The next night, she didn’t say anything, just walked out of the room and let me go through his stuff.
I sorted them into three piles: trash, donate, keep.
Most of it went into the donate pile, like his clothes, his shoes, his tool chest, and his old accordion (which, sadly, neither of us could play). I trashed some of the clothes that were too old or worn to donate, as well as some old documents that he’d just kept lying around.
The keep pile was the smallest. It contained a few items of clothing that I’d bought for him that happened to fit me, too. Some old photos in a shoebox. His favorite watch. A mix cd of songs that he’d asked me to download for him when I was in high school. Most surprising, I found a pocket-sized sketchbook that was filled with little doodles. It seemed to be for work, with some ductwork diagrams and drawings of houses and such. But every few pages or so, there were sketches of other things. A woman who looked a bit like my mom. Hands in different positions. Birds and plants. I smiled sadly at a sketch of a donut next to a bowl of ice cream. The words “Everyday is sweet” were written underneath.
◆◆◆
On Friday, we packed up our things and flew to San Francisco. We were greeted at the airport by our entire family, my mom’s sisters, my cousins, and my dad’s side of the family, too. My mom and I both cried as we were enveloped by relative after relative, every one of whom shared our pain.
Family. Something Anna would never understand.
◆◆◆
I showed up to Stumpstash’s SF office on Monday. As soon as Cassie spotted me, she ran over and gave me a hug. My coworkers also came over and said comforting words or put their hands on my shoulders, awkwardly patting me. I gritted my teeth at the polite bullshit. They hardly knew anything about me and certainly knew nothing about my father. But I thanked them for their concern anyway and made to walk to the guest seating area, when Cassie took my hand and pulled me into an empty conference room.
“Ian. I’m so, so sorry for your loss.” She bit her lip. “But why didn’t you pick up—”
“Cassie,” I interrupted, sighing, “I’m sorry for not picking up. I had to talk to so many of my relatives, I didn’t want to talk to anyone else.”
“I’m sorry.” She patted my arm. “I didn’t...will you...did you at least talk to Anna?”
I shook my head. “I’ll talk to her when I get back. I don’t want to deal with her right now.”
“Why don’t you just—”
“Cassie.” I stood up. “I’ve gotta catch up on work.” I squeezed her shoulder. “Thanks for caring.”
I quickly walked out of the room and left her behind.
But when I got to the desk, I took out my phone and texted Anna. Let’s chat when I get back next week.
She responded a few minutes later. Ok. Are you okay?
I didn’t respond. She knew the answer.
◆◆◆
“We should move back here,” I said in Mandarin, spooning fish onto my mom’s plate. We were at dinner at her sister’s house with my uncle and my younger cousin.
“That’s a great idea,” said my aunt. She patted my mom’s hand. “Come live with us. Lianyang moved out, so you can take his old room.”
“Or you can stay with me, Ma. I’m going to move here, too.” I bit into a slice of roasted duck meat.
She looked at me. “You’re going to move here?”
“Of course, if you do. My company has an office here. And it’ll be nice to be closer to family.”
“Don’t you have a life in New York? Friends? Girlfriends?” She gave me a meaningful look.
I think my dad had told her about Anna. Not that it mattered now.
I shook my head. “I can have all of that here.” I smiled at her and piled more fish onto her plate. “C’mon, let’s just move here.”
She didn’t say anything after that, but I could tell that she liked the idea. My aunt and uncle did, too, and they talked about it as if it were a done deal. So that night, I started looking into selling her house in Princeton, as well as my condo in New York. It was time to come home.
◆◆◆
After the funeral, I left my mom in the capable hands of my aunt and uncle, then caught an early morning flight back to New York on my own. When I arrived at my apartment, I opened the door and saw a slip of paper on the floor, as well as a key. I read Anna’s note and felt a pang of regret that things had ended up the way that they had.
But it was what it was. And I was moving back to California. I breathed deeply, shrugged the feeling off, and looked around for things to do, now that I was back.
I walked past the area rug with the large coffee stain. It was well beyond saving by this point, so I moved the furniture and rolled the rug up, then placed it by the door. I’d put it on the curb the next morning.
Then I went into the bedroom and stood there, looking down at the mussed sheets, the bed not in its usual made state. I sank down onto the bed, then slowly burrowed into and hugged the pillows. The pillowcase still smelled faintly of rose shampoo, and I breathed deep, filling my lungs yet somehow not feeling like it was enough. How long would it be before the scent of her faded? Or before the pain in my chest subsided?
I rolled the sheets and pillowcases up and threw them into the washer.
With not much else to do, and not feeling like working, it was
