And then his face changes to a performance of recognition, grief. Ah yes, of course I’m not hungry. How could I be? He watches me pour myself some coffee.
“How are you holding up?” Trying for softness. Though I know he doesn’t care, his tone does something to me in spite of myself. I feel I could crack like an egg. But I won’t. This morning, I applied three layers of an antioxidant serum enriched with Firma-Cell, followed by seven skins of a roaring water kelp essence, followed by the Iso-Placenta Shield to smooth and tighten. Then the White Pearl Pigment Perfector mixed with the Brightening Caviar for Radiance. Then of course the Diamond-Infused Revitalizing Eye Formula, the Superdefense Multi-Correxion Moisturizing Cloud Jelly, and two layers of broad-spectrum Glowscreen, physical and chemical. I did this in the half-dark of the hotel bathroom, while Marva played on the counter, talking softly to me about the benefits of moisturizing cloud jellies. I think about the many layers, the many ingredients, the many sophisticated formulas right now shielding me from oxidizing free radicals while also keeping me hydrated. I shrug and stare at Chaz through Mother’s sunglasses. They’re huge and dark, that Jackie O style she loved. For those days, she said, when the truth is laid bare. Or for when the Revitalizing Eye Formula goes rogue and bleeds, creating a teary effect. I won’t lay the truth bare before Chaz.
“It’s hard,” Chaz offers.
“I’m fine,” I say.
And then he smiles at me with something like understanding. Reaches out and puts his hand on mine. “There, there,” he says awkwardly. I look down at his Apple Watch. Nestled there in his hairy wrist. Two fat gold rings on his pudgy fingers, one of which has an insignia of an S. His hand feels heavy on mine. Smothering.
A waiter arrives bearing a tray. “Eggs Benedict with smoked salmon? Pastries?”
“Perfect,” Chaz says.
I watch him ravage his eggs, making vapid observations about Mother’s death as he chews. “Sho shudden,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m as shocked as you must be, honestly.” Respectful silence or is he just swallowing? “And so young, too. Well, maybe not so young. She looked it though, that’s for sure. Younger looking every time I saw her. Almost like she was moving backward in time rather than forward, you know? Not like us mere mortals, right?”
“I guess so.”
You’re a fucking freak of nature, I told her once. And Mother just looked at me, touched. I watch Chaz take a knife to the wobbly egg.
“So. You’re back in Montreal now, huh?” he asks. Because we have to make a little conversation before he gives me the terrible news, right? Makes it more human. I’m human, says his face.
“Yes.”
“No more playing Mulan for you.” He smiles. See how he remembers that I used to work at Disney while I was in college? He got the princess wrong, of course, but he remembered she was ethnic. Because I’m ethnic, aren’t I? Something other than Mother, anyway. He forgets what exactly. Somewhere from the south and the east. I was Princess Jasmine, I could tell him. The Arab one. Like the father I barely knew. Died of a heart attack when I was five, before I could form a memory beyond the smallest fragments. The closest I ever got to him was lining my eyes with kohl, talking to little kids about how I flew here on my magic carpet. But I just smile at Chaz.
“No more Mulan for me.”
“And how is Montreal, anyway?” he asks, like he wants to know. How much did Mother tell him, I wonder, about my leaving here? My daughter deserted me, didn’t you know? Barely visits her poor mother except when I beg. Chaz would shake his head at Mother with infinite pity. How terrible. I could tell Chaz that this was only a distorted sliver of the story, that Mother deserted me too once. But he’d never hear me over the fact of his undying lust.
“Well, you know me, Chaz. I love the cold.”
He smiles. Of course I would love the cold. “I haven’t visited Montreal since the eighties, you know. The old days.”
A shiver runs through me. The old days. My childhood days in Montreal. So many I can’t remember. So many behind a veil. Fragments until I was nine, and then at the age of ten, a blank. And then? Suddenly I don’t live with Mother anymore. I’m living in Grand-Maman’s place and Mother’s moved away to California. Soon you’ll join her there, Grand-Maman said, but not now, not yet. Five years go by in the flash of an eye. Then I’m fifteen and on a plane out west. I’m blinking under an alien sun, beneath a bright blue sky. There are palm trees swaying in my peripheral vision. Aren’t they pretty? Mother said, taking my hand, her hair now short and dyed a Hitchcock blond. Isn’t this just the life?
“Who needs the dark and the cold when you have all this, am I right?” And here, Chaz gestures to the view of the sea Mother drowned in. “You know they shot Top Gun here? Tom Cruise and all that.” Trying to smile. Make this a bit of a nice breakfast. Not just about Mother’s finances. We’re old friends too, aren’t we? Catching up.
I stare at him.
“Look,” he says. And I know what’s coming. Know what he’s going to say. It was when the eggs came that I knew. Hearing him talk is like having déjà vu. “She had some serious debt.” Braiding his hairy hands together. Rings gleaming in the light.
“What do you mean?” I say, though of course I know what he means. I think of Mother’s voice on the phone lately. Giddy like a leg jiggling under the table.
“She took out three loans over the past year,” Chaz says, pouring himself more coffee.
“Three? For how much?”
Chaz takes out a gold pen and dramatically clicks. I watch him scrawl a number onto the back of a bone-white business card and slide it over to me with a somber expression. I look down at the number. All those zeros stopping my heart.
“In total?”
“Each.”
My stomach sinks. Heart pounding now. I stare at Chaz, who stares back at me impassively. Just the messenger here. Don’t shoot. But I do want to shoot. I want to take aim at something and fire. I have a memory of Mother from about three months ago, the last time I visited. Waiting for her to pick me up at the San Diego airport. Staring at the palm trees swaying in the dark and thinking, Shouldn’t have come. The night air was warm like a bath. I was smoking to the performed disapproval of all the people nearby. And then Mother rolled up in a silver Jaguar. The new car didn’t surprise me too much—she’d always had her patrons, men who bought toys for their toy. It was her face that struck me. Unsmiling. So pale, it seemed to glow like another moon in the dark. As I approached the car, I noticed her skin was eerily smooth. She looked like she belonged in one of those old Hollywood films she loved, where the actresses’ faces are made preternaturally flawless by Vaseline smeared on the camera lens. But more than her face, it was her eyes. Shining and blank. How they looked at me like they didn’t know me. Mother, I felt compelled to say, it’s me.
And Mother just stared at me through the passenger-side window. Of course it is, she said in a voice I didn’t recognize. Get in.
But I just stood there staring at her through the window. Mother, you look—
What? And her tone was suddenly terribly eager. Hungry.
Strange, I should have said. Empty. What’s with your face? Your eyes? But I said, Beautiful. As I always had. All my life. She seemed to smile then. Some warmth or recognition bloomed in her face. Like her soul had risen to the surface of her skin and made a light shine there briefly. Her eyes filled with tears. She looked into the ever kind and gentle mirror of me.
I’m so happy you’re here, she said. And then we roared off into the dark. I never asked about the car.
“What were the loans for?” I ask Chaz now.
“Window renovation, apparently.”
Window renovation? “Well, how much could that cost?”