The woman starts to speak when she is only halfway into the room. Even without knowing what she is saying, it is not hard to recognize anger, and disgust. Each word sounds snapped off—sharp and broken. Her eyes are hard as she rants at Yok Lan, who is now standing. Pete and I stand up too; she is the kind of woman who makes you feel as though you ought to, if you know what is good for you.
When the tirade appears to be finished, Yok Lan responds, pointing at Gigi. The woman crosses her arms. She shrugs, but it is not nonchalant. She sees us, staring at me first and then Pete beside me.
“Who …?” Pete starts.
A steady stream of Cantonese follows while she points at us, the pram, then Gigi. At last both women are quiet. The air seems to prickle as the whirring of machines and soft rubber-soled footsteps in the corridor fill the awkward gap. The woman pushes the pram toward Yok Lan, almost striking her in the shin, and throws up her hands. She says one last thing, cool as ice in a glass, then leaves. The quick beat of her shoes on the linoleum echoes down the hallway. We turn back to Yok Lan. Her face has fallen, and she looks so tired.
“Mama,” Yok Lan explains, pointing at Gigi. From the pram, Faith lets out a lusty wail.
* * *
It is a long night. As the sun starts to come up, Faith finally sleeps. We find formula in the pram, and Pete somehow manages to mime to a passing nurse what we need. A full bottle, burping, and tight swaddling later and we have silence. Yok Lan positions herself with her back against the wall. Pete and I watch her snore, her jaw slack but making such a noise.
Pete leans back into his chair, and I lean against him, relieved to have him close. We whisper to each other as the three of them sleep.
“Do you think she was in an accident?”
“I don’t know. She doesn’t look broken or bruised, does she?”
He shakes his head above me.
“She was angry.”
“Who?”
“Her mother.”
“Oh, yes. She was.”
I remember Mama in one of her furies. The accusations, the threats. But with Mama it always came from fear. Please don’t leave me, please keep loving me. Her heart was so fragile but so full. I knew she loved me.
“She seemed …” Pete pauses.
I think of the cool look in the woman’s eyes as she shoved the pram toward Yok Lan. The spite toward her own mother hovering over Gigi. Something else too. Bitterness, jealousy …
“Hateful,” I finish.
“I hope she’s okay.” He nods toward Gigi.
“Me too.”
I glance at Faith, who is as still as a painted cherub. I search her head for the place where her skull has not hardened, watch the tiny pulsing beneath her hair. Feel the relief in me, knowing she is still breathing. She needs her mama to be okay too.
I yawn, and bury my head in Pete’s sweatshirt. It smells of Mexican food. Must have been the last time he wore it. Guacamole and hot tortilla chips, brushed with oil. My body is aching and calling me to sleep, but my stomach is starting to grumble, ready for breakfast.
* * *
I wake up, and the bleach and steel smells hit me. I remember where I am; my head heavy with lack of sleep, my body feeling as though it is filled with wet sand. I look over to Gigi. Her hair is damp with sweat but her eyes are still closed. Pete wakes up just as a doctor and two nurses come into the ward. Yok Lan and I move back, out of the way. The doctor starts some checks, listening to Gigi’s young heart, pressing down on her soft tummy. His shiny name badge reads DR. CHANG below some Chinese characters. The doctor gives short directions to the nurses and straightens up with a grunt. The nurse staring at us shakes her head and sends the other nurse back out of the room with a flick of the wrist. The doctor looks at Faith and then Pete and me.
“You are friends, or family?” he asks in perfect, clipped English.
“Friends,” I reply.
Pete takes my hand and holds it between the two of his.
“I see.” The doctor picks up a clipboard at the end of the bed.
“Dr. Chang? Excuse me, but what is wrong with her?”
He doesn’t look up from his notes. “I can only talk to family.”
Pete releases my hand and stands up. “We’re good friends. We’ve been here all night.”
The doctor looks from us to Yok Lan and back again. Then down at the pram. “I’m not allowed to say. It’s hospital policy. You’ll have to ask the grandmother.”
