The Middlesteins: A Novel(38)

Robin wondered if her mother knew that this man was in love with her.

“You are the famous Robin,” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “I am extremely famous.”

“I’m Kenneth Song,” he said. He studied her briefly, his eyes focusing into recognition, and then he broke into a small smile. “You look just like your mother,” he said.

It took a lot from Robin to keep her mouth shut right then, because she wanted to wrinkle her forehead and purse her lips and jerk her head back in disdain, the “Are you high?” look she’d been working on since she was in her teens, popular with no one but effective nonetheless. She wanted to say to him, How on earth do I look like a 350-pound woman?

But maybe he knew something she didn’t. Their eyes were still the same, after all, dark, intense bullets—you can’t hide the eyes—and their hair the same color and texture, black kinks down to their shoulders, and maybe they had the same smile. When they smiled.

Maybe he could see right through Edie, to what was underneath.

“Same eyes,” said Robin faintly.

“I have to go,” he said. “Big party coming in at seven.”

“That’s great!” said Edie.

He slid himself out of the booth, and, before he walked away, turned gracefully to Robin and said, “Your mother is a saint.”

Edie Middlestein, patron saint of Chinese joints everywhere. Well, thought Robin, if my mother lives in this alternate universe in this strip mall, at least it’s nice that they think she’s so amazing.

“He’s got quite a story,” said Edie, and she nodded approvingly at the value of such a thing. A story!

Anna came out of the kitchen and squinted up at the ceiling. “Too bright,” she said, and wandered off. A moment later the lights dimmed, the final piece of the atmosphere in place, and Robin felt herself ease slightly into her seat. The restaurant was adorable. She couldn’t believe that her mother had never brought her here before. She imagined briefly her whole family—minus her father, of course—dining here together, Benny and his wife and the kids. This would make her weekly trip to the suburbs more than tolerable. If there were a place they could all call their own together, in this unfortunate new phase of their lives.

But then came the food. Platter after platter of sizzling, decadent, rich, sodium-sugar-drenched food. Steaming, plush pork buns, and bright green broccoli in thick lobster sauce, sticky brown noodles paired with sweet shrimp and glazed chicken, briny, chewy clams swimming in a subtle black-bean gravy. Cilantro-infused scallion pancakes. A dozen dumplings stuffed with a curiously, addictively spicy seafood, the origin of which Robin could not determine, but it seemed irrelevant anyway.

Robin tried one bite of everything, and that was it. The patron saint of former fat girls. It was delicious, Robin would not deny Mr. Song his gift. But there was just so much food, too much food, and all of it was terrible for her mother. Couldn’t they see who her mother was? Didn’t they know that every bite her mother took was bringing her one step closer to death?

Edie seemed to be ignoring the fact that her daughter was across the table from her, or at least she did an excellent job of pretending she was alone. She ate everything on every plate, each bite accompanied with a thick forkful of white rice. Edie came and she conquered, laying waste to every morsel. Robin wondered what her mother felt like when she was done. Was it triumph? Eleven seafood dumplings, six scallion pancakes, five pork buns, the pounds of noodles and shrimp and clams and broccoli and chicken. Not that anyone was counting. Was there any guilt? Or did she hope to simply pass out and forget what had just happened?

You’re killing her, Robin wanted to say. But of course it was not their fault. Because her mother was killing herself.

Later, in the car, in the parking lot, outside the sports bar, where two women in their twenties leaned against a wall sharing one cigarette, outside the 7-Eleven, where a UPS man purchased a two-liter of Coca-Cola and two overcooked hot dogs drenched in cheese sauce, outside a cell-phone store, where a bored salesgirl working her way through community college slumped behind a counter texting a girl who had pissed her off at a party the night before, outside a Chinese restaurant where the food was made with love by a man who was once an unstoppable chef, in love with his work, in love with his life, until he lost his wife to cancer and he became sad for a long time, until his daughter said, “Stop it,” and now here he was, cooking again, outside of all this Edie and Robin sat, Edie staring out the window, Robin with her head against the steering wheel.