“I get the impression your relationship with your mom isn’t all that great,” Steph said.

  “We’re not that close. She’s not around much.” Steph and I walked around the house and started down the path to the street.

  “Do you think she’d be okay with you coming out to her?” Steph asked.

  “I hadn’t thought about it.”

  “I’m not saying you have to, I was just wondering how you think she’d react.”

  “I don’t think my mom is conservative. She’d probably be okay with it, but I can’t imagine telling her. Like, what do you do, just say it?”

  Steph stopped at the front gate. “It depends on the situation but yeah, basically. Have you thought about telling your grandma?”

  The idea alarmed me in a way I hadn’t expected. “No.”

  “Maybe you should start with her, not your mom,” Steph suggested. “Joan has always been fine with me.”

  I must have looked dubious because Steph said, “You don’t have to say anything to anyone till you’re ready.” Then she added, “So, you’re coming to Roxy’s party?”

  I liked the way she was looking at me, with that smile in her eyes. “You want me to come?” I asked.

  The corner of her mouth curved up. “Yes.”

  A warm curl in my belly. “Okay, I’ll come.”

  She stepped toward me to hug me goodbye. “I’ll see you on Sunday for movie night.”

  “See you Sunday,” I said.

  I wondered if I would ever get used to hugging her. It never felt casual.

  * * *

  —

  Lisa was noticeably grouchy on Sunday night. When I arrived, Steph and Mel were making pizza as usual, but Lisa was out in the courtyard, smoking. “We’re watching Forbidden Planet,” she told me as I approached.

  I wasn’t sure whether I should go into the apartment without her or whether she expected me to keep her company. “What’s it about?” I asked.

  “Dudes go to an alien planet, discover one hot lady who swims naked and a machine that produces monsters from the subconscious. Sorry, spoiler alert.”

  “Sounds . . . unique.”

  “It’s inspired by Shakespeare’s The Tempest.”

  “Oh.” I knew nothing about The Tempest.

  Lisa inhaled on her cigarette but didn’t invite me to sit down with her. I went inside, where Mel and Steph were silently putting the pizza into the oven.

  “Hey,” Mel said, sounding relieved at my arrival.

  “Hi.” I went over to the breakfast bar and leaned over it, asking softly, “Is Lisa okay?”

  “She’s had a rough day,” Steph said shortly, but didn’t meet my eyes.

  When Steph was turned away, Mel mouthed at me, They had a fight. I nodded and went to put the ice cream I’d brought—cardamom—in the freezer. When Lisa returned from the courtyard, we all tried to pretend as if everything was normal.

  The movie could have been viewed as a campy comedy, with its 1950s-era robot named Robby, who was kind of a cross between a butler and an iPhone, but none of us laughed. The sole woman in the movie, Altaira, was the daughter of the scientist who had been stranded on the forbidden planet. She grew up with only her father for company, and when a starship full of young spacemen landed, she was immediately smitten by the handsome commander. Altaira was so innocent she didn’t know that skinny-dipping and wearing very short dresses was apparently inappropriate. The men couldn’t resist her allure, which was obviously her fault.

  “How things have changed,” I said after the commander told her to dress more conservatively.

  “Yeah, this is bullshit,” Mel agreed.

  But the movie wasn’t only about slut-shaming. It turned out that the aliens who had once populated the planet had built a machine that could make the subconscious real. When the scientist interfaced with the machine, the monsters in his imagination stepped into the real world—and terrorized it.

  Lisa watched the whole movie with her lips drawn into a flat line, saying nothing. I wondered if she had chosen it in advance or if it was a spur-of-the-moment choice.

  After we cleaned up our plates and glasses, Mel said she was heading home early. I decided to go, too, since it didn’t seem like a great time to linger in Lisa and Steph’s apartment.

  As Mel and I walked down the street to our cars, I asked, “Do you know what’s up with them?”

  “Not really.”

  “Is it about the concert? I was wondering if Lisa doesn’t want Steph to do it.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I keep wondering why they’re still together if Lisa doesn’t support Steph’s music.”

  Mel didn’t respond right away, and in that silence, I wondered if I had made a mistake. I was about to walk it back when Mel said, “Steph and Lisa have history together.”

  “But you shouldn’t just stay with someone because you have history together.”

  “I’ve known Steph since the sixth grade. When her parents found out she’s queer, they didn’t accept her the way mine accepted me. Steph ended up getting kicked out of her house, and Lisa took her in. Lisa is basically the reason Steph had the chance to do music in the first place.”

  I was chagrined. “Oh.”

  “I think it’s hard to understand any relationship from the outside.”

  We arrived at the Honda and stopped. Mel put her hands in her pockets and rocked back on her heels.

  “Sometimes I don’t understand it either,” she said.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, but it’s none of my business. If Steph wants to be with Lisa, that’s her choice.”

  “Yeah, of course,” I said, although Mel’s conclusion was unsatisfying to me.

  “I better go,” Mel said, and hugged me goodbye.

  I realized that Steph hadn’t hugged me tonight. She had barely looked at me. I thought about that as I got into the car, wondering if there was any significance to it. I was about to put the key in the ignition when my phone rang, and I pulled it out of my purse. It was Tasha.

