“Cybelle, enough. Just come home, okay? Start mentally preparing. You’ll need a couple of months to adjust, find a place to live, get a job, maybe find a boyfriend you can move in with …”

Here it is. The part of the phone call I’ve been dreading. I add a few “mm-hmms” and “uh-huhs” in the right places while I sort my laundry, start the machine, and iron out a pantsuit for tomorrow, just in case more Head Office honchos decide to pay us a surprise visit and shut down the school. Once I finish making a few more pumpkin cut-outs, I pack up my purse and hang it up, just in time for Mom to come back to her previous point:

“And I don’t know where you’re going to live. Toronto is so expensive now. I’m too busy getting ready to retire and sell the house, and I’ve already started making travelling plans, so living here is out of the question, and you know your sisters, you can’t really count on them to put you up for long. But don’t think of it as coming back to ‘nothing.’ You just need to be positive about it! Just think about it, okay? It’s not like you’re moving up in the company. After seven years, you should be running the place.”

“Six and a half.”

“Same thing. My point is you don’t sound excited to be living there these days. Remember when you first got there? You were so active back then with your travelling, and all those cooking and karate classes. I knew you were doing all right, but now … well, I’m more than worried. I just want you to be happy. You are happy, right?”

“Eh …”

“‘Eh’?! What is that supposed to mean?!”

Somewhere in the kitchen I hear Canon in D Major. Mom hears it, too. “That sounds like your rice cooker. Are you making dinner?”

“Beef curry and rice. And I might make some stir-fry for the week, too.”

“Stir-fry again? After all those cooking courses you insisted on? Hurry up and come home.”

I hate it when she says that. What does she mean by ‘hurry up’? Work around the clock or six days a week to end my contract sooner? Neither is an option under Zozo’s current business hours. Speed up time? Who am I, Superman? I shrink Skype to a corner so I can put in my Flying Pig order and browse worksheets online.

“Mom,” I say. “Even if I do go home, what am I going to do there?”

“You can figure that out when you get here! Anyway, we’ll discuss this later. You go have dinner. Glad I finally caught you, sweetie! We’ll talk again soon. Love you!”

“Love you, too, Mom.”

“And please look into getting a smartphone, will you? Then we can just WhatsApp each other. Or LINE, I hear LINE is a good app, too.”