“More like three but my mother is not limited by things such as time zones when it comes to trying to control my life.”
Hearing Sam has trouble with his mom hits me the same way it did when I saw my teacher in the grocery store as a kid—almost disconcertingly intimate. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
My nosiness knows no bounds. “I’ll tell you about my secret project.”
Sam quirks his eyebrow. “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s called Eppy. There’s a teaser.”
Sam gives in. “You know who my mother is.”
“Lu Lili. We used to watch her movies.”
“My father.”
“Ren Shu, the director.”
“Right. My mother is a force.” He grimaces. “I’ve been in twenty-three movies. I’ve been acting for over fifteen years. I’m one of the highest paid actors in China, and nevertheless, at the age of thirty, I feel the need for her approval.”
“Moms,” I say.
“Moms,” he agrees. “She wants me to quit acting and join my father’s entertainment company.”
“As an actor?”
“Groomed to be the CEO, like him. It’s my duty as a good son.”
“That sounds very dynastic.”
“It is.” He drinks with a closed face. “What Lu Lili wants, she gets. She has enough influence to prevent other companies from hiring me, and she would be confident it’s for my own good.”
“You don’t want to?”
“We’re different people,” he says with vehemence. “Different ambitions. She doesn’t understand that. It’s because she loves us, but she also has no boundaries.”
I lean back into the couch and pull my legs up. “What are you going to do?”
He points to the phone. “Avoid her calls.”
“Not the best long-term plan.”
“It’s worked so far.” He does that head tilt. “What do you suggest?”
“Have you tried telling her how you feel?”
Sam looks legitimately horrified. “We are not feelings people.”
“Might be time to start unless you want to keep ignoring your own mother because you’re scared to have a conversation. At age thirty.”
“I’m not scared.”
I throw a pillow at him and then marvel at how at ease I am. “Don’t lie.”
“You don’t know my mother.”
“I know my mother.”
“You have a lot of heart-to-hearts with her?”
“No,” I admit. “I wish I had. Do as I say, not as I do.”
“Thanks.”
He turns the movie back on and we watch in silence for a few minutes. Then he stops it again. “Tell me about this Eppy.”
Why is it so difficult to talk about the things that are important to you? I understand in the grand scheme of life, creating a to-do list that works is not on the same level as fixing climate change, but to me, perfecting this list is a Thing. Sam has turned to me with his whole body and he’s leaning forward as if he’s interested.
I deflect. “Just something I’m working on.”
When I freeze him out, the atmosphere changes between us. He pulls back, and because I’m a fucking people pleaser, I crumble. “It’s a to-do list,” I blurt out.
A slight line appears between his eyes. “Of tasks you need to do?”
“No, how to organize one. A planning method. None of the ones I’ve tried work for me so I’m creating my own.” This sounds stupid. I pick at the seam of the couch.
The line fades as his eyes widen. “Like bullet journals?”
My turn to get big-eyed. “You like lists?”
In reply, he pulls out his phone and shows me an entire folder of productivity tools. “My assistant, Deng, got me into them but I haven’t found the right one.”
“Me neither.”
“You decided to make your own.” He smiles. “Eppy. I like it. I would never have thought of creating my own system.”
It’s hardly even a compliment but his tone makes me go red. “It’s nothing,” I mumble. “No big deal.”
“Why not? You saw a problem and you’re fixing it. Most people would work around it.”
“I haven’t gotten very far.”
The line returns. “There are enough people in the world ready to put you down. Do you need to join them?”
His words hit me in the gut. “Is that your motto?”