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So when Mei rushed home one afternoon, running the whole four blocks from the schoolyard to her house, she was disappointed and wary at finding her father resting comfortably on the sofa, watching television, with Mama nowhere in sight.
She stood in awkward silence at the far side of the living room, her book bag hanging heavily from her fingertips, and shifted from one foot to another. She was torn between her need to see her mother, and her anxiousness at having to talk to her father if she wanted to discover Mama’s whereabouts. Mei’s desire to have her questions answered won out, and she blurted out in a rush, “Where’s Ma?”
She spoke in English, because that was the language with which she communicated with her father. She was comfortable speaking Chinese only with her mother.
Her father shrugged. “I don’t know,” he answered.
Mei’s shoulders drooped. “Oh,” she sighed. She lingered there for a moment, uncertain of what to do now.
“Did you eat yet?” her father asked in an offhand tone. It was a standard parental inquiry, one that he seemed to use every now and then simply because that was what parents were supposed to say.
Shyly, Mei shook her head no. Her father heaved himself off the sofa and ambled over to the kitchen. Sounds of rummaging through the refrigerator soon followed. “What do you want to eat?” he called out.
Surprised, Mei trailed after him. “Red bean sweet buns?” she suggested.
Her father reached into the freezer and pulled out a package. Mei
sat in a chair at the small breakfast table in the kitchen and watched
the novelty of her father actually cooking something. As he prepared
the buns for the microwave, he glanced at Mei a few times in a speculative
way that she didn’t understand.
“How old
are you now?” her father asked. “Six?” He set the plate of
steaming hot buns on the table between them.
Mei nodded, and reached for a bun. Juggling it between her fingers until it had cooled, she broke the bun apart and took a bite from the center, where the red bean paste was.
Her father picked up a sweet bun and polished it off in two bites. “And what did you want to talk to your mother about?” he asked in an almost friendly tone.
Mei hesitated. She wasn’t used to talking to her father with whom she rarely exchanged more than three sentences with, and she was shy at the idea of getting to know him. Her mama was so familiar and comfortable to be with, but her father was so stern and patriarchal, and so distant and very hard to talk to. Mei kept her gaze lowered. “Our teacher asked me what my name means, but I didn’t know. I wanted to ask Ma so I could tell the teacher tomorrow.”
Her father was still for a moment. Mei peeked up at him through her lashes and wondered if she dared to ask her father for an explanation.
“Yu is our family name,” her father said finally, “In English it is your last name. But in Chinese, when we call someone by name, we say their family name first. You are Yu Mei Bao.”
Mei nodded. Though she was rarely called by her full name, Mei recognized the sounds.
Her father traced a pattern on the tabletop of three horizontal bars intersected by one long bar, with a dot in the lower right rectangle. “This is Yu. It means ‘jade,’ which is the stone of good luck.” He smiled then, an expression Mei almost didn’t recognize for the rarity of it. “Good ‘yu’ brings good luck, bad ‘yu’ brings bad luck, so we kill the bad Yu babies when they are born,” he said, chuckling at his own pun.
Mei made a face at the ghastly joke and bit off another piece of her red bean sweet bun.
Her father traced another symbol on the table, one that Mei could not quite visualize, followed by a third even more complicated character. “This is Mei, and this is Bao. Mei means ‘beautiful,’ and Bao means ‘treasure.’ So, Yu Mei Bao, you are a beautiful treasure that brings good luck.”
Mei was impressed. “Really?” She stared intently at the tabletop where her father’s finger had been, as if doing so, she would be able to see the Chinese characters and recognize them.
Her father’s eyes unfocused, and he seemed to be distant with some remembered memory. “Your mother wanted children,” he said, “and you were born seven years after we were married. You were precious to your mother…” He trailed off, and shook his head. When he glanced back at Mei, he was frowning.
Mei was bewildered at the quick change in her father’s mood and quickly concentrated on finishing her sweet bun in case her father decided to become angry. She did not like to see him angry, because then he threw things and overturned tables in his fury and frustration.