Pete and I look at each other. “Yok Lan called us here. I’m Gigi’s boss. We’re worried,” I add. “That’s all.”
The doctor finishes his notes and hangs the clipboard at the end of the bed. Gigi’s toes peek out of the covers. The nails are painted black with silver sparkles. Somewhat reluctantly he pulls the sheet over them and sighs. “It’s drugs. Pills. That’s all I can say. She will be fine.”
I must have questions in my eyes because he lowers his voice and adds, “Zhuhai. Parties across the border. Young people get themselves into trouble.”
Pete shakes his head. “But, how …”
“Sorry, that’s all I can tell you. You’ll have to ask the family.” He walks out of the ward.
Faith seems to sense the tension; she wakes up and begins to wail. I lift her from the pram. The nurse comes over, holding a cloth, which she puts on my shoulder. I pat Faith between her small shoulder blades, where her wings would be if she were an angel.
Yok Lan says something to the nurse, who then addresses me.
“Miss Grace?”
“Yes?”
“The lady says, can you take Nok Tong? For the day? To … to …” She closes her eyes as if to imagine the word.
Pete leans in toward me. “Who is Nok Tong?” he whispers.
“Faith. Faith’s Chinese name.”
The nurse frowns and looks at us to help her. “Maybe to take her to … the kitchen?”
“Lillian’s? It’s a café,” I explain.
Her eyes light up. “Yes; caff-ay. The lady says very sorry and she will come to see you to pick up baby. Later?”
I hesitate momentarily, thinking about the macarons I need to make today for sale the next two days.
“I can take some time off, Grace. It’s okay,” Pete says quickly, like he is reading my mind.
We tell the nurse that we would be happy to look after Faith, and she relays our words to Yok Lan, who comes to squeeze my hands in hers.
Pete bends over Faith and puts his finger near her clenched fist. The fist pops open, and she swiftly grasps his finger in a tight grip. He laughs. “Well, Miss Faith, it’s your lucky day. Today you, me, and Gracie are going to make macarons.”
He looks at me, his face covered with this new kind of smile. His exhaustion seems to fall away; his eyes are deep and soft. I give him the best smile I can manage in return and relish the sweet weight of Faith in my worn-out arms.
* * *
Later, when the day has slid into night, Pete lies back on the bed with me and looks up at the ceiling. Smells of baking and regurgitated baby formula cling to our clothes. Yok Lan came by late in the afternoon to pick up Faith, tying her onto her back with a long piece of cloth. She is much too old and fragile to be caring for an infant, but her face was full of resolve as she walked away with Faith’s shock of black hair peeking out from the wrap. I can see where Gigi gets her determination.
“Well,” Pete says.
“Well.”
“We should have given Yok Lan that extra formula we bought.”
“Oh. Didn’t we?”
I can feel his head shaking no beside me.
Moments like these, staring up at the ceiling, make me realize how dusty and disorganized the apartment has become. There is a basket of clean laundry which has not been put away for at least a week stationed at the end of the bed. Perhaps I should ask Rilla if she knows anyone who could help me tidy, give them some extra wages. I am trying not to think of Gigi. Or Faith.
Pete rolls over to face me. “Hey
you,” he whispers.
I turn my head to look at him.
“You okay?” he asks gently.
“I’m okay,” I sigh.
I shimmy in closer so that the smell of him is all around me and his arms are looped over themselves across my back. There are the scents of heat and flour and dirty coffee cups. His breath is on my neck, under my ear, rushing in and out like little secrets. We used to lie like this all the time, but I can’t remember when we last did. These last few weeks have made me realize my own sins in the marriage. Neglect. Avoidance. Imagining someone else’s lips against mine. Hoping for someone else’s lips against mine. I put my cheek against my husband’s to feel our skin together. There is memory in it. He gives me a light squeeze and presses his lips to my neck.
“You feel like home,” I think out loud.
“So do you,” he agrees, voice thick with knowing.
