John agreed to take Leo home for her nap, and I stayed at the kopitiam to wait for the uncle to join me. I ate my cendol, wondering why someone hadn’t yet figured out a way to make it taste this way in North America. It gave me comfort knowing that I was enjoying something that could only be appreciated in this specific place and time. The last of the coconut milk sat in the bottom of the bowl diluted by ice chips. I watched as the stalls emptied their large plastic containers of rice, the clanging of metal spatulas against the woks slowed, and the soups in the large cauldrons diminished. Dishes were swept off tables and into plastic bins to be washed.

After packing supplies into his fridge and freezer, the uncle wiped his hands on his apron and lumbered over. He sat down next to me, pulled the cigarette from behind his ear, and lit it, scratching the back of his head again as he introduced himself as Peter Siew. He eyed me with a forlorn expression, and I shifted awkwardly in my seat before I told him that I was the daughter of the woman in the photo. He didn’t seem surprised by this news, and I explained that it had been many years since I had seen her, and I had come from Canada looking for her. Peter said he remembered Mother because he was in love with her. I always knew that Mother was a vibrant and loving soul, irresistible to everyone. As a child, I wondered how someone like that could be so unhappy.

My Hokkien was rusty, but he understood English. So in bits and pieces, Peter told me his story of Mother. The words trickled out of his mouth, sometimes with a cigarette perched in one corner. His delivery was staccato, with many pauses to suck on his cigarette and shoot the smoke into the sky, or to rub his temple and look into the busy street where cars and scooters were honking their way out of a traffic jam. I didn’t rush him.

He said that Mother came to work at the stall with his father’s brother. She didn’t like the work and was always searching for something else. The first time he saw her she was making cendol in the twilight during the Mid-Autumn Festival. Peter explained that he thought he saw Chang’e, the goddess of the moon. He didn’t know then that she was married or had children, but she seemed like she was far away from something she loved. Peter started working at the kopitiam to be closer to her.

Over time, Peter helped Mother get a better job as a secretary for a lawyer. She spent her days managing the lawyer’s appointments, transcribing dictation, writing correspondence, and filing papers. Mother found this job boring as well. Peter said she was never satisfied, always searching. One day, he went to see her at her apartment and found her drunk. She revealed that she had left her husband and children in Canada. Peter was shocked to hear she had another life. He put her to bed and watched over her that night. The next day, she acted like nothing had happened, and they never talked about her confession.