His frown was slowly being replaced by a thoughtful, calculating look.
Abruptly, he pushed himself away from the table and began searching through
the pockets of his slacks. Mei pretended she wasn’t dying to know
what her father was looking for, though she watched him discretely out
of the corner of her eye.
“Ahhh,” he
murmured as he withdrew from his pocket something that glittered golden
in the afternoon light. He uncurled his fingers to reveal a jeweled
gold ring nestled in the center of his palm.
Mei’s eyes widened. “Is that real?”
Her father smiled. “Of course. It’s worth a lot of money,” he boasted. “See this?” He pointed at the small bumblebee that was the centerpiece of the ring. Its body was an oval stone of even green jade mounted on golden wings with two small rubies for eyes. “The bumblebee is also a sign of good luck. And this --” he tilted the ring to show off the band, which was fashioned in the likeness of bamboo segments, “— bamboo is also good luck. And of course, jade is a good luck stone. It is a ring of very good luck.” Her father paused, then added deliberately, “A beautiful treasure to keep.”
Mei beamed. “Like me!”
“Like you,” her father echoed. He placed the ring next to Mei’s plate. “You can keep it for yourself, for luck. As a tradition, everyone in the Yu family has received a piece of jade for luck. Now it’s your turn.”
Mei couldn’t believe her good fortune. Not only was she talking to her father almost the way she talked to her mama, but her father was giving her such a pretty and expensive piece of jewelry, the way a man would give his sweetheart a token of his love.
Maybe things will be better from now on, she thought. Maybe her father will be kinder. Maybe they could be friends, sharing quiet conversations like this one. Maybe he really did love her as much as Mama did.
Mei clutched the ring in her small hands and gave her father a beatific smile of gratitude.
~*~
Mama came home from her errands impatient and tired from the long drive through freeway traffic. Mei met her at the door in her eagerness to show off her new bauble, but held back on her enthusiasm when she noticed with a child’s instinct how tired Mama was.
Her mother smiled at Mei, who lingered near the hallway as Mama leaned down to put her sandals away on the shoe rack. “Meimei,” she greeted in Chinese, using her special nickname for her daughter, “do you miss your mama so much that you watch the window like a cat waiting for his owner?”
Mei hopped from one foot to another, literally dancing on her feet with excitement. “Baba is cooking dinner,” she said, “and he made sweet buns this afternoon.” Mei thrust out her chest with importance. “And he gave me a pretty ring that’s worth a lot, and he said to tell you we have a guest for dinner tonight.”
Mama glanced at Mei sharply. “Cooking?” She stepped quickly over to the kitchen and flung open the door, an incredulous look passing over her face as she regarded the scene before her.
Vegetables and meats, cut and prepared for cooking, were laid out in neat rows on the kitchen counter. There were small bowls marinating meats and holding mixed sauces on the small table in the kitchen, and a large strainer held a batch of cooked noodles. A pot boiled on the stovetop and great amounts of steam rolled from it and misted into the kitchen. In the center of it all, her husband was calmly stir-frying some vegetables in a frying pan, his movements expert and efficient. He acted as though he had always been the one who cooked dinner.
He glanced up at her by way of greeting. Mama blinked a few times, as if still not quite believing what she was seeing. She opened her mouth to say something, then seemed to think the better of it and turned from the doorway.
“Change your clothes,” his voice commanded before she left, “An important business client will be arriving as a guest for dinner.”
The only acknowledgement he received that indicated she had heard was a disbelieving and skeptical “hmph” as she stalked off to the bedroom.
The exchange went unnoticed by Mei. She peeked in the kitchen, delighted at the smells wafting through the doorway but also at the quiet, domestic sight of her father making dinner, then followed her mother to her parents’ bedroom. “Mama,” she said, “I have something to show you.”
Mama seemed distracted as she smiled and asked, “What is it?”
