Page 63 of Worth Fighting For

Mama is rubbing Vaseline on Baba’s lips as we walk in.

“Hi, Ma.”

“Hey, Auntie Li, how’s it going?” Mushu says.

“Ah, you girls are back. How was the trip?” Ma places the tub of Vaseline down and comes over to give us a hug.

“It was good. I think they’ll sell the company to us quite happily,” I say.

Ma’s face breaks into a huge smile. “Really? How did you convince them?”

“Oh, you know.” I have a hard time meeting my mother’s eyes. “This and that. Had a lot of good conversations with them, told them our company’s philosophy and stuff.”

“She sheared sheep, rode a demon of a horse, herded cows,” Mushu says.

“What?” Ma gapes at me.

“Well, I tried herding cows. I failed miserably. Fell into a pile of cow patty.”

“That’s the polite term for cow dung,” Mushu says helpfully.

Ma looks torn between horror and laughter. “Oh, my dear girl. You know, Baba and I have always wanted to take you to his family farm back in China.”

I wrap an arm around Ma and rest my head on her shoulder. “I would love to, Ma. I have a newfound appreciation for farming.”

“My goodness, who are you and what have you done with my Mulan?”

“How’s Dad doing?” I say.

“Not too bad, I think. The doctor says his vitals have improved, and he’ll be up in no time.” Ma sighs. “It hasn’t been nice going home without him, though, so I’ve been sleeping on the sofa here.”

“Aw, Ma!” I cry. “I’ll accompany you. I’m sorry I left.”

“Well, you had to. But yes, stay at the house. It’ll be less empty with you there.”

I smile as I watch Ma fussing around Ba’s bed, tucking him in more snugly and placing a loving kiss on his forehead before leaving. My parents have set such a high standard for coupledom. Watching them, I know I’ll never settle for less than this kind of love, a love that is strong and yet tenderhearted, a love that is worn soft round the edges, like a comfortable pair of socks. I link my arm through Ma’s and Mushu does the same on the other side, and together, the three of us walk out of the hospital and drive back home.

The next day, I go to the office early and dive into work. I haven’t taken time off in years, and skipping two workdays for the Li family trip has made me feel like I’ve fallen behind on a million tasks. The morning whizzes by as I play catch-up with everything, having meeting after meeting with the analysts and checking in with clients and investors.

There’s a knock at my door and the receptionist pops his head in. “Mulan, there’s someone here to see Zhou.”

“Who is it?”

“His name is Shang. He’s from Wutai Gold.”

“Oh! Right. Yes.” I straighten up, my hand flying to my hair, flattening any flyaways that might be there. I feel so frazzled. “What time is it?”

“It’s two p.m.”

“What?” I’ve missed lunch without even realizing it. “Uh. Right. Shang. You know what, I’ll meet him out there.” The last thing I want is to have to tell others to call me Zhou again. And anyway, it’s too late for that, Shang is here—why is he here? Grabbing my phone and bag, I hurry out of my office.

Shang is waiting at the reception area, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He’s wearing a light blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I read online once that a shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows is the sluttiest thing a man could wear, and I agree wholeheartedly. God, he looks good.

“Hello, Shang,” I say, very much aware that several of my colleagues nearby aren’t even trying to hide the fact that they’re eavesdropping.

“Zhou,” he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

The receptionist looks confused. “Zhou is—”

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