Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Shepard nods with understanding.
"They offer a different flavor. See." He uses the lid to strain the tea into a small glass. Offers the glass to Shep.
Shep takes a long sip. "Sweeter."
"And now, the leaves are even more open, so we'll taste even more of the flavor. It takes patience and love to coax every note of flavor from the tea, but it's worth the effort." Dad looks to me. He's saying something. Talking about more than tea.
But I'm not getting his meaning. "It is." I finish my cup. Offer it to him, so he can strain another for me.
Shep takes a long sip. He sets his cup down. "My mother always said tea is sunshine in a mug."
"Olivia was a wonderful woman. I'm sorry you lost her," Dad says.
"Thank you." Shep nods. For a second, his facade breaks. Sadness creeps into his eyes. His lip corners turn down. Then he forces a smile. "She said it was like love. If you're patient and you treat someone well, they'll give you all this happiness. If you don't give them what they need, they'll be bitter or sour."
Dad nods true.
"That's why I'm here, Mr. Lee. I hate to cut to the chase, but I have to." Shep turns to me and holds out his hand. "I know I should have asked first, but I'm asking now." He motions for me to place my hand in his.
I do.
Dad notices the light bouncing off the massive rock.
"I'd like your daughter's hand in marriage," Shep says. "I'd like your blessing. Will you allow me to marry Jasmine?"
Chapter Twelve
Jasmine
"Let me talk to my daughter alone." Dad turns to me with a knowing expression.
It's funny. I've spent so much time trying to protect him. Trying to hide the ugly truth. I've almost forgotten what it feels like to have someone trying to protect me.
"Of course." Shepard squeezes my hand. He pulls me a tiny bit closer. Then he leans in. Presses his lips to mine.
My body responds immediately. Electricity courses through my veins. Collects between my legs. A blinking neon sign flashes must have Shepard.
It's bright enough it belongs in Times Square.
It's loud enough it would actually get attention in Times Square.
Of course, Shepard could afford that kind of thing. What does it run, a billboard asking for marriage, announcing love, telling the world she's mine?
I pull back with a sigh. Focus on the taste of oolong. It's no good. I can taste him. And I want more. My entire body is screaming more, more, more.
My cheeks flush. My chest too. I brush my hair behind my ear. Offer my best smile. This is supposed to look real. So Dad doesn't ask questions.
"I'll find something to eat," Shepard says.
"Take her somewhere nice after this," Dad says. "You can afford it."
I can't help but laugh. Shep does too. And Dad. It's easy. Like old times.
Shep nods take your time and lets himself out.
Dad motions for me to move closer. He turns the kettle to a hundred ninety degrees. Lifts the gaiwan's lid.
He focuses on fixing oolong, pouring the water, stirring the leaves, straining the tea, letting my anxiety build. The same thing he did when I was younger.
It worked so well. He always got me to confess. Not that I did a lot that needed confessing. I've always been a model daughter. I've always known what was expected of me. My parents didn't leave Vietnam so I could waste my potential.
"Dad…" I try my best assistant smile, but it's awful.
He sees through it immediately.
I used to act, didn't I? It was just high school, but it was something. I found a way to believe my words. I found my character's motivation.
I can do that now.
No assistant smile. No fakeness. Only the reality.
Shepard is making my life easier. I'm moving into an amazing apartment half a dozen blocks from the river.
Beautiful view. Plenty of tea. Lush leather couch.
And time. The one resource I haven't had in so long. The one resource that isn't renewable. The one resource I've been clinging to.
That's all I want, more time for Dad. This is my best chance. Even if treatment doesn't work, I have more time.
More time with him.
"I should have said something sooner," I say.
He doesn't reply. He just hands over a cup and motions drink.
I do. Better on the third steep. More guilt inducing too.
Is this something they teach in classes in Vietnam? Or is it a skill parents learn on the way to America? Maybe in Aunt Mai's restaurant. Or Dad's office. The temple where he practices. He never was all that religious until Mom died.
Ahem.
"I wanted to say something." I try to find the truth in my words. I wanted to tell him how bad the situation was. How many hours I was working. How far I was falling behind. But I didn't want to burden him. He did so much for me. Gave up an entire life. A long work week is nothing. "But I didn't want to worry you."