To my surprise, Che Eng brushed my hair behind my ears and grabbed my shoulders. “She was a beauty, but she was annoyed by all the attention she got when we were young. She wanted to be more than her looks.”

I forced a smile and motioned Che Eng to sit down across from me as I moved my bag off the chair. She continued, “You don’t believe me, ah? It’s true! Your mother was full of big ideas. She was a dreamer. And she was very smart and quick on her feet.”

“Well, to me, she seemed beautiful, but … fragile, and maybe restless, too.”

“You were small. You probably could not see, lah. Your mother was not fragile. She was one of the bravest people I knew. She was the life of the party and always held court in any room. Not because she was beautiful but because she could debate with anyone about anything.” Che Eng hummed like she was remembering something and went on. “She also got us in a lot of trouble growing up. Swee Hua was always up for an adventure. I met a lot of smart and interesting people because she was so unafraid and curious.”

She smiled, her gaze distant. I tried to imagine teenage versions of Che Eng and Mother, arm in arm in their wide-legged pants, gallivanting to parties and riding bicycles haphazardly around town. Che Eng’s attention returned to our table when the waiter came by to take her order.

She ordered the half-boiled eggs special, and then leaned in towards me like she was ready to tell me a secret. “Children don’t always know about the life their parents had before they were born. I thought Swee Hua would become a politician one day, or even a judge. It surprised me when she ended up …”

“A housewife?”

“Well … I know she was brave leaving home and starting a new life in another country. But I thought her world travels would lead to more.”

I sat with what Che Eng had told me, unsure whether to believe this version of Mother existed. I wondered if we were talking about the same person, but then I thought about the glimpses I’d had of Mother in the Oriental Palace, during her performances, at the mah-jong table, where she felt comfortable to speak her mind and be herself. Perhaps Mother was putting on different shows for different people. She never told me about her plans or dreams or aspirations, but Che Eng was right—I never asked when she was still around.

I watched Che Eng finish her eggs and kaya toast and said, “She talked of you often. I remember her calling and writing you.”

“Yes, she was quite homesick, lah.”

“I guess she isn’t anymore.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Really? She hasn’t kept in touch with you?”

“She did when she first came. I can tell you now. You’re all grown up! Your mother came home like a typhoon, ready to pick up from the place she left off. But she had forgotten that time had passed, that life had gone on without her. She thought things, people, would have stood still for her. She had a hard time adjusting.”