With pride, Mei held out her left hand, where she had slipped the ring on her fourth finger. “Isn’t it pretty?”
The ring shocked Mama out of her distraction. She took Mei’s hand and led her to the lamp by the bedside, examining the ring under the dull orange-yellow glow of the light bulb. “Who gave you this?”
“Baba did.”
Mama appraised her daughter’s face, seeing the new affection in Mei’s eyes. She studied the ring for another moment, then chose her words carefully as she commented, “The jade was once good, but there is a crack in it now. Through the crack, you can see how the green color is not clear all the way through, like good jade. It is not as good as it looks.”
Mei frowned. She had not noticed the flaw in the jade, and pulled her hand from her mother’s. “It is a pretty ring,” she insisted. “It has many good luck symbols. Baba gave it to me, and wanted me to have it because I am his daughter and he said it is his family tradition to receive jade. He said it is a beautiful treasure, like me.”
“Yes, of course,” Mama agreed, soothing. She seemed to want to say more, but instead brushed her gentle hand over Mei’s cheek in a gesture of love. Her white gold wedding band was cool against Mei’s skin. “Go now. Baba said we will have company, remember?”
Troubled at the censure she thought she saw in her mother’s eyes, Mei nodded and left, still clutching the ring to her chest in an unconscious, protective way.
~*~
Baba was the one who answered the door when the doorbell rang. Shy with strangers, Mei was practically hiding behind Mama’s matronly frame as Mama wiped her hands on a towel and went to greet their guest. She saw as Mama was about to smile, then dropped her hostess façade, spun on her feet, and walked away. Mei looked up in confusion in time to see the way Baba’s fingers lingered at the waist of their guest as he helped the woman out of her coat.
Dinner was a careful affair.
Mama did not speak much, and held her shoulders stiff with tension. She looked only at food in her rice bowl, and did not eat from the dishes that their guest sampled from. She did not each much. Baba was civil and brisk, treating their guest with all the deference and solicitude that he treated his other business clients.
Mei did not like their guest. She thought the woman had a mean smile.
Mama got up and left the table as soon as she was finished without saying a word, not waiting even for the delicious almond pudding dessert Baba had prepared. Mei was surprised at her mother’s uncustomary rudeness towards their guest, but she secretly admired Mama’s daring, too. She wished she had the courage to leave.
As soon as Mama left, Baba changed. He was unnatural in his cheerfulness as he hosted his guest with familiar affection, and his manner was softer than Mei had ever seen.
“Mei,” Baba said after dinner, folding his napkin on the table, “please show Ms. Wang to the door for me.” He smiled at Mei, encouraging but with a clear expectation of obedience. “I will join you young ladies in a moment.”
Mei obeyed. She led the woman to the small, tiled threshold before the front door, and helped Ms. Wang with her shoes.
“You are Mei Bao,” Ms. Wang said suddenly, the first time she had spoken to Mei directly. She spoke in English, and Mei remembered that the woman had asked Mama if Mei knew how to speak Chinese and had not received an answer. She must have assumed Mei was too Americanized to understand Chinese, Mei thought in disgust.
Outwardly, Mei was submissive. She nodded and ducked her head in shyness. She felt Ms. Wang’s slender, soft fingers press her against her chin and tilt her face upwards. Mei felt uncomfortable and annoyed under Ms. Wang’s cool scrutiny.
“So,” the woman smiled, and again Mei thought it looked like the smile of a hungry snake, “you are Mei Bao. You don’t have much of your father in your face.” Ms. Wang paused, then added in delicate undertones, “or your mother.”
Mei refused to understand the woman’s implications. “Mama says I
have the face of both my mother and father,” she said. She removed
her chin from the woman’s grasp with as much dignity as possible.
For some
reason, that only made Ms. Wang chuckle. “I’m sure you do.”
She glanced down at Mei’s hand where the ring caught the cold moonlight
filtering through the windows and gleamed. “What a nice ring,” Ms.
Wang commented, ironic.
