Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 2020complete | Page 558

banter that the men in the two cubicles adjacent yelled over me, the gnawing loneliness that consumed my
joy. Until one day, one fateful day, Jeanine and I were sent on a business trip to Guangzhou together.
Alone, just the two of us. Simon wasn’t there to fill the awkward silences with his mundane anecdotes about
his breakfast; Lisa wasn’t there either to suck out all the fun and scare us into focusing; even the stray cat that
lingered outside the office door every morning wasn’t there as a source of small talk. It was just me -
exasperated, tired, awkward- me, with the brightest ‘it-girl’ of the firm.
“Grab some food before we go?” Jeanine, pristine as usual, popped in from behind. I looked down at
myself: a plain knitted sweatshirt that fit like the ones my Nanna made and a pair of straight-legged pants
that hung a little too long. She handed me a cup of coffee, the one with my name and cute little heart
drawn next to it. “It’s homemade: gluten-free, dairy-free, nearly all fat-free.” Jeanine laughed casually,
sliding into the booth opposite me. Not knowing what to say, I smiled forcefully, took a large gulp out of
the cup; the singe of the coffee as it burnt down my throat didn’t make it any better. As if reading my mind,
Jeanine handed me a bottle of unopened water out of thin air, “here.” Once again, Superwoman saved the
poor country girl.
On our final night in Guangzhou, my brother called. My family never called, for landlines in the village
were expensive and patchy; besides, writing letters was always a good way to keep yourself sharp, at least
that’s what Mother said. Half relieved to know that I still remembered my local dialect, half apprehensive for
the sudden urgency, I picked up the phone.
My mother was in an accident- not fatal, but definitely not easy for a woman of her age.
I found myself on the couch, tears running down my face ceaselessly like the winding streams back home. I
saw my Mother in the hospital, strapped down with tubes coming out of her wrinkled arms. She had always
hated these places, said they resembled prisons more than places of recovery, said they made her feel weak
and old with age. My brother and I always told her that she was young and vibrant and still had many
fulfilling years before her, but now, I don’t know if I would be able to deliver these lines with the same
careless conviction. Mother was old.
I forgot I was in Guangzhou momentarily; lost in my sea of reminiscent memories, I even forgot that I was a
thousand miles away from home. It was only when an unfamiliar hand, soft with the lingering scent of
expensive perfume, squeezed my chappy calloused ones that reality reappeared. The unfamiliar hand
wrapped me in a warm embrace, running its nails up and down my back in the gentle scratch that my
Nanna used to do. I buried myself in the stranger’s hair- pillowly, luscious like my young Mother’s. The
hands on my back were firm with belief, holding me as if I could never fade away in the world, it was as if I
was home again with Father.
When I reluctantly disentangled myself at last, I was surprised to find Jeanine across me: makeup a little
smudged, hands still caressing my own.
“I… we’re late aren’t we.” I mumbled softly, staring down at my woolly sweater. It was already bad enough
that I was overlooked at the office, on top of all my problems, I really didn’t need to be the infamous
weakling that couldn’t stop bawling. Jeanine chuckled softly, her face so close to mine that I could hear the
gentle breath of air from her nose.
“Things back home?” Her voice enveloped me like rays of the warm winter sun. The words spilled and
frothed from my mouth like an overflowing washbasin- absolutely unstoppable. I talked about Hemu,
digressed onto my family, shared my fears of relocation; before I knew it, I had blurted out my whole life
story.
Jeanine’s voice clipped in her throat.
“I-” she started. Her eyes were squeezed shut in perhaps an attempt to hide the tears, but nevertheless, a
single one escaped and shattered the immaculate facade of perfectionality. “I can’t afford my sister’s hospital
bills anymore, next month…” Her shield of composure come crumbling down to her feet, inside the
square-neck top, I saw a girl. I saw a girl not too dissimilar to myself, overwhelmed by the demands of
society, accustomed to feigning equanimity. I hugged her, wrapping my arms around her shivering body;
this time I was to be her home, her rock, her source of comfort. That evening, before the incessant