it. “I might not do things the way you and Billie do, but I have plans and goals.”
“I’m just worried—”
Sam cut her off. “Stop worrying. I’ve got everything under control.” Before she could defend herself further, the front door opened and in walked a gray-haired woman and young child. Grateful for the interruption, Sam strode over and wrapped the little girl in her arms. “Lucy! I love your French braids and hair bows.”
“Look, Miss Sam, I made my hair like yours.”
“Why, yes, you did,” she marveled at the crimson streaks in her brunette mane. “Let me guess, you used a marker?”
“A permanent one,” the older woman lamented. “I leave her alone to make lunch and she does this! What’s your daddy going to say when he sees your hair, not to mention your face?” She licked one thumb, then swiped it over a red mark on Lucy’s cheek.
“Hey, Mrs. B.,” Sam greeted Lucy’s grandmother. “Don’t worry, it’ll come out after a couple of washes. I had my share of Sharpie escapades as a kid.”
“What a relief.” Mrs. Benson exhaled, then leaned over to plant a kiss on Sam’s cheek. “You look beautiful, dear. What an amazing skirt. Don’t tell me you made it?”
“I did. I took an old pair of jeans and a skirt from Goodwill, and voilà. The power of upcycling.” Sam grinned at Lucy who was staring up at her with fascination in her hazel eyes. “Oh, I know what’s going on in your head. Don’t you go cutting up your clothes when you get home. If you want to make something, I’ll help you tomorrow after your party, okay?”
Lucy bobbed her head up and down and tugged at Sam’s lace skirt. “I want one like yours.”
“You don’t need to copy me, Luce.” Sam squeezed the girl’s soft hand. “Remember, you have your own special style. We’ll make something that you think is cool.”
“Okay!” Lucy squealed. “I can’t wait.”
Sam grinned and directed her to the table with finger paints. “Put your smock on and sit down. We’ll start class in a few minutes.”
Mrs. Benson beamed as Lucy skipped away. “I didn’t think I would ever see her talk, let alone smile again. You’ve helped her so much, dear.”
Sam winced. Over the course of the last month, she had heard bits and pieces of Lucy’s story. The three-year-old had gone through more than any child, or even adult, should. After losing her mom a year ago, she had stopped talking. She was only recently opening up, thanks to some extra individual lessons. “She has come a long way. But it’s not me, it’s the art. She just needed a way to get her feelings out.”
“It’s more than the painting. She enjoys coming here to see you. You’re helping to fill a void in her heart. She hasn’t had a female figure in her life since my daughter passed.”
“She has you, Mrs. B. I see how much you adore her even when she makes you want to pull your hair out.”
“I do, and yes, she does,” she chuckled. “But the two of you have a special connection. You got through to her when no one else could. I hope you know how special you are.”
“I—uh, thanks,” Sam stammered. If only being special could help pay the bills and keep her business open. She couldn’t fathom the thought of closing down and not being able to see her students. As much as she hated to admit it, Mel was right. If she didn’t get her finances under control, she would lose the most important thing in her life.
“Something wrong, dear?”
Sam blinked and pushed aside her thoughts. The concern in Mrs. B.’s voice matched the worry clouding her blue eyes. “Just thinking about today’s lesson.”
More parents and students began arriving at that moment, and Sam stepped away to greet them. After directing the children to sit down, she returned to Mrs. B. “Have a seat. I’m sure my sister would love some company when she wakes up.” She gestured to Melanie who was breathing deeply with her hands clasped on her stomach.
“She’s got the right idea,” Mrs. Benson grinned and sat down. “Oh, speaking of company, I was talking to my neighbor Janice and telling her what a wonderful girl you are. She wants to stop by during Lucy’s party to meet you. Maybe bring her son over. He’s a law professor.”
Sam chuckled. The twinkle in Mrs. Benson’s eyes was unmistakable. “I know where you’re going with this, Mrs. B., but I’m not looking for a relationship right now. I appreciate you watching out for me though.”
“So, you are single. Good to know.”
No
dding, Sam walked off. “Single and happy,” she called over her shoulder.
As her sister had said, now was not the best time for a relationship. Especially not with a guy whose job was dependent on following the rules, which she had a knack for breaking.
THREE
Lucas jogged across the street, his feet hitting the pavement with the rhythmic beat of a drum. A row of willow trees cast intermittent shadows on the sidewalk as he ran from one end of the block to the other. The area was quaint and close-knit, as evidenced by the neighborhood watch program signs posted on nearly every corner. It was the ideal place to raise a family, one of the reasons he had chosen to move here. He lived close enough to the Milpitas Police Department so he didn’t get stuck in traffic for hours, but far away enough that he could keep his job and home life separate.
Coming to an intersection, he paused to check his watch, and picked up his pace. A night of tossing and turning had caused him to oversleep, a rare occurrence for him, but he had decided to stick to his morning routine. Now he had twenty minutes to run home and shower before the day’s events started.
He couldn’t believe he’d gone out—thanks to his colleague’s badgering-on his first date in a decade. Last night had been easier than he’d anticipated, but not as pleasant. Oliver’s cousin was friendly enough, but their conversation had fizzled out after fifteen minutes, like the flares he used to create “safety zones” on the road. His heart hadn’t been in it. He had no problems opening doors or picking up the tab for a woman, but he was far from ready to pursue a relationship. That was to be expected, considering he had spent almost a whole decade with one woman.
But Lauren was gone now.
After six years of marriage, it was hard to be single again and even harder to force himself to move on. At least he had a job to distract himself with every day. And a family that gave him a reason to think about the future. Thank God for sparing him that much.
He rounded the corner leading to his house and slowed down when he spotted an elderly couple walking their terrier. Passing the neighbors, he called out a greeting, and they waved back. When he was two houses away from his own, he noticed a red sedan parked in the driveway next to his silver SUV. The bright crimson shade called out for attention and reminded him of several vehicles he had pulled over that week. The stereotype rang true: people who liked the color red tended to drive recklessly. They were more aggressive, impulsive, and hot-headed.