When I twist around to face him, he is ready for it. He rains light kisses on my face, then reaches my mouth, softly, softly. Inside me there is a great pull, like the water rushing back to the ocean after the wave has broken. It almost leaves me breathless. He leans back and lifts off my top, then unclasps my bra so my chest is laid bare. He bends down and drops a kiss above my left breast.
“That’s your heart,” he whispers.
That’s when I start to cry quietly, looking at the crown of his wild hair, watching him plant kisses all over my breasts. He is careful with me, handling me lightly. Feelings tumble over and over one another, each one bringing on more tears. Pete soothes me while removing more of my clothing, but he doesn’t try to stop my tears. Perhaps we both know it is time for crying. When he too is undressed and naked, he pulls me back into that warm grip and kisses the salty drops from my cheeks. He brushes the hair away from my forehead and cups my face in his hands. His palms cover my ears, and it sounds like the sea. It is the whirrings and movements of the blood in my veins, the beat of my heart. I am silent so I can hear it. The tears ebb.
When he enters me, it is smooth and sleek. He moves slowly at first until I pull him deeper and deeper, faster and faster. In the quiet, all I can hear is the sound of our breathing. I kiss his neck and his eyelids and any part of him that comes close to my lips. He fills me inside and in my heart too. That dark, gaping space that was aching, unnoticed. When it is done, he barely makes a sound, but I cry out. He falls onto me, his ear by my lips. The tremors pass and we are still lying together, body on body, skin against skin.
* * *
Even before Rilla calls out, I know Gigi is here. The tray needs rotating in the oven so that the macarons are cooked evenly. Instead I straighten up and pause. It has been several days since I saw her stretched out on that hospital bed. Perhaps it is a kind of maternal instinct; the feeling starts in the deep bowl of my stomach.
“Grace?” Rilla’s voice is light and careful.
“I’m coming.” I wipe my hands on my apron. “Would you mind turning the tray?”
Gigi is sitting at a table at the front, looking out the window. She has her hands clenched together in her lap. In the pram beside her, Faith is quiet. I cough as I approach, and she looks up quickly. Her skin looks scrubbed almost raw, so different from the old Gigi, who would have been painted smoothly in makeup, post-punk geisha princess.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” she murmurs.
She holds my gaze as I sit down.
Rilla brings over a pot of tea and smiles into the pram. When she puts her hand down into it, I imagine she is stroking Faith’s soft cheek. I want to peek at her but feel the pull of Gigi’s gaze. She needs me to concentrate on her.
“Sleeping,” Rilla says softly.
Gigi nods and makes a face between a frown and a forced smile. Rilla leaves us, and we both take sips of our tea.
“Are you all right?” I ask her.
“Yeah.” She sounds awkward. I allow the silence to settle. She lets out a little sigh as she drinks her tea, both hands wrapped around the cup.
“Thanks, Grace. For looking after Faith.”
I place my hand lightly on top of her arm. She turns to face the window. “I really appreciate it,” she says earnestly but doesn’t look back at me. Down her face drips a full, clear tear. It falls along her cheek so slowly I watch it make its journey toward her chin. She bites down forcefully on her lower lip and blinks quickly. More tears follow, and I move a napkin toward her. She ignores it and stares resolutely out of the window.
“Frank has left.” Her voice starts to wobble.
“Oh, Gigi.”
She shakes her head slowly. “I know he would be a terrible father; I can see that now. Not that I’m much better … The pills were his idea. A bit of fun, he said. I just wanted things to be like they had been, before everything. I was an idiot to take them. Now … now he’s gone.”
I nod, unsure what to say.
“He’s gone back to the mainland somewhere. Too much … shame here. A baby out of marriage, me in the hospital, it looks so bad.” She pauses. “I guess I understand.” Her voice is soft, like it has floated off someplace. Not the defiance and spunk I am used to from her. She wipes her palm against her chin, drying up fallen tears.
“His family probably made him do it. Ma would have me do the same if she could. She’d love for me to be somewhere far away where I can’t embarrass her anymore.”
“I’m so sorry, Gi.”
“It’s okay. I mean, it’s all a stupid mess. But it’s probably better without him around to make it even worse.”
