He bit into the crunchy morsel, licking his lips. “Ah, Roo, you just haven’t lived until you’ve eaten chicken feet. And you know what they say: When in Rome, do like the Romans.”
“We’re not in Rome.”
“But we’re in Hong Kong, and these cooks . . . their blood’s worth bottling. So we should eat whatever they prepare. Chicken feet or lizard lips or eel eyes.”
“Lizard lips?”
“Sure.”
“Daddy, can we go soon? I want to mail the dinosaurs to Rupee.”
“He’ll get them in a week or so, luv. It doesn’t matter if we mail them now or in a few hours.”
“How do you know that? Maybe there’s a mail plane leaving for India right now.”
He poured her some tea. “Soon, my leaping Roo. Very soon.”
“Hurry.”
Sipping his tea, he opened a lotus leaf to reveal steaming cauliflower. “You certainly made your mum proud.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, she asked you to help someone. And you did.”
Mattie nodded, realizing that they hadn’t yet opened their canisters for Hong Kong. “Daddy?”
“Yeah, luv?”
“Should we see what Mommy wants us to do here?”
He glanced at his day pack, which contained the canisters. “What do you reckon? We could open them now. Or wait until tonight.”
“Let’s open them. While we’re waiting for the dumplings and your eel eyes.”
Though Ian was unsure if he wanted to open the letters now, while Mattie was happy, he nodded. “Want to read yours first?”
“I think so.”
He unzipped his day pack and handed her the appropriate canister. Mattie pushed her food aside and opened the canister, carefully unrolling the little scroll. Her mother’s familiar script caused her heart to miss a beat.
Mattie,
What did you think of India, my precious girl? How did you feel when you saw the Taj Mahal? Were you lifted? Did the sight of it make you think about love? About magic? I’m sure that the artist in you was inspired. Maybe you sat down and sketched. Maybe you understood, at that moment, what artists are capable of. How art is one of humanity’s most beautiful and lasting achievements. Don’t ever be shy about your skills, Mattie. It takes courage, I know, to share things, to open yourself to the world. But really, all that matters is that you love what you make. If your art brings you joy, then your paints and pencils should never go unused.
Do you remember the summer when I tried to get you to jump off that diving board? You’d just learned to swim, and standing at the edge of the board, looking into that deep water, you were so scared. Time and time again, you’d walk to the edge of the board, stare into the water, and decide not to jump into my arms. Sometimes the children behind you laughed, and I know you heard those laughs, but you never stopped going to the end of the board. And I was so proud of you each time you made that journey, because I knew the start of the journey was almost as scary as the end of it.
Remember how that night, at the very end of the summer, we went to the board and talked about the jump? Everyone had gone, and it was just you and me. And you made the journey once more, and you jumped. You flew through the air. You landed with a splash. And you started laughing. You laughed and laughed and laughed. And we jumped so many times that night. At least fifty times. The lifeguard was ready to go home, but he’d seen us on the board before, seen you wanting to jump. And so he let us stay late. We were shivering, and shriveled like raisins, but we kept jumping and laughing and splashing each other.
That was one of the best nights of my life, Mattie. I’d seen you work at something, something that another child might have found easy, but that you found difficult. You struggled and you heard their laughter, and I know how hard those steps were to take. But you finally jumped, and you’ve never stopped jumping. And I don’t want you ever to stand at the edge of a board, look into deep water, and not jump.
If you ever get to that point, remember our night at the pool. Remember how much fun it was to jump into that water, to splash each other as the night grew dark. Don’t be afraid to jump, Mattie.
I love you so much. You are the light in my life, and