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“Is this about embarrassing the family? Because my entire family consists of three people. Myself included.”
“Nonsense. We have extended family. There are at least two hundred of us.” She shot up, side-eyeing the poor assistant behind me as if she’d expected her to fight me off with fists. “And no. She thinks you’ll die a gruesome death if you don’t marry someone willing to listen to every safety instruction she provides. Remember when Natalie’s brain short-circuited, and she bought your Stefano Riccis from the mall instead of straight from the flagship? Your mom slipped red ginseng into your tea for a week. She feared you’d die of complications from hand, foot, and mouth disease.”
I followed her inside to the kitchen. “You’re shitting me.”
For the most part, I always figured her anxiety stemmed from the sudden violent death of her husband… but Mom genuinely thought I’d croak if I wore the wrong shoes?
“Would I lie to you?”
“Yes. All the damn time.”
I’d spent every year of preschool believing all the toy stores in Potomac had gone up in flames, just because my aunt preferred spending time at the mall than babysitting me.
“Maybe.” Ayi shrugged. She didn’t actually care. “But I’m not lying about this, Zachary. Falling in love is like swimming too far from theshore. The moment you realize the danger you’re in, it’s too late. It’s safer not to swim at all.”
“Mom thinks this?”
“Ask her yourself. You never bothered.”
I froze, realizing she had a point. The idea of discussing anything serious with Mom made me want to change my name and move to Alaska.
Not as if I felt the cold anyway.
Well, pre-Farrow.
“Forcing me into a loveless marriage isn’t about our legacy?”
“Legacy? Reputation?” Ayi waved a hand, flicking on the espresso machine. “I’m impressive enough to carry on the legacies of every family in Chiang Mai. We don’t need a Fortune 100 CEO to do that. Anyone ever tell you you’re a bit boring? If anything,that’sdragging down our reputation.”
“You’re stalling.” I snatched the cup from her, sloshing brown liquid all over the counter as I set it down. “And I’m not leaving. May as well tell me where Mom is.”
“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes, debating between the jackfruit, longan, and lychee on the counter. “Getting a facial in the master. Don’t tell her I pointed you in her direction.”
“Thank you, Ayi.”
“You’re welcome, sha háizi.”
I treaded down the vast corridor, knocking on the master bedroom door.
No response.
I rattled it louder this time. A sigh came from the other side.
“If it’s my son, I’m not here. If it’s room service, leave it at the door.”
She was about to get served, all right. A nice dose of reality.
I pushed the heavy door open, coming face-to-face with my mother. She laid flat on her stomach on a massage table as two young female masseuses served her.
A towel shielded her—thankfully—as she typed on her laptop in front of her.
Meditation, my ass.
This woman sought peace like I sought more sex-addicted friends (sorry, Ollie).
To the sight of her only child, Mom snapped her laptop shut with a frown.
“Oh.” She rose to a sitting position, shooing away the women. “It’s you.”
