Page 9 of The Boyfriend List
Perry always has a new girlfriend. Between his six-foot-three build inherited from our former high school football player dad, and his motorcycle, there’s no shortage of women lining up to date him and his bad boy persona. “Who’s the lucky lady?”
“This girl from work. She’s whip-smart. She might even be the one.”
I don’t hold my breath on that one. Perry always thinks his latest girlfriend will be the one, and he’s thirty-three. But I’m the youngest in the family at twenty-seven, so I know he would never take my relationship advice seriously. “Cool. Maybe you could bring her around sometime.”
“Here? Not a chance.” He snorts as he kicks off his motorcycle boots at the front door.
“My boys!” Mom greets us, shucking off her oven mitts as she exits the kitchen and walks into the foyer. “Oh, it’s so good to see you again, Perry.”
She flings her arms around her second-oldest son and squeezes him tightly. It’s a comical sight, seeing Perry hug our mom, who’s five-four and a petite immigrant from Hong Kong. She moved here at the age of eighteen and met our father when she was working as a secretary in his law firm. Our dad, who’stall for being Chinese, lent his genes to create four sons who were all over six feet tall in addition to one five-foot-eight daughter, Savannah.
“Yeah, yeah.” Perry shakes his head, patting our mom on the back. “I’m going to go crush a beer with Brooklyn.”
“Dinner’s in an hour!” she calls after him. Then she fixes her gaze on me. “London, mysum gon bo bui.”
She always calls me that, herheart-liver-treasure, the classic Chinese endearment for one’s children, no matter how old I get. And no matter how old I get, I never raise any protests at the term of endearment, because part of me is worried it’s true. That I am as essential to my mom’s happiness and functioning as those vital organs.
“It’s good to see you again, Mom.” I just saw her last week.
She wraps me in a tight hug and kisses my cheek. “Sometimes I can’t believe all of you are so grown up. It seems like only yesterday—“
“That you were holding us as babies, yeah.” I finish her oft-stated sentence for her. “What’s for dinner?”
“Braised oxtail,” she says. My dad’s favourite meal. I study her, for one of the few times that I let myself, and really take her in.
Her brown eyes have dark circles underneath, which she tries to hide with expensive creams, and her slender frame always looks too frail to have birthed five children. She’s wearing classy designer clothing as always—pearl earrings, and a Chanel blouse tucked into Ralph Lauren jeans—and a smile that makes me feel like I’ve done something important just by showing up.
“It smells good. Do you need any help?”
She ushers me in the kitchen to peel daikons and carrots before I finish my question. I don’t mind the work, as it keeps my mind off Gloria’s boyfriend list.
I tell her about Perry’s new girlfriend.
Shetsks. “He’s thirty-three. When is he going tosettle down?”
“Maybe this woman will be the one to make him.” I chop the daikon into chunks with the Chinese cleaver.
She just shakes her head, the heavy silence hanging disapprovingly on her face.
But she won’t ask when I’ll get a girlfriend. To her, I’m still building my career and shouldn’t focus on getting married until I’m Perry’s age. Or maybe she knows if I married, she would lose me. Lose the only person in our family who seems to actually care about her, since God knows my dad doesn’t. The rest of my siblings are scattered around L.A., busy with careers and their own lives.
“I’m glad I have you to help me,” mom says as I toss the chunks of radish and carrot into the Dutch oven. But I know she doesn’t just mean helping her make dinner. She’s glad she’ll always have me around. “Your father has been no help at all. I asked him to take out the trash last night, and you wouldn’t believe the rage he flew into. It was as if I had asked him to scrub the floors with a toothbrush, with how angry he was.”
Whenever she flies into one of these rants, it’s best to just nod and listen. I’ve perfected my nodding and listening skills. While my father has never been violent towards any of us, his short temper is a sight to behold, especially when he feels like he’s been slighted.
After the food is ready, we all settle down to eat at the dinner table.
My mom insists on holding hands to say grace, like it will transform our family into a harmonious one. It hasn’t so far, but a foolish part of me still holds out hope.
Halfway through rice with oxtail andgai lan, my dad makes his special announcement. “I’m retiring.”
Chopsticks clatter to the table and mouths drop open. Our father is sixty-five, sure, but he always seemed like the kind of man who would keep on working until the day he dropped dead of a heart attack.
“What brought this on?” Brooklyn asks. As the oldest, and an engineer, he falls into the dad-approved category of careers. “I thought you loved your job.”
“I can’t do it forever. The doctor told me the stress is bad for my heart.” He runs a hand through his hair, still thick and only faintly streaked with grey at the temples.
“And you listened to him?” Savannah arches a brow, chopsticks halfway to her mouth still.