I want to say something helpful. But the words are lost. She clears her throat and lifts her chin, and I remember that girl from the temple. The chin reminds me, but everything else about her seems so different now. She turns to me with her dark eyes wet and whispers. “I’m not sure how long we can stay at home for.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ma wants me to go back to dealing cards, says casinos make more money than cafés and that I’m a loser for working here.”
My heart sinks. “Oh, Gi.”
Macarons and Lillian’s seem to be the only things holding the poor girl together. She looks up at me and knows what I am thinking, gives a small nod as if she agrees.
“I think she’s going to kick me out if I don’t do what she says.”
I remember the woman in the hospital. The careful hairdo, percussion of high heels, face full of bitterness.
“Where will you go?”
She shrugs and sighs, long and low. “I don’t know that either. The worst bit is Pau Pau. She keeps sticking up for me. Drives Ma so mad she threatens to throw her out too. She’s so old now; she needs me to take care of her. She’s taken care of me long enough. Ma would do it too, I know she would. Ma and Pau Pau never really got along. She’s just like Grandfather. He died a long time ago, but Ma seemed to pick up where he left off. Treating Pau Pau like a servant, looking down her nose at her.”
I think about the strange nature of genetics. How life can deal out good people and bad people, just like that. Crazy people and sane people, all from the same deck. All in the same family. I reach out and take Gigi’s hand. She gives me a worn but grateful shadow of a smile, yet her voice is frail. “This is not what I imagined for myself. Being a mother right now.”
I don’t know what to say. I squeeze her hand and hope that she can feel some empathy in it. I want to tell her everything will be okay, but I don’t want to lie; I don’t know if it is going to be okay.
“It’s too hard, Gracie,” she says very softly, as if she might split in two from admitting it.
Words are still stuck in my throat, and I can feel tears of my own threatening.
Faith whimpers in her sleep but doesn’t wake.
“What are you going to do?” I ask gently.
Gigi looks up at me. Tears have dried on her flushed cheeks, but her eyes are still pink-rimmed. “I really don’t know,” she replies. We sit like that, staring at each other, for several long moments. I have the feeling the r
hythm of our breath is matched. That perhaps she is breathing in as I breathe out and vice versa.
“We’ll help you, Gigi. We’ll help any way that we can, okay? You just tell us what we can do. Promise?”
She nods. “I promise, Grace.” She pauses. “Thank you. Without this place, Lillian’s …” She swallows and doesn’t finish her sentence. It hangs between us.
I nod and whisper, “I know.” Because I truly do.
* * *
I am sitting on the window ledge with a glass of wine when Pete comes home. He has his laptop bag in one hand, newspaper wedged under his arm. He does a double take when he sees me.
“You’re home early.”
“Rilla is closing up today.”
“Oh, right.” He takes his shoes off and loosens his tie. He goes into the kitchen and comes back holding an empty glass.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Go ahead.”
He wriggles himself back against the window. We lean into the corners and put our feet together. My toes are slender, my feet narrow, but they’re not small. I have struggled to find shoes to fit me in China. I’ve always wished for dainty feet. Pete’s feet are practically the same size as mine, but much broader. He takes a large swallow of his wine and sighs.
The view from up here is still fascinating, although we see it every day. The sun is fading, rather than setting, in the thick pollution. Kids are playing basketball in the apartment complex leisure area below us; I watch them miss shot after shot.
“Everything all right at Lillian’s?”
“Sure. Everything’s fine.”
Pete nods. Encouraging.
“Gigi came in today,” I start awkwardly, committing myself to talk with him. To share more, as we have promised each other we’d do from now on.
“Really? Is she all right?”
“Honestly? No. I’m so worried for her, Pete. Faith’s father, Frank, has left, and her mum sounds truly awful. She’s threatening to throw Gigi and Yok Lan out of the house if Gigi doesn’t go back to dealing cards.” I take a breath. “No wonder Gigi has been so full of anger.” Pete drinks some wine and frowns. “She’s got a talent for cooking, Pete, I know she does. Now that is going to be taken from her.”
The Colour of Tea Page 24
