And then his face changes to a performance of recognition, grief. Ah yes, of course I’m not hungry. How could I be? He watches me pour myself some coffee.
“How are you holding up?” Trying for softness. Though I know he doesn’t care, his tone does something to me in spite of myself. I feel I could crack like an egg. But I won’t. This morning, I applied three layers of an antioxidant serum enriched with Firma-Cell, followed by seven skins of a roaring water kelp essence, followed by the Iso-Placenta Shield to smooth and tighten. Then the White Pearl Pigment Perfector mixed with the Brightening Caviar for Radiance. Then of course the Diamond-Infused Revitalizing Eye Formula, the Superdefense Multi-Correxion Moisturizing Cloud Jelly, and two layers of broad-spectrum Glowscreen, physical and chemical. I did this in the half-dark of the hotel bathroom, while Marva played on the counter, talking softly to me about the benefits of moisturizing cloud jellies. I think about the many layers, the many ingredients, the many sophisticated formulas right now shielding me from oxidizing free radicals while also keeping me hydrated. I shrug and stare at Chaz through Mother’s sunglasses. They’re huge and dark, that Jackie O style she loved. For those days, she said, when the truth is laid bare. Or for when the Revitalizing Eye Formula goes rogue and bleeds, creating a teary effect. I won’t lay the truth bare before Chaz.
“It’s hard,” Chaz offers.
“I’m fine,” I say.
And then he smiles at me with something like understanding. Reaches out and puts his hand on mine. “There, there,” he says awkwardly. I look down at his Apple Watch. Nestled there in his hairy wrist. Two fat gold rings on his pudgy fingers, one of which has an insignia of an S. His hand feels heavy on mine. Smothering.
A waiter arrives bearing a tray. “Eggs Benedict with smoked salmon? Pastries?”
“Perfect,” Chaz says.
I watch him ravage his eggs, making vapid observations about Mother’s death as he chews. “Sho shudden,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m as shocked as you must be, honestly.” Respectful silence or is he just swallowing? “And so young, too. Well, maybe not so young. She looked it though, that’s for sure. Younger looking every time I saw her. Almost like she was moving backward in time rather than forward, you know? Not like us mere mortals, right?”
“I guess so.”
You’re a fucking freak of nature, I told her once. And Mother just looked at me, touched. I watch Chaz take a knife to the wobbly egg.
“So. You’re back in Montreal now, huh?” he asks. Because we have to make a little conversation before he gives me the terrible news, right? Makes it more human. I’m human, says his face.
“Yes.”
“No more playing Mulan for you.” He smiles. See how he remembers that I used to work at Disney while I was in college? He got the princess wrong, of course, but he remembered she was ethnic. Because I’m ethnic, aren’t I? Something other than Mother, anyway. He forgets what exactly. Somewhere from the south and the east. I was Princess Jasmine, I could tell him. The Arab one. Like the father I barely knew. Died of a heart attack when I was five, before I could form a memory beyond the smallest fragments. The closest I ever got to him was lining my eyes with kohl, talking to little kids about how I flew here on my magic carpet. But I just smile at Chaz.
“No more Mulan for me.”
“And how is Montreal, anyway?” he asks, like he wants to know. How much did Mother tell him, I wonder, about my leaving here? My daughter deserted me, didn’t you know? Barely visits her poor mother except when I beg. Chaz would shake his head at Mother with infinite pity. How terrible. I could tell Chaz that this was only a distorted sliver of the story, that Mother deserted me too once. But he’d never hear me over the fact of his undying lust.
“Well, you know me, Chaz. I love the cold.”
He smiles. Of course I would love the cold. “I haven’t visited Montreal since the eighties, you know. The old days.”
A shiver runs through me. The old days. My childhood days in Montreal. So many I can’t remember. So many behind a veil. Fragments until I was nine, and then at the age of ten, a blank. And then? Suddenly I don’t live with Mother anymore. I’m living in Grand-Maman’s place and Mother’s moved away to California. Soon you’ll join her there, Grand-Maman said, but not now, not yet. Five years go by in the flash of an eye. Then I’m fifteen and on a plane out west. I’m blinking under an alien sun, beneath a bright blue sky. There are palm trees swaying in my peripheral vision. Aren’t they pretty? Mother said, taking my hand, her hair now short and dyed a Hitchcock blond. Isn’t this just the life?