Chapter 2

By the time we got home, it was already seven in the evening.

Charlotte helped Grace into the master bedroom. "Mom, lie down and get some rest. I'll pour you some hot water."

Leaning against the headboard, Grace soaked up the attention. "Charlotte, that trip wore me out. Sitting for seven whole hours made my back so sore."

Seven whole hours?

She had been sitting in a cushioned front seat the entire time, free to adjust it whenever she wanted. I had been crammed into the trunk.

Charlotte looked heartbroken. "Then you need to rest well. I'll have my mom make dinner tonight, steamed sea bass and those garlic scallops you love."

Then she came back out, saw me still standing in the living room, and frowned. "Mom, why are you just standing there? Go make dinner. Grace is hungry."

I looked at her. My lips moved, but in the end, I said nothing.

When I walked into the kitchen, I found the fridge completely empty.

Charlotte poked her head in from the doorway. "Mom, you'll have to go to the market. I made you a shopping list."

She handed me a sheet of paper packed with more than a dozen dishes.

Steamed sea bass, garlic scallops, braised pork, sweet and sour ribs, sautéed smoked pork, green beans, tofu...

I stared at the list, barely able to stand from the pain in my back.

"Charlotte, I just spent seven hours in the trunk. My back really hurts. Could we maybe..."

"Mom, why are you being so dramatic? Grace sat in the car for seven hours and didn't complain once. You curled up for a bit and now you can't take it?"

Charlotte cut me off, sounding annoyed. "And didn't you say you're healthy? Besides, tomorrow is her birthday. Dinner tonight matters, so don't screw this up for me."

Her birthday tomorrow?

I froze for a second, then remembered. Ten days from now would be my fifty-third birthday.

Last year on my birthday, Charlotte had sent me 2 dollars and written, [It's the thought that counts. We don't need to make a big deal out of birthdays.]

That same night, she and Simon had gone out for a fancy anniversary dinner and left me at home chewing on cold bread and pickles.

But when Grace turned fifty-five, Charlotte spent about 17,000 dollars on a set of jewelry for her, then booked three tables at a five-star hotel for another 7,000 dollars.

I stood in the kitchen doorway and looked at my daughter's back. It felt like a stone had lodged itself in my chest.

"Mom, what are you waiting for? Go buy the groceries. Grace is waiting for dinner," Charlotte urged.

She didn't even bother to look at me.

Dragging my aching back behind me, I headed downstairs to the market.

By nine that night, I had finally finished cooking everything.

Eight dishes and a soup covered the whole table.

Charlotte eagerly helped Grace to the table. "Mom, try it. These are all my mom's best dishes."

Grace took a bite of the fish and frowned. "It's a little bland. Not as good as the way we make it back home."

Charlotte quickly smiled along. "You're right, Mom. Next time I'll tell my mom to add more salt."

I stood at the kitchen door and watched their family of four chatting and laughing around the dinner table.

No one asked me to sit down.

As Lily ate, she said, "Grandma, this shrimp is good. You should eat more."

Grace smiled so hard her eyes crinkled. "Our Lily is the sweetest. Unlike some people who only know how to boss old folks around."

That was clearly meant for me.

Charlotte forced a laugh. "Oh come on, Mom. My mom likes cooking. If she doesn't cook, she feels weird."

So I stayed in the kitchen, eating leftovers by myself while my tears dropped into my bowl. What exactly had I been hanging on for these past three years?