“I see other moms out and about.”

“Well, I’m not other moms.”

“Okay, touchy! Maybe you’re practising confinement,” Bea provoked.

“Me?! Yeah, right. Confinement is another way to keep women down in patriarchal Chinese culture.” I pounded a large leg with a mallet on the wooden cutting board between us.

“I know. And yet, here you are, seemingly embracing this outdated custom,” Bea goaded. “I’m surprised you’re not outside prancing around, thumbing your nose at the very idea.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Confinement is one of the most common Chinese traditions around childbirth. Keep the baby away from the bad, snatching spirits by staying inside and hiding away. It’s almost like you’re doing it unconsciously. You haven’t even washed your hair. Staying true to all the tenets of this practice, I see.”

I dropped the piece of crab leg that I was fighting to open and seethed through my teeth, “Shut up! I know what you’re doing. Your reverse psychology won’t work on me.”

“Well, it sure looks like you’re doing what every Chinese mother does.”

“We all know that ghosts don’t exist. Those uneducated and poor women in Asia don’t realize it’s their poverty and their country’s low health and safety standards that are responsible for their babies’ deaths. Superstition won’t protect anyone.”

“Your attitude is so hostile. What if your daughter grows up and asks you one day about her background? Are you just going to ignore her?”

“It’s not her background. She’s Canadian.”

“What if she asks you why you didn’t do a red egg and ginger party for her? Are you just going to deny her these experiences?”

“She’s a baby. She won’t even remember. It’s not important to me.”

“What about us? It is important to her family, to Dad, Auntie, and me.” Bea got up to peer over into bassinet. “Look at her. Her hair is so thick and black. It’s amazing that any of John’s genes made it in there.”

“Why are you saying that?”

“The truth hurts? Just because you don’t like being Chinese doesn’t mean she won’t.”

“I’m not going to hide it from her.” I placed a section of crabmeat in my mouth.

“You can’t hide it anyway.” Bea laughed. “It’s pretty obvious she’s Chinese. But you’re not going to show or teach her anything about her culture?”

“She can seek it out if she wants to when she’s old enough,” I tossed a clean shell into a large metal bowl, the clanging echoing against the table. I winced, fearing the baby would wake up.

“Because it’s so easy,” said Bea.

“Well, we didn’t get taught anything, did we? And we’re just fine.”

“Dad and Auntie did the best they could, but they couldn’t do it all. I hated having to figure things out by myself, and I would hate for my niece to go through that.”

“You know, that’s actually not true. Mom did teach us a few things.”

“Why do you have to bring that woman up?” Bea pushed her plate away and threw a napkin on top.