“That also means you won’t have to worry about MIT at all,” she continued. “I know you’ve committed to taking on some loans, but I can take care of that now.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I said quickly. “Have you talked to Dad about it?”

“Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first, because it’s your life, not your father’s.”

My Diet Coke arrived, and I unwrapped the straw and slid it into the drink.

“I don’t want you to graduate with so much debt,” Mom said.

“I’ll think about it.” But at that moment I was sure I’d say no. I didn’t want to owe her anything.

She sighed. “I know I haven’t always been there for you.”

There was something in her tone that made me wary of what she might say next.

“I know I haven’t always been a good mother,” she continued.

I went rigid in my seat.

“I want things to change between us,” she said. “I want you to understand that the money would be a gift. Now that I have Andrew, I can give you more support. Before, I had to make sure I could pay all my bills, but now I can make sure you have the best life possible.”

The shine of tears in her eyes, the self-conscious pink in her cheeks—it was too much. I couldn’t look at her. I felt spotlighted by my mom’s attention in a way that embarrassed me.

The waiter suddenly appeared with a tray full of dishes, and my mother sat back, blinking rapidly and touching the corners of her eyes with her fingertips. There was a bamboo steamer of fluffy white barbecue pork buns that I knew she’d ordered for me, because she never ate them. Deep-fried rice dumplings filled with savory pork. Pan-fried turnip cakes drizzled with oyster sauce. A plate of stir-fried water spinach. A large platter of yellow noodles with steaming seafood on top.

“So much food!” she said with a shaky laugh. “You’ll take some back to your grandmother.” She reached for the serving spoon and began to cut into the noodles, placing a portion on my plate along with shrimp and squid.

“Thanks,” I said automatically. The noodles were crispy on the outside but soft and chewy on the inside, and they were difficult for me to manage with the chopsticks.

“Do you need a fork?” she asked.

“I’m okay,” I said, but my mom signaled to the waiter to ask for a fork anyway. When he laid it beside my plate, I ignored it.

I hoped my mother wouldn’t return to what she’d been talking about earlier. I was afraid I would burst into tears. I concentrated on chewing each bite thoroughly so I wouldn’t choke.