The Shanghai Moon by S. J. Rozan Read Free Book Online

going, but that would have to be tomorrow. All along Canal, Closed signs were going up in store windows.
    Hungry, thirsty, and tired, I headed to Pho Viet Huang for a bowl of noodle soup. I was annoyed at Joel for getting on my case, annoyed at my mother for being right about me getting annoyed at Joel, and annoyed at myself forhaving the sneaking suspicion Joel might be right, too. Joel Pilarsky and my mother—now there was an unholy alliance.
    The soup was full of mint, bean sprouts, and beef, and after it I felt much better. I went to the park, sat on a bench, and spent twenty-five minutes on a conference call with my brothers. Ted’s and Elliot’s wives, Ling-an and Li-jane, were in on the call; Andrew’s boyfriend, Tony, stayed out of it; and Tim’s girlfriend, Rita, was too new to get mired in Chin family business. The subject was my mother, her stay in Flushing, and how we could leverage the experience into an argument for a permanent move. The conclusion we came to, as usual when the five of us discussed anything, was none at all.
    “She was adjusting, she just needs time,” was Ted’s mild assessment.
    “She seemed fine,” came from Elliot, who’s an emergency room doctor and tends to see all emotional states less dramatic than hysteria as the same.
    “She liked the garden,” said Andrew, who’d made the long trip to Flushing a couple of times during my mother’s month there.
    “She hated the whole thing,” retorted Tim, who hadn’t gone but is the one my mother calls to complain about the rest of us.
    “Lyd?” Andrew said. “How did she seem when you got home?”
    “Like the only way to get her to move to Flushing would be to stuff her in a box and load her on a van. Look, guys, it’s good to have Ted’s apartment there, but I think it’ll be a while until we can talk her into it.”
    “That okay with you?” That was also Andrew. Tim wouldn’t think to ask, and the others are afraid to, in case someday I might say,
No, I’ve had it with this
.
    “Right now she seems intent on proving what an uninterested, privacy-cherishing housemate she is,” I said. “I can deal, for the time being.”
    So we decided to do, say, and plan nothing. A classic Chin family outcome.
    To stay on Sensei Chung’s good side, I went down to the dojo. When I got home, my mother was watching the news on Cantonese cable. She looked up. “Have you eaten?”
    “I had some soup. Is that shrimp I see?”
    “To cook with spring onion.” She added, “It was cheap.”
    Uh-huh. I knew what shrimp, one of my favorite foods, was selling for. “I’ll chop the onion,” I offered. It no doubt took iron self-control, but she didn’t stop me.
    Dinner conversation was mostly about my brothers, my niece and nephews, and, in expanding rings, various cousins whose exploits, troubles, or luck required discussion. After the dishes, jet lag suddenly clobbered me. I took an herb-laden bath. When I came out, barely able to keep my eyes open, I found my mother absorbed in a Hong Kong soap opera, one she’s been following since I was in first grade. It’s set in an apartment complex on Kowloon, and the cast must have changed ten times since it began. I kissed her; she kissed me back but kept an eye on a red door closing to ominous music.

5
    In the morning I found my mother sewing on a blouse she was making for Ling-an.
    “How did you sleep?” she asked as I put water on.
    “Strange dreams. I think it’s the jet lag. What’s going on in Cloud Lake Mansion?”
    “On television?” She seemed dumbfounded by the question.
    “Is that girl marrying the rich guy her father wants her to? And what about that soldier, did he come back?”
    “I didn’t know you followed that show.”
    “Ma, it moves so slowly I only need to walk by once a month when you’re watching to catch up. Did the politician’s wife have the baby yet?”
    She blinked. “No, but she’s in the hospital, she’s having problems. And that pretty girl is a