Chapter 2

"Maria, dinner is ready. Why aren't you home yet?"

Caller ID: Mom.

I declined the call.

The pharmacist probably noticed how pale I had turned. His voice softened, filled with concern.

"This medicine... are you the one taking it?"

"My mother has been giving it to me. Since I was five."

He was completely stunned.

Even a man who had practiced medicine for forty years didn't know how to respond to that.

I put the herbal residue into a ziplock bag, stuffed it into my pocket, and walked out the door.

The streetlights had just flickered on.

After walking through two intersections, I saw a Japanese restaurant. Through the glass window, I saw a mother peeling shrimp for her daughter.

I stood there for ten seconds, then pushed the door open.

"Table for one? Right this way, please."

I sat down and flipped open the menu.

Salmon sashimi, sweet shrimp, sea urchin, grilled mackerel.

I pointed at them. "I want all of this."

When the dishes arrived, the orange-pink salmon was laid beautifully over shaved ice, the sweet shrimp curled translucently, and the sea urchin glowed like a miniature sunset.

For twenty years, I had only ever seen these things on Marcus's plate.

I picked up my fork, took a slice of salmon, and put it in my mouth.

It was cool, melting into a rich, buttery flavor on my tongue.

The moment the savory taste wrapped around my taste buds, I instinctively braced myself—waiting for the rashes, the tightness in my throat, the difficulty breathing.

Ten seconds. Thirty seconds. A minute.

The skin on my wrists remained perfectly clean. My breathing was completely smooth.

I ate a sweet shrimp. Nothing happened.

I took a spoonful of sea urchin. Still, nothing happened.

I sat in that quiet corner alone, finishing the entire table of seafood.

The soy sauce dish was empty, the wasabi scraped clean, and I even stuffed the last piece of pickled ginger into my mouth.

And then, tears began to stream down my face.

It wasn't out of joy. It was because for twenty years, it turned out I could eat absolutely anything.

My phone lit up again. It was my mother's fourth call. I picked up.

"Where on earth are you? Just because David isn't home doesn't mean you can just skip dinner, right?"

"Mom, I already ate."

"Ate what? How can your stomach handle random food outside? Get back here right now. I warmed up some tomato bisque for you."

"No, thanks."

"What do you mean, 'no'? Your complexion has been terrible lately. Don't you need to detox? I just brewed a fresh pot of medicine. It's warming on the stove."

The medicine.

That extremely bitter, pitch-black liquid that made me vomit and suffer from diarrhea for days.

"I'm not drinking it anymore."

There was a silence on the other end of the line for two seconds. Those two seconds felt twice as long as usual.

"Maria, what did people tell you outside?"

"Nothing. I just don't want to drink it."

"We will talk when you get home," her voice returned to its usual gentle tone. "Marcus saved some soup for you. Hurry back."

Marcus saved soup for me.

What soup? He had never saved anything for me in his entire life.

The world on his plate and the world on mine were separated by an entire galaxy.

I wiped the tears from my face and paid the bill.

Sixty dollars. Six empty plates stacked up.

When I reached the front of our house, the living room lights were blazing.

The curtains weren't drawn. I could see Marcus playing video games on the couch, with half-eaten King Crab legs sitting on the coffee table.

I pushed the door open, and the rich scent of crab meat filled the air.

My mother brought out a bowl of tomato bisque from the kitchen, placing it at my usual spot with a smile.

"You're back? Drink this. It's good for your body."

Next to the tomato bisque sat a bowl of plain green salad.

My spot at the table always had salad and the plainest food.

Marcus sat at the other end of the couch with his crab legs, not even looking up.

"Mom, I had my allergens tested at my checkup today."

Her fork froze in mid-air for less than half a second.

"Why would you test for that? Don't I know your body better than anyone?"

"The report says I'm not allergic to anything."

"Well, that's because you're cured now! My medicine worked. After drinking it for so many years, your body is finally balanced. You should be thanking me."

I looked into her eyes. There wasn't a single shred of guilt.

She actually believed her own lies.

"I'm not taking the medicine anymore."

"What are you talking about? Did you run into some sketchy doctor outside?"

"Those people just love to scare you to make money. Stay away from them. My recipe is a hundred times more effective than their treatment."

She walked back into the kitchen.

The clay pot on the stove was still warm. When she lifted the lid, a plume of black steam rose, carrying that intensely bitter smell into the living room.

My stomach knotted up in an instant. Twenty years of muscle memory was stronger than any truth.

My mother walked out carrying the dark brew and placed it right in front of me.

"Be a good girl, drink it, and go to bed early. I'll make you something else tomorrow."