Like clockwork, the little bell on the front door jangles as Alex pushes it open. The sound always makes Vera smile. She likes Alex, the only true gentleman remaining in this era.
“Ni hao, Alex,” she calls out.
“Zao an hao,” Alex replies. He’s wearing his usual tired smile as he shuffles to his favorite seat in the teahouse, the one right by the window.
“And how are you today? The usual?” Vera says in Mandarin as she fills her potbellied kettle and puts it on the stove. Though Alex is always happy to take her special mixed herbal teas home, he never deviates from his morning tea, which is a pot of Tieguanyin. Tieguanyin, which translates to Iron Goddess of Mercy, is a type of oolong from Fujian, though it tastes nothing like oolong. It’s quite bitter when it first hits the tongue, but once swallowed, it leaves behind the most delightful sweetness in the mouth, clean and comforting. It’s one of Vera’s favorite teas, and she takes care to brew it right.
When the kettle is boiling, Vera takes out a small clay teapot and two teacups half the size of a shot glass. She sets them on a draining rack next to the sink and pours the boiling water all over them, ensuring that the cups and pot are scalding hot. Quickly, she transfers them to a tray and scoops some Tieguanyin into the little pot before filling it up with hot water. She then pours out the first brew, which is meant to scald away any harshness from the leaves, and refills the pot with more hot water before bringing the tray to Alex’s table.
Alex smiles as Vera sets the tray down and pours both of them some tea. He lifts his cup delicately, touching only the rim to avoid burning himself, and takes a sip. He inhales deeply, his eyes fluttering shut in an expression of bliss. “Mm, no one can make tea quite like you do. Lily misses this place so.”
Poor Lily, Vera thinks for the millionth time. At least a few times a day, when her thoughts go to Alex, Vera utters a small sigh and thinks, Poor Lily. She was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s a year ago and deteriorated quickly, to the point where she never leaves her house. Alex refuses to let anyone else take care of his beloved wife, choosing to live like a hermit. The only time he allows himself to go out is when he stops by Vera’s for ten minutes, while Lily is still sleeping. He actually sets a timer for himself, in case he and Vera get carried away chatting. He doesn’t even get his own groceries. One of his sons—the filial one—does the weekly shopping and drops it off at his front door every Sunday. It is this son who Vera chooses to bring up this morning, because Alex looks extra tired and Vera knows the mention of his son will cheer him up.
“Tell me, how is Facai doing?” Facai means “striking wealth,” a great name, which has brought Alex’s son much fortune. Vera approves of it. She wishes Tilly would go by his Chinese name too.
As expected, the corners of Alex’s eyes crinkle as he smiles. “Oh, wonderfully, just wonderfully. He is truly favored by the gods. He’s been in such good spirits these days; he says that things are going swimmingly with his business.”
“Ah yes, of course.” Vera nods sagely as she sips her tea. “Well, there is no chance of him not succeeding with you and Lily as his parents.” She’s not flattering Alex; like many Chinese elders, Vera truly believes that the bulk of anyone’s success is thanks to their parents’ hard work and sacrifice.
But it becomes apparent that she’s said the wrong thing. Alex’s smile loses its vibrance and he lowers his eyes. “I wish I could agree with that sentiment, but for my other son, Jiancheng.” Jiancheng means “strength and stability,” but from everything Vera knows about Alex’s second son, he is anything but strong and stable.
“I’m sorry to hear that, but I empathize with your suffering.” Vera has spent many of these conversations complaining about Tilly, and it’s over the numerous ways that their sons have disappointed them that a true bond of friendship has been forged between Vera and Alex. “I sent Mingjin a text this morning when I woke up to make sure he’s awake too, and until now I have yet to receive a reply. What other mother would be so attentive to text her grown son every morning? But does he appreciate it?”
Alex scoffs and shakes his head. “These young people, they don’t understand the many sacrifices we’ve made for them. When I was young, I would never have let my parents wake up before me. No, I was always awake before they were, polishing my father’s shoes. My baba never went to work with dirty shoes, all because of me.”
“Yes, exactly!” Vera crows, her chest expanding with righteous energy. “This is precisely what I’m referring to. Every morning, I had a hot breakfast ready for my parents. Hah! This younger generation, they don’t know how good they have it.”
“Lily always spoiled them, you know.” Alex’s eyes soften. “She said they’re behaving like normal American kids, and isn’t that what we wanted?”
Vera sighs. “She has a point.”
They both gaze into their teacups wistfully.
“And how is Lily?” She hates asking this question, because there hasn’t been a positive response for close to half a year now, but she feels obliged to do so.
Alex’s shoulders slump. “She’s the same.”
Meaning she rarely has a moment of lucidity. When Lily is awake now, she spends most of her time snapping at Alex to stay away and demanding that he let her see her husband. It’s taken the life out of Alex. The only source of joy he has now is Facai and these short teatimes with Vera. Altogether too soon, though, his timer goes off, and Alex finishes the last of his tea. Vera hurries to the counter and picks up the bag she prepared for him earlier.
“Here,” she says, pressing the mesh bag into his hands. “Mung beans and pandan. Boil for fifteen minutes, maybe twenty if you want it richer in flavor.”
“You are too good to us,” Alex protests, but by now, he knows it is a losing battle and pockets the bag without too much back-and-forth. When Lily was healthier, Alex used to spend a full five minutes arguing with Vera over paying her for her teas, but time is in short supply these days.
Vera watches him walk down the block to his apartment building, a dilapidated, aging building with ten units, all of them filled with graying tenants. So much of Chinatown is like that, slowly fading away. The kernel of sadness in Vera’s heart grows, becoming heavier until it is overwhelming. Because, as much as she would love to tell Tilly that he’s wrong, Vera knows deep in her soul that her teahouse is far from world-famous. The opposite, in fact. And watching the first and last customer of the day walk away kills Vera just a little bit every day. She already knows what to expect from the rest of the morning. It will slowly melt into the afternoon, which will stretch on in unbearable silence until five p.m., when Vera will shuffle slowly from her stool to the front door and flip the OPEN sign to CLOSED, and for the dozenth time that day, she will ask herself, What is the point?
Let’s face it, the shop hasn’t been turning a profit for years now. She’s only been able to keep it open because she and Jinlong paid it off in full seven years ago, and now she just has to pay off the monthly electricity bills and so on. Even so, without the heavy weight of a mortgage on her back, the shop is still a burden, and every day Vera is aware of her dwindling savings. Soon, no matter how frugally she runs it, Vera will no longer have enough funds to keep it going, and it will be the end of Vera Wang’s World-Famous Teahouse.