  I answered because it was after midnight on the East Coast, and she never called this late. “Tasha?” I said.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” she said. Her voice was thick, as if she had been crying.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Haley and I had a fight.”

  “What happened?” For a moment she didn’t say anything, and I heard her breath hitching. “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know.” She sounded miserable. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “About what?”

  She took a deep breath. “Haley and I have been fighting all summer.”

  “You have?” I wasn’t sure if I was surprised. The Fourth of July video and the weird, disconnected texting had felt a little off.

  “Yeah.” She paused. “I don’t think I can talk about this over the phone.”

  “Okay. Do you want to FaceTime or something?”

  “I need a break from Haley. Can I come visit you?”

  “In California?”

  “Yeah. You’re not doing anything, right? I found a cheap ticket and it leaves on July thirty-first. I’d only be there Wednesday through Sunday.”

  That was the weekend of the Queer Music Festival. I gazed out the windshield at the quiet street outside Steph and Lisa’s building. I couldn’t see the apartment from here, but I imagined that I could feel Steph’s presence nearby. If Tasha came to visit, would I have to introduce her to Steph and Lisa and Mel? What would I tell her? The idea was unsettling.

  “Don’t sound so excited,” Tasha said as I continued to be silent.

  “Sorry, I have to ask Joan,” I said quickly. “But it’s probably fine.” I did want to see Tasha. Didn’t I? “I’ll ask her first thing tomorrow.”

  “Thanks,” she said, sounding relieved.

  After I ended the call, I drove past Steph and Lisa’s building on the way out of the neighborhood. I glanced into the building’s courtyard, but it was deserted. They were probably inside. I wondered if they were arguing or if they were making up, and what making up looked like.

  The Fairmont Hotel was a giant white palace on Nob Hill bristling with international flags, and as I pulled the Honda Civic beneath the front awning, I felt as if I should have searched for the service entrance somewhere out back. But the valet took my key and handed over a ticket with a smile, so I forced myself to pretend that I belonged and entered the hotel.

  I was early for lunch with my mom. I thought about calling her to say I was downstairs, but then I saw a sign for the ladies’ room across the lobby. I could check my appearance first. I headed across the marble floor and pushed open the heavy wooden door. Inside, it smelled like flowers.

  I studied myself critically in the gold-framed mirror over the sinks. I was wearing the one dress I’d brought to California—a black-and-white floral print with spaghetti straps—which now reminded me of that lunch with Steph and Joan. I’d pulled my hair back in a ponytail and put in small silver hoop earrings. I smoothed back some flyaway strands of my hair and retouched my lip gloss. I told myself I looked fine.

  The last time I saw my mom was in April, when she came to Boston before heading to Vienna. I had met her at the Fairmont Copley Plaza, where she’d taken me to dinner in the hotel’s plush restaurant. I remembered sitting in a leather armchair so deep it felt like it was swallowing me. After our food came, she told me she’d been offered the opportunity to perform at the Munich Opera Festival in some kind of groundbreaking role in July. I wasn’t paying close attention until she said, “I won’t be able to come to your graduation because we’ll be in rehearsals. Is that all right with you?”

  I hadn’t known until that instant that I had long imagined her at graduation standing beside my dad. She would be beautiful, impressive. Without her there—

  When I didn’t respond, she said, “If it means a lot to you, I can change my schedule for you. People tell me American high school graduation is a big deal, but you’ve never given me the impression that you care that much about it. College graduation, yes, but high school . . . Do you want me to come?”

  This wasn’t the first time she had missed something important to me because of her career. The disappointment was familiar. “No, it’s fine,” I said, trying to ignore the sinking feeling that pulled at me. “It’s just high school.”

  She attempted to hide her relief, but I hadn’t missed it.

  Now my mouth was suddenly so dry I turned on the cold water and cupped my hand beneath it to drink. Water dribbled down my chin and splattered onto my dress as I straightened up. I grabbed a thick paper towel to soak up the liquid. As I pressed it against my chest, I became aware of the racing of my heart. I flattened my hand there. I thought I could feel it thudding against my palm, ready to run.

  * * *

  —

  I didn’t call her. I found a seat in the lobby facing the elevators and pretended to look at my phone while I waited.

  I saw my mother before she saw me. She had an unmistakable stride that I recognized through the group of tourists in front of the concierge desk; she walked as if she were onstage. She was wearing a sleeveless black sheath dress, so simple it must have cost a fortune, and heels. She might have flown in late last night from New York, but that would never have stopped her from looking her best.

  When she spotted me in the lobby, she waved. I got up to meet her, and we hugged stiffly.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  She smelled of a light floral perfume, more sharp than sweet. I was instantly back in her New York apartment at a cocktail party where I didn’t know anyone, but everyone there knew I was her daughter.

  She held me at arm’s length to examine me, her smile turning pensive. “You look tan,” she observed. “Are you wearing sunscreen when you go outside? You have to be careful to watch your complexion.”

  I stepped out of her grasp. “Thanks for your concern.”

