She kneads Harriet’s hands. “I tried so hard. I want you to know that I tried my best. This wasn’t my decision. I am still your mother. I’ll always be your mother. Those lawyers were calling me your biological mother, but I’m not your biological mother, I’m your mother. Period. It’s not fair—”
“Ms. Liu, please refrain from criticizing the program.”
“My criticism doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” Frida snaps.
“Ms. Liu—”
“Mommy, I feel bad. My tummy hurts. I want a pack-pack.”
The social worker explains that Harriet’s school gives the children ice packs when they get boo-boos. Frida begins sobbing. This is her last chance to make requests, to share secrets, but what secret, what story, would explain her whole life to her daughter?
The instructors would tell her to speak at a higher pitch. They’d tell her she’s hugging for too long and giving too many kisses. She says, “I love you,” over and over.
Harriet says, “I love you too, Mommy.” The sentence Frida has been waiting for. “I love you so much.”
Harriet’s face is nestled against Frida’s neck. They talk about what saying goodbye today means, that goodbye today isn’t goodbye forever, that Harriet will grow tall and strong and smart and brave, and even if Mommy can’t visit, she’ll be thinking of Harriet all the time. Every day. Every second.
Harriet scoots off Frida’s lap and pats the space beside her on the couch. “Mommy, sit right here. Sit right here and let me talk with you.” She shows Frida her doll. “Mommy, say bye-bye to Baby Betty too.”
Frida smiles and says, “Bye-bye, Baby Betty. I love you galaxies, Baby Betty. I love you to the moon and stars.”
“To Jupiter. Love Baby Betty to Jupiter.”
“You remember. Thank you for remembering. I love you to Jupiter. I love Baby Betty to Jupiter.” She holds up her fist and reminds Harriet about aching hearts. They practice the gesture and teach it to Baby Betty. Whenever Harriet is missing Mommy, she can give her heart a squeeze.
“Ten more minutes,” the social worker says.
Frida sets Harriet down and grabs the box of heirlooms. She shows Harriet photos of her grandparents and great-grandparents. They look at a sheet of calligraphy written by Frida’s father when Harriet was a newborn, the individual strokes numbered so that Harriet can learn to write her Chinese name. Liu Tong Yun. Red clouds before snowfall. Vermillion. Her grandmother named her. Frida teaches her how to say it.
They open the box containing the locket. Frida shows her the coil of hair. “This is a piece of Mommy. Please don’t lose it. I want you to have this even when you’re old.”
“I’m not old. I’m two. I’m almost three.” Harriet holds up three fingers. “I’m a big kid. Mommy, come to my three birthday. My birthday is tomorrow!”
“No it’s not, bub. You’re being silly. I’m sorry, Mommy won’t be able to come. But Mommy will be there in your heart.”
“In the necklace too?”
“In the necklace too.”
Six minutes remain. It’s time to take pictures. The social worker has them pose beside a miniature Christmas tree, then loads her Polaroid camera and asks them to smile. Harriet weeps. Frida asks her to be kind to Daddy and Susanna, to be a good sister to Henry.
“Let’s take some more by the window,” the social worker says.
Frida props Harriet on her hip. “Remember you never did anything wrong. You’re perfect. Mommy loves you so much. Mommy loves you galaxies. Remember Gonggong and Popo. They’ll always love you. They’ll miss you every day.”
She whispers in Harriet’s ear, “Please be happy. I want you to be so, so happy. I want you to come find me when you grow up. Please look for me. I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Okay, Mommy, I will look.” They hook pinkies.
One minute remains. Frida hugs Harriet tight, trying to deliver every kind of hug—not varieties of affection, but an entire world. She pretends she’s holding Emmanuelle, that this is just a drill.
The judge said she wasn’t ready for the responsibility. Maybe she wouldn’t leave Harriet alone again, but she might do something else. If she pinched her doll, what might she do to Harriet? If she couldn’t protect her doll from danger, how could she be counted on to protect her daughter? If she couldn’t make good decisions about friendships and relationships in a controlled environment, with so much at stake, why would she be able to do so in the real world?