The Last Chinese Chef - By Nicole Mones Page 0,64

times during the last year she had been pulled between the two, the way they were now.

“He shenmo?” said one of the white-coated women, standing next to her, and Songzhe translated, “Something to drink?”

“Water,” said Maggie. “Please. And could we turn that off ?” She indicated the TV, now showing footage of mountain peaks set to tinny music.

At once all three sisters waved dismissively at it, chattering; they didn’t like it, they hadn’t been watching it, they didn’t care. Maggie received a water bottle, took a drink from it, lay back, and submitted to the hands of the girl who took her feet out, dried them, balanced them on the stool, and began to massage them. The woman was confident and strong-fingered. Maggie felt her anchor lift, her beleaguered self finally rise and float and start to spin downstream. The world fell away. In time she saw only disconnected images and scattered, luminous thoughts.

Likewise the conversation between the sisters gave way to the silence of pleasure as the masseuses released the legs and feet and then moved around to each woman’s head, neck, shoulders, and arms. Maggie drifted. In a half-dream she saw Matt’s face. How far did you go with her? What did you do? Were there others? But he didn’t answer. A glass wall seemed to separate them. She could see the humorous light in his eyes and the stubble on his chin. See his Welsh face, sheepish and brave.

Is she your daughter or not?

She floated with the woman’s strong fingers kneading up her shoulders and her neck to her scalp, then dropping to her upper spine and starting again. Maggie’s muscles were hard and tense. As their outer layers relaxed and released, images of Matt rose like bubbles, burst, and vanished. Maggie felt the Chinese woman’s hands now on her neck. She remembered Matt two years ago, taking her to a birthday party for his friend Kenny’s little son. She remembered complaining on the way over that people shouldn’t invite grown-up friends to a party for a three-year-old, but Matt broke through her crust, as he usually did. He was the gracious one. He was the reason their relationship had manners. “You know what?” he said. “Kenny’s more proud of this little guy than of anything else he’s ever done. So it’s fine.”

At the party she knew hardly anyone, except Kenny’s wife, so she stood with her in the kitchen to help. They chatted and cut melons and pineapples, bananas and grapes, for fruit salad. On the other side of the pass-through, guests buzzed at the food table and formed a laughing circle around Kenny and Matt as they played with little William on the floor. Both men lay on their backs on the floor with their knees up, whooping and hollering, riding the boy on their knees and passing him aloft from one to the other while he shrieked with joy.

“Look at Matt,” said Valerie, Kenny’s wife. “He loves it.”

It was true. Matt’s face was alight. His eyes were dizzy with pleasure. So tender, the way he held the boy. He wants one. Look at him. Look. It was so undeniable that Maggie thought her heart would crack. “You’re right,” she said softly. “He does.”

Valerie put the last fruit on the platter and wiped it once around the edges. “So when are you two going to have one?”

Now, years later, on her back with a Chinese woman’s fingers working their way down her arm, spreading her hand, massaging it, Maggie remembered the way she had fished for an answer, how Valerie had seen her discomfort and kindly retreated. She remembered the silent thud inside her that told her Matt would never rest, never be content, until he had one of his own. She knew this wish would now define their life together. As it did, in the short time left to them.

It’s no use thinking about him. He’s never coming back. She felt the old sadness. One of the sisters murmured softly in Chinese; the sister next to her released a little laugh. Maggie made an involuntary half-smile in response. She didn’t understand. It didn’t matter. They were happy here together, and they made her part of it. It was guanxi, the deep kind, family. She thought she was beginning to understand it. Make this the start, then. Go on from here. The thought was soft and clear in her mind. The room grew still, just the sound of their breathing, soft, like falling snow. She

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