The Truths Behind the Life of Maeve Sun Lively

94

I WENT BACK TO THE room I had been staying at, and now I lay oddly calm, staring up at the ceiling. My eyes examine all the posters, all the album covers, everything with Klarise Kong. And now I come to realize this room was just full of Klarise's stuff. It was like everything here was both warming and entrapping, like someone had set it up especially for me, for this purpose.

For when I found out who she was to me.

It was already pretty hard to comprehend everything when I found out Maeve was my birth mother. How long ago was that even? And now what I had just started to get some familiarity with, I came to learn that information had been false.

Klarise Kong, the singer I had always admired and loved, Maeve's beloved lover, is my birth mother.

And, which I should have guessed from the start, Cameron Li is my birth father.

I don't even realize it until I see that my phone is in my hand, my other hand drawn back and about to call my parents.

All anger for them not telling me about Maeve or what they knew of is gone, replaced with confusion and homesickness. I miss them, and I'm starting to come to terms with that. That my self pride can come after my love for them that has always been there even before all of this.

Plus, it feels almost useless to be angry at them when they probably know a quarter as much as what I know now.

But even though I am okay with the fact of talking to them, I can't bring myself to hear their voices at this moment. I don't trust myself. There are high chances of me spilling absolutely everything and the very likely possibility that they don't know Klarise is my actual birth mother. All in all, despite how much I miss them and want to see them, I send a text to the group chat that has been with me and my parents since I had gotten a phone instead.

I'm sorry about how quiet I've been lately. But I'm good, just a little occupied. Miss you both, xoxo

I glance at the clock, trying not to notice the thousands of pictures of Klarise next to it. It's still early in the morning back there, so they're probably still sleeping.

I rest my body back into the bed, wanting to drift away for a bit. And I allow myself to do that, since Rosalie has blacked out herself in the study room with her drinks where I last saw her an hour ago.

For now, I don't want to worry about Maeve, Klarise, Cameron, Rosalie, Carlise, anything related to this bewildering family.

But before letting my eyes flutter shut, I come to a subconscious acknowledgment that I am also a part of this family.

—————

After waking up around dinnertime, I try my best with my google translating mandarin to order takeout on the phone. Thirty minutes of fumbling later, I take the elevator down to the lobby to accept the food and hand the guy some cash that Carlise had given me days ago for groceries.

"Hey, I got us takeout." I opened the door to the study without knocking, finding Rosalie still lying exactly where I had last seen her. Her knees curbed on the floor with her head lying on her arm, that arm dangling off the table she is half relying on. There's drool or alcohol on her cheek and mouth, dragging out slowly onto her arm.

It's weird because for once I'm looking down on her instead of her doing so to me. But I don't feel any superior or anything.

Rosalie is mumbling, slowly stirring awake, and I'm setting the takeout on the floor to grab tissues. I lean close to her—the sour smell of her drinks so evident I almost feel sick—and start wiping with care at her mouth and cheek. She scrunches up her face and lets out a whine of annoyance, like a toddler.

She slaps my hand away, but so slow and weak I could catch it. I let her be since I had already wiped away the mess on her face anyways.

"I didn't know what you'd like so I just got us the same thing." I started unpacking the paper and plastic packagings, glancing at her still half-asleep form as I worked through the food. When everything was neatly opened, the smell of the curry wavered around through the room, the aroma undeniable to my grumbling stomach.

I've started eating it as Rosalie still laid her head on the table, elbows crossed and her back rising up and down ever so slightly. I took one last bite of the delicious curry before sighing and setting my spoon down to head toward the bathroom.

When I come back, I have a bowl of cold, freezing, water and a towel inside it. Opposite my direction as I approached closer was still a Rosalie sleeping in an exhausted form.

I let the towel soak well into the liquid, and in one swift motion, I lifted up Rosalie's face by her chin—she resisted but was too slow—and splashed the stuff onto her crumpled expression.

"What the fuck!" She got up to her knees immediately from the probably freezing impact, her eyes now blaring, the hazel color in them almost resembling flames.

I think something about me may have changed during the past twelve or so hours. I don't feel much intimidation by Rosalie anymore. Yet I also don't feel like I am in any way better than her. But I know something about finding out Klarise being my actual mother, something about going through two big revelations and not getting enough time to process them has made me different.

I stare calmly at Rosalie while she gives me a snarling look. I pushed her portion of the curry toward her on the table.

Her eyebrows downturned in a strong way showed exactly how angry she was. But slowly, they furrowed and she just looked confused—sad.

She then sat down, eyes unblinking, and took the spoon and opened the box.

We start eating in silence, although not awkward. It feels like there's an acknowledgement between us in this quietness, our shoulders side by side as we ate. When I glanced by my shoulder to see her, there was a blankness in her eyes that made me concerned. But at the same time, when we caught each other's gazes, we shared a small smile.

I can almost—almost—say that maybe this was what sisters feel like.

When I'm halfway done with my food, I gently ask, "Do you want to do the recordings right now?"

Rosalie's shoulders are hunched, her red, smooth, and perfect hair a mess. I couldn't help but almost want to reach forward and help clean herself up.

She nodded almost timidly, eyes tired and eyeshadows so dark I've only now noticed. She's had so many films done for an actress her age. She has never exactly stopped working, stopped to think clearly, has she?

I went and got the recorder we left off at, bringing it to the table where the remains of our food still lingered. There's this pitying emptiness that's eating at me, making me no longer as hungry as I was.

Before I started it, I see Rosalie grab the towel I had used to wake her up. She dips it in the bowl of water a bit, and dabs at it on her face.

She catches me watching and offers me a strained smile.