  I expected her to give me her disappointed look, but instead she said, “We’re so close to Chinatown I thought we’d go have dim sum. I haven’t had good Chinese food in months!”

  I was surprised. “Okay.”

  She smiled and reached out to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. “I’ve already called an Uber.”

  The Town Car smelled overpoweringly of pine air freshener. Mom unrolled the window as we descended a steep hill toward the bay. The driver turned right onto a street with worn-looking three-story buildings.

  “My cousin Eddie and his family used to live around here,” Mom said. “He told me it was very close to the Fairmont. I invited him to join us, but he’s out of town.”

  “How come you’ve never told me about him before?” I asked.

  “I’m sure I have. You must not remember.”

  Mom rarely talked about her family, and I’d only met her parents once, when they came to New York on vacation. I was thirteen and couldn’t speak Chinese, and they didn’t speak English. Mom had quickly tired of translating, so I mostly remembered not understanding what they were saying.

  “How exactly are you related?” I asked.

  “He’s a distant cousin. Eddie and his family live out by Livermore. They don’t come into the city much these days. Oh, I almost forgot—he sent me something to give to you.” She opened her purse, but soon frowned. “I must have left it in the hotel room. You’ll have to come back with me after lunch. Remember I told you one of your Chinese cousins was an engineer? He sent some photos of her.”

  We crossed some cable car tracks and continued downhill toward the Transamerica building and into Chinatown. It was strange to imagine anyone from the Chinese half of my family living here. I wondered what it would have been like to grow up in Chinatown.

  The driver turned left onto a block lined with streetlamps shaped like miniature pagodas. It was crowded with cars and pedestrians, and strings of red lanterns hung overhead. We passed shops selling souvenirs and cheap T-shirts, handbags by the dozen, and jewelry stores displaying gold on red velvet cushions. Finally, the car turned right and pulled over, double-parking outside the Great Eastern Restaurant.

  “Here we are,” Mom said. “Eddie recommended this place.”

  I climbed out, and the smell of Chinatown was so familiar: fried noodles, roast duck, and the hint of bitter herbs. All Chinatowns seemed to smell the same, whether I was in Boston or New York or here.

  Mom finished paying for the Uber on her phone and headed for the restaurant. I followed her in.

  We were seated at a round table for eight, but because the restaurant was only half full, we had the table to ourselves. Mom ordered chrysanthemum tea, and it appeared within seconds, along with thick vinyl menus and a long dim sum card and pencil. She reached out to pour the tea with her left hand, holding it with a kind of showy grace, and I couldn’t help but notice the giant diamond on her ring finger.

  She saw my surprise, and she said, “Andrew proposed.” An uncharacteristic flash of nervousness crossed her face. “That’s part of the reason I wanted to see you in person, so that I could tell you.”

  I didn’t know what to say. She’d had a string of boyfriends since she and my dad divorced, but she had never remarried. I thought she’d never marry again, but now that seemed like a childish fantasy based on romantic notions about my parents’ relationship. Andrew Leung was her most recent boyfriend; they’d been together for a little more than a year. He was a Hong Kong Chinese banker who divided his time between New York, Hong Kong, and Geneva, and I’d only met him once—last New Year’s Eve in New York. He was, as far as I knew, the first Chinese man my mother had been in a relationship with.

  “I hope you can be happy for us,” she said. Her normally smooth forehead was creased by a few worry lines.

  “Congratulations,” I said, but I couldn’t make it sound genuine. I barely knew him. Most of my mother’s previous boyfriends had tried to ingratiate themselves with me, but Andrew hadn’t. I considered that a mark in his favor.

  She twisted the diamond ring back and forth, making it glint in the light. “He’s a good man,” she said a bit defensively. “I haven’t been with a man who understands me so well since I was married to your father. I never thought I’d find that again. I want you to know that.”

  A hot lump lodged in my throat. I had never heard her speak of my dad like that.

  At that moment the waiter appeared, and my mother began to speak to him in Chinese. I heard her mention some of the dim sum items I liked, but I didn’t understand the rest. Then she looked at me and asked in English, “Do you want anything to drink? Water?”

  “Diet Coke?” I said, and the waiter nodded curtly before taking the menu and dim sum card away.

  Mom took a sip of her tea and said, “Now, where were we?”

  “Your engagement,” I said. The word sounded foreign to me.

  She unfolded her napkin and spread it on her lap. “Yes. I think we’re going to have a winter wedding. We stayed in such a wonderful hotel in the Swiss Alps last January that we’re thinking of going back. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

  “That sounds nice,” I said, but my stomach twisted.

  “We’re just going to have a small wedding. Close friends and family. Neither of us is young anymore.” My mother laughed as if she were making a joke. “Andrew and I would love for you to be in the wedding. Will you?”

  The worry in her eyes couldn’t be acting, could it? Even if it was, how could I say no?

  “Sure,” I said, and her eyes actually gleamed as if tears had risen in them. I looked down quickly and unfolded my napkin across my lap. I felt as if I were betraying my father.

  “Thank you. It means a lot to me—and to Andrew. I want you to get to know him. He’s a good man and he’s very successful, and that gives me some freedom now to only take on the roles that I want.”