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Then the line goes dead.
What the hell?
Befuddled, I stare at the black screen when I hear footsteps behind me.
Ma and Ba idle in the doorway, smiling at me. Ma, her salt-and-pepper hair tied back in a low ponytail, holds a small steaming bowl in one hand and a plate in the other. Ba, standing tall and dignified as always, clutches a red envelope.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Ma says, and sets the bowl and the plate onto the table.
I look at the bowl first.
Noodles. In particular,rou zao mian, otherwise known as minced pork noodles.
My eyes mist with tears because I understand. I hear what they aren’t telling me.
“You have to eat on time,” Ma whispers, her eyes tearing up, “and it’s not a birthday without noodles, right?”
In our culture, eating noodles on your birthday means longevity. But this isn’t just noodles, she fixed me minced pork noodles.
“I don’t know how to make that fancy Italian dish you like, but I looked it up online. Boar ragu is like our minced pork, or at least, it looks like it.”
“Ma.” My voice shakes as I stare at the small bowl. Dammit, why am I so emotional?
She squeezes my shoulders and slowly enfolds me in a hug. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Your ba and I love you so, so much, and we miss your sister a lot. But we never realized how much we’ve hurt you by not recognizing you as you. We’re lucky to have you, our wonderful daughter.”
“But aren’t you disappointed? The scandal? I might not be a doctor anymore.”
Ba harrumphs, and I glance at him through my blurry vision. He takes off his glasses and wipes his eyes. “Doctors are a dime a dozen. My Olivia can do anything she wants.”
A teary smile curves my lips, and I blot my tears with a tissue. “That’s not what you said when I graduated from Harvard.”
“I was young then. I didn’t know any better.”
I arch my brow.
“Fine. Not young, young. But we never stop learning, Olivia, you hear me? We make mistakes, fall down, and we get back up. Your ma and I will never stop believing in you. We are your mountain. We will block the winds and storms. You are always welcome here.”
He shoves the red envelope into my hands. “We didn’t know what to get you for your birthday. Use the money to do something nice for yourself. Something you like.”
“Thank you.” I stand and throw my arms around them.
From their gasps, I know I’ve surprised them. Physical affection isn’t their thing, but I know they love just as hard.
Ma murmurs, “I fixed you some cookies too. Not almond. You tell me which ones you like the most, and I’ll make more.”
I glance back at the table. The steaming noodles and the plate, which I now see, holds an assortment of cookies, from chocolate chip to gingerbread.
With my heart full, I say, “The noodles look delicious. And the cookies look perfect. I have a feeling I’m about to find some new favorites.”
Three hours later, I walk down the quiet paths inside Mountain View Cemetery, holding a large paper bag carrying the things I need for later.
The weather is balmy. I’m thankful the skies are overcast, so I won’t be subjected to the wonderful but hot Southern California sunshine. The soft breeze caresses my skin and I brush my hand through the knots in my hair before giving up. Letting my hair down means it’ll get messy, and I accept it because it feels good. Birds chirp overhead, and a squirrel dashes up a tree when he sees me approaching.
A few minutes later, I’m in front of Mia’s grave, a place I can count on one hand how many times I’ve visited in the last twelve years. I read the words inscribed on her marker.
Mia Shuwen Lin
Beloved Daughter, Sister, and Friend
