❝she was the girl, who bit the horizon, who peeled the stars from the sky and put them on her tongue, the girl who was hungry for the universe, who craved magic and saw the broken boy for who he truly was- a broken boy.❞
Beca...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Chapter 28
Amor Vincit Omnia
Jem
"Darling, why don't you take some dumplings?" offered Marisa Lee, as the waiter enclosed around their table, making rounds to refill our delicate porcelain cups with muddy brown-stained tea.
"No thanks," Ellis said, shaking her head, declining her mother's obvious ways of steering the conversation from what Ellis originally wanted to initiate, to disperse the attention away from the giant elephant in the room. Meanwhile, Ellis was barely eating, not because she was anorexic, but it was because she was too nervous to eat. So nervous that she feared if she tried to cram it down her throat, she would regurgitate all over the sparkling floors of the fancy restaurant. Her plate was nearly empty, except for one stale broccoli, dipped in soy sauce, which had already dripped off the broccoli and slather all over the white plate.
Mine, however, was loaded with an assortment of food. Pork dumplings, shrimp dumplings, broccoli, fried rice, large button mushrooms- you named it. Good Chinese and the price would be there to testify that fact. However, even though the food was grand and no doubt, expensive, I missed normal bad American-twisted Chinese takeout of Panda Express my family ate whenever we were too lazy to cook, or too cold to go out and we would curl up by the couches near the heater, pulling out the blankets from our beds and building up forts of bedsheets as we stuffed ourselves full of Kung-Pao chicken and fragrant jasmine rice. Of course, that was an ancient time period, back to the dusty and archaic ages when my mother actually gave a shit about us. I shook my head free of the memories, like the teenager I was.
The restaurant was a fancy sort of place. Chaise-lounge patterned satin chairs, tables cloaked in white cloth, shiny marble floors that rang with the clatter of high heels stampeding in a graceful flourish, reflective black walls, twinkling chandeliers and snobby Chinese millionaires. Marisa Lee was donning a stunning black dress with a plunging neckline, something a Mom certainly wouldn't wear. The last time I saw her was the sophomore's year parents-teachers conference. She sported a modest cardigan, strict black no-nonsense trousers and a tight bun that stretched out her roots. Our table was meant for the three of us, eating and awkwardly making conversation. Lula had gone back to our hotel with the adamant request to call her when the dinner was finished so she would know when to pick us up.
I looked back at the plate, "Um," I said, trying to work my chopsticks by wiggling them with my fingers, and Ellis stifled a laugh, not mockingly.
"Maybe we'll get you a fork," Marisa suggested and gestured the waiter over. She said something unintelligible in sharp and quick Mandarin and the waiter went off to fetch a fork.
"So mom," coughed Ellis, wetting her lips nervously, trying to grapple for her mother's wandering attention, "You-uh, you promised to explain." Even though she sounded casual, her words packed a punch and the weight behind it. Ellis looked expectantly at her mother, sort of scrutinizing her, watching out for any attempts to weasel out of it.