Mei hid her hand behind her and backed up a few steps, uncertain that she wanted to hear what the woman would say next. The woman disturbed her, and some primal, budding instinct of maturity began to stir within her.
“A gift from your Baba?” the woman queried, dulce soft. Mei did not answer. Ms. Wang laughed. “He gives me gifts too. He gave me this --” She held up her left hand. A beautiful diamond- and emerald-encrusted band sparkled from her finger. Mei caught herself admiring the fire of the jewels which glittered so beautifully even in the lack of warm light. “He gave me this, and he also gave me a ring very much like the one you have now, actually.”
“Come now,” Baba’s voice boomed from behind Mei. He seemed a little hasty in his rush forward, positioning himself between Mei and the woman. “Enough talk, Ms. Wang needs to go home. Run along before I paddle your bottom for disobedience.” His expression, however, belied the sternness in his words, and he was almost jovial as he clapped a hand on Mei’s shoulder. As he turned to help Ms. Wang with her coat, Mei heard the jingle of his keys.
“But Baba,” she burst out, “you’re leaving too?”
He looked at Mei with some wariness. “Of course,” he said, “Ms. Wang needs an escort home.” He saw the disappointment flood her face and stopped, but at an impatient tug from Ms. Wang, he stepped out into the sultry night air with the woman holding onto his arm in a familiar and possessive grip.
Mei caught one last glimpse of Baba and Ms. Wang just before the door closed. The woman glanced back over her shoulder. “I noticed Mei Bao’s hand,” she purred to Baba as her eyes rested on Mei’s crestfallen form. “it was so nice of you to give away my old ring for her to treasure instead of selling it to a stranger.”
The door slammed shut.
~*~
Mei sat on the front step, her arms wrapped around her legs and her chin cradled by her knees. There was a warm wind blowing gently, and the rustling of the leaves in the trees seemed to whisper to Mei of all the dark secrets that the mysterious night held in confidence.
“Meimei, what are you doing out here?” Mama asked, opening the door and coming outside. She sat next to her daughter and touched her daughter’s cheek in concern.
“Baba left,” Mei said.
There was something final and unquestioning in Mei’s simple statement that made Mama turn to scan her daughter’s face. She searched, and knew then that her daughter understood the role their guest tonight played in her husband’s life. She sighed, a heavy sigh full of the burden of sympathies and regrets.
Mei removed the golden bumblebee from her finger and looked at it one final time before holding it out to her mother. “Maybe we should sell this,” she suggested, “I don’t want it anymore.”
Mama shook her head “No Chinese would buy it,” she said, “the jade will bring bad luck.”
Mei thought for a moment, then stood. With a far-flung sweep of her arm, she threw the ring across the street, where it clinked as it skidded across the asphalt. There was a distant ping! as the ring fell over the edge of the gutter and into the sewers. The wind died to a soft murmur, and in the relative silence, the night reclaimed its secrets.
“It was worthless anyway,” Mei said.
I was sitting in class, racking my brain for a story idea. Our final stories were due the next day, and it was 3:30 pm. I didn't have a clue what I was going to write my final story about.
Then somehow, an old memory resurfaced.
When I was 16, I had this sudden urge to own a piece of jade. Not only was it the name of my Internet Persona, but jade is considered good luck in Chinese culture. I was told to ask my father, since his mother was a great connisseur of fine jade. While he was mulling over my request, his longtime girlfriend brought out a small bumblebee ring in a box. "Here," she said, "this is a good charm to have."
The ring was a very good luck charm to have. It had all the right symbols and everything. My father's girlfriend proudly informed me it was worth $800 or so.
But it meant nothing to me. I had not gone to my father in order for his girlfriend to offer me an expensive ring and tell me how nice it would be for me. This was, after all, the woman who was directly responsible for breaking up my parents' marriage. I wanted a gift from my father.
It
was this ring, and the disappointment I felt at my father's lack of personal
attention, that brought me the inspiration for "A Token of Love."