Mother/child

Argot Chen

 
 The yuesao had already been booked when Xinyi miscarried in the eighth month. Death could not be refunded. The check for the deposit had cleared, calendars had been blocked off months in advance, and now it was too late for Wang Ayi to find another client. So, she moved in as planned. 

With no baby to care for–Wang Ayi busied herself making healing soups for Xinyi–sheng hua tang, red date and ginger soup, chicken bone broth. After lunch, Wang Ayi would wipe Xinyi's limbs with a towel, wetted with cooled, boiled water, and gently massage her empty abdomen. Tradition dictated that the birthing mother lie in bed for an entire month, made possible because Wang Ayi tended to her every need. 

Truthfully, Xinyi enjoyed her regression to infanthood for more reasons than grief.  In her heart, she still felt the world owed her a childhood–her actual youth stolen by evenings of cramming for school and a mother prone to fits of rage. Sure, it had led to Stanford University and now her cushy tech job, too much pressure, Wang Ayi had said, not good for growing baby, but the job allowed her to pay Wang Ayi's salary, did it not? 

"I wish my mother were here," Xinyi said often, not thinking about the screaming matches of her youth, "the fifteen-hour flight from Beijing is too much for her." 

"Why?" said Wang Ayi, as if she had never wanted for her own mother. 

"Because you need family during a hard time. Don't you understand? Haven't you ever lost anyone?" 

"Of course," Wang Ayi replied, and left the room to do the laundry. 

At the end of the month, Wang Ayi's time was nearly up, leaving Xinyi distraught. Her eyes still recycled the soups she drank into salty tears all night. Though Xinyi had to return to her engineering role, she was able to work from home in her bed, her laptop propped up on her still-sore belly. Other than the weekly meetings where she kept her webcam turned off to hide her swollen eyes, Xinyi had no other human contact besides Wang Ayi. 

On the last day, as Wang Ayi toweled down her limbs for the final time, Xinyi asked, "Will you stay for another month?" her desperation leaking from her tear ducts. "There'll be no one without you. I have no parents, no child…"   

"My schedule is full," said Wang Ayi, not cruelly but not gently either. "I have other clients I am responsible for." 

I'll pay you double, Xinyi almost said, before stopping herself. What would be the point? A mother, a child, a cure for loss– these were things that could not be bought.