Amidst

I was lying naked in bed with my boyfriend who almost became my ex-boyfriend when Mom knocked on our door. We thought it was our neighborhor downstairs who had visited at random times since our water dripped into her apartment two months ago. We tried to ignore the knock and continue our conversation in hope of reestablishing our union.

Then Mom messaged David asking if he knew where I was and she was worried. “That must have been my Mom!” The thought that had passed my mind was confirmed. I told her to wait downstairs while I got dressed. She sounded worn out on the phone. “It’s okay,” she said, a response too calm to seem like my mom’s. I hurried through the shower thinking how I should present myself in front of her. She must still think I was as tearful as three days ago when I first got the breakup news.

She was fine, when I saw her standing outside the gate from afar. She was in a dark, semi-formal jacket and a pair of light blue sneakers that didn’t quite match. She had an umbrella, same as I—good, neither of us was too sad to have forgotten the weather.

We walked toward the Hong Kong restaurant near home while I complained how late work kept me up last night, excusing myself of staying in bed till noon. She didn’t uncover my secret wish to stay in bed longer with the lover that had broken my heart. To hold him a little longer I could let the world pause, including having my mom wait in the rain, worried about her heartbroken daughter.

It might have been intentional of me to not get to the topic right away. We talked about work and something else. When I eventually told her David and I were not in a hurry to break up anymore, and instead, we were unsure what to do, my mom took it better than I expected.

From her messages I had thought she couldn’t wait to give him a slap and shake me out of my illusions. But she listened. One of the most rational problem-solvers I know, she started asking what were the roots of the problem and whether they could be removed. If yes, we could give the relationship another try. If not, there was no point in wasting more time.

My mom knew almost everything. She knew David and I had known each other for over five years and broken up twice. She knew I loved him and went around the world for him. She saw both the good and the bad in him, unlike the rest of my family who labeled him as the American that didn’t look particularly great. What my mom didn’t know was, if our problem could be solved that easily, we would have solved it long ago.

It was her treat at that Hong Kong restaurant. With David I often went there, but we always restricted our orders to 30 to 40 kuai rice or noodle dishes. Mom pointed at the 68 kuai shrimp dish and asked if I felt like it. We ordered four dishes plus a Hong Kong milk tea. “It’s my treat today,” she said.

So we talked. I explained things though I knew that, not being a part of the relationship, she would never really understand the complication in it. She asked what was so daunting about me going to America with him for his upcoming PhD—I had lived abroad alone; I had worked there; I had managed to get around on buses that came every one or two hours. If money was what concerned us, she was willing to buy us a house there. She had seriously thought so, she said.

It wasn’t money, we knew. It was all sorts of problems, my weakness a part of them. But it wasn’t just that either. It was a little bit of everything. But in the end it was his heart. His heart had something in it that was blocked. Blocked by what no one knew. By his lack of passion? Maybe. But what was the lack of passion after we came this far? We didn’t know. We could never know.

I was still hungry by the time we finished four dishes. I ordered my favorite coconut milk mango, a small dessert that cost 20 kuai. It was Mom’s treat.

The question was stuck in my chest whether I should leave him now. I thought Mom would definitely say yes. It would be ridiculous for me to still stay around just because he softened up, most likely due to my influence.

In my long message to my mom the other morning I said I felt my entire being was left empty. The sky was blue as ever but fake as never. Every time he gave me that sudden shock, things lost their shapes or I lost my touch with them. A desparate sorrow was the only thing left. Mom replied with lots of exclamation marks, more than I wanted to take at the moment. Hours later she messaged again, saying not to mention mine, her heart was also emptied. Thinking of how I cried, she cried. I cried in front of him while she cried alone in her apartment. Dad had left for his home.

But no, Mom didn’t tell me to leave him. She told me to drop my hope and do what I wished. She repeated, tears welling in her eyes, sinking back down and then welling up again, that I deserved better than this. However nice he was, his indecisions had hurt me too much, too much. I was not to put up with this. I had no reason to. Trust me, she said. You will live on and live well without him.

My tears had been drained in the last few days, during my endless conversations with David that went nowhere. I listened rather calmly. I had been told by people—and I knew deep down—that without him life would go on, and his repeated rejections were not something I should put myself through. But I thought I hadn’t done my best: I should have been more independent and supportive. I should go for a period of spiritual development. I should cook more meals, let him work more. I should… I could have…

But this time, Mom told me my faults were small compared to the amount of pain he caused. Mom told me he was not worth my going through this. I had suspected that was true. But I hadn’t felt the truth in it until this time Mom told me. Yes, he was special, he had given me the understanding and support, fun and excitement, that I had not and did not expect to find from anyone else, but just for his inability to commit alone, I deserved better.

I didn’t agree with Mom’s suspision that he was with me for convenience. But it’s true, if he didn’t have his PhD in the States coming up, he probably wouldn’t have asked to break up. Something in men makes it easier for them to evaluate and leave. When Dad proposed to divorce her when I was around six, he said, “I can’t give up my life just because of the child.” They have a life, a life apart from the life with you. There seems to be something intrinsically incompatible between the two. Is there? I couldn’t see. It might have been my shortsightedness to equate my life with our life, my future with our future, to not see that they were not in fact the same thing, even after five years of drifting along together.

Today Mom and Dad meet whenever they meet with me. They go back to their hometowns to see their parents together. They behave just like a normal couple, except they don’t sleep on the same bed. David and I always sleep on the same bed, and I don’t see us ever not, if we do stay together. But what does sleeping together mean? In the end, the couples that don’t sleep together might live together longer.

Mom paid the meal and we walked along Yuyuan Road to the hot chocolate place David and I recently found. They had nice outdoor seatings and authentic hot chocolate. I had been wanting to take Mom there. There was no sun today, but it felt right. We walked under the umbrella, arms circled together. It couldn’t have been a better day.

Mom took out a bar of almond chocolate she had brought me. I took a secret bite, trying not to let the waitors see. Eating our own chocolate in a chocolate store seemed like committing a small crime, partly due to my American boyfriend’s influence. “No problem!” Mom said. Her chocolate was not as rich as the store’s, but I have liked almond chocolate since I was a kid. She put the rest of the bar in my bag.

For the next two hours we took turns to talk and listen. What we said specifically I no longer remember. But just in that talking and listening the rock in my chest slowly sank. “Just trust me,” Mom almost pleaded. “I’ll never do you a harm.” She helped me see that the problem was not in leaving or staying, nor in moving back to her apartment or finding a place for myself. The problem was in my mind. If I could enjoy and let go, there was nothing I absolutely needed to do.

For the first time I remember, I felt it was okay, almost okay, to not have him for the rest of my life.

After leaving the hot chocolate shop we went to do some groceries. Mom helped me pick the right ingredients to cook rice cakes for David. Then she left me outside the house. Before parting, her upper body drew close. I followed, and we hugged, our chests barely touching. It was more like she patted on my back than we hugged.

Back at home I rejected the new part-time teaching job I was trying to decide whether to take. There was clarity now—it wasn’t the right timing. Then I got up and prepared dinner. David came back. He was sweet as usual. We didn’t talk about plans. He liked my dishes. We watched a movie. We made love. We held each other naked in bed. Mom must have felt better tonight.