Chapter Two

"Chris Chan?" Meileen echoes his name like a dim memory on her tongue as she serves Gong Gong Chan some Chinese tea. Freshly brewed from the stove and having bartered for it from their neighbours a few days ago. Outside, the birds have already started chirping to signal the beginning of a new day, of a new cycle of work that wouldn't end until it sets on the other side of the rice fields. A truck honks in the distance, probably one of the produce vendors speeding his way to the early morning market that takes place every Saturday.

Meileen can still feel the dull ache in her muscles every time she moves, which is surprising, considering that she has been doing this for over seven years now. It wasn't a life she had envisioned for herself, but to say that she isn't happy would be a lie. She had never felt more content and at peace in this small pocket of the world, away from the noise and the bustle and the smell of sewage of the city.

Gong Gong Chan -- or Gong gong, as Meileen simply calls him -- is the sole reason as to why she's still standing on her two feet. If he hadn't taken her under his wing after her parents' drastic train accident that had killed over forty passengers, Meileen would've still been stuck in an orphanage scrambling for ways to make a life for herself.

Meileen is grateful for everything. Had never questioned what the outside world looks like in comparison to her quiet life on the farm. It's quiet up here, like nothing can taint the purity of the crisp morning air, like everything seems possible.

"You remember him?" Gong gong asks. At the age of seventy-three, his lean and skinny frame now wrapped up in wrinkles still gives off a youthful energy that is surprisingly rare to find nowadays.

Meileen turns to face him, taking her eyes away from the landscape of plantation illuminated by the golden rays of sunshine basking down atop the rice fields to admire the weathered crows' feet lining the edges of Gong gong's eyes, the corners of his mouth, and the scattering of blemishes and freckles from too much time spent in the sun.

"I do," she lifts the cup to her lips, takes a sip of her tea. It warms up her insides against the permanent chill threatening to settle in her bones, "though, it's been a while since he's visited."

"Yes," Gong gong muses in amusement, "he hasn't stepped foot on this farm in the last five years."

The said man tilts his head to sip a bit of his tea, only to erupt in a series of coughs and prompting Meileen to reach out and rub his back in slow, smooth circles.

"You okay?" she asks worriedly. He's been harbouring that cough for a while now. She can hear it all the way down the corridor from her room every other night.

Gong gong nods, breaths coming out staggered and shaky. She notices how white his knuckles are, clenched onto the ceramic mug in his hands, "yes. I am fine."

"You should really go see a doctor."

"No," Gong gong shakes his head adamantly and she swears she spots the pout blossoming on his mouth, "I don't need a doctor."

"It's been going on for some time, Gong gong."

"I don't need a doctor," he repeats it firmly, if not to convince her, more to convince himself.

Meileen sighs but drops the subject. She knows how stubborn he is. Nothing she'll say will get through to him, even if his life depends on it.

So her thoughts take a turn towards his grandson. She remembered Chris in bits and pieces, though they'd never spent enough time constantly around each other for her to get comfortable. He'd been a nice kid though, always giving a helping hand whenever that was necessary and always loud. God, was he loud. And a prankster. He'd put toothpaste in her slippers whenever she wasn't looking and would push her into the mud whenever they played along the rice paddies.

But Chris also has a good heart. Just like his Gong gong, sympathy comes naturally to him, as is the charm and teasing charisma that has resulted in a big fat crush on Meileen's part. Not that she'll ever admit that to him or to anyone for that matter. Five years have passed since and he's probably changed, probably has a girlfriend and probably wants nothing to do in this farm. It's still a mystery, the reason for him coming -- and for three months? She doubts it is something he's chosen on his own will.

"Meileen," she jumps at the sound of her name, finding Gong gong with that frown he has whenever he's in deep thought, "we should probably start our rounds."

"Okay," she nods, before gathering their two cups, placing them in the sink, and following the old man hobbling down his hall in hopes that his grandson isn't as bad as how his Gong gong has made him out to be last night.

Oh well, she thinks to herself, let's hope for the best.

--------

He's taller than she's expected him to be.

At six foot with a lean build that makes him look more lanky than slim, Chris Chan towers over her tiny stature with perfectly sun-kissed bronze skin and hair gelled up in just the right way that he looks dishevelled but not totally so. He looks like someone that Meileen has seen floating around on the internet and she has to admit that his puberty has done him more good than bad.

Gong gong steps forward then, giving his grandson a once-over, "well, you've grown since I last saw you, kid."

"Well, it's been five years," Chris mumbles, allowing his grandfather to wrap him up in his chopstick arms before the latter steps back to motion towards her, "you remember Meileen right?"

She waves a shy hand, "hi. Long time no see."

"Hi," his eyes dart to hers for a mere second before focusing back on the older man, "yeah, I remember."

"And your father?"

"He's parking the car."

There's an unspoken tension in the air as Chris follows Gong gong to the kitchen, and while Meileen quickly excuses herself to pour out some Chinese tea that she'd brewed earlier this morning, she can't help but wonder whether there's something wrong in the way the pair are acting towards each other.

Chris's father joins them soon enough and Meileen pulls out some peanut cookies from the pantry. She sits in silence, mostly listening to the strained conversation occurring between the three men with the growing conviction that there's more that Gong gong is telling her. She quickly makes a mental note to ask about that later when they're alone.

After all, this isn't the kind of reaction she's expecting from either of them after having gone so long without seeing each other. From what Meileen remembers, there had been no fight nor argument, although the tension buzzing through the air is thick enough to be cut with a knife.

"I'll leave him in your hands then Pa," Mr. Chan says and as they bid their goodbyes and Gong gong walks his son to the front door, Meileen is surprised to find the Chris in his seat, eyes overlooking the rice fields without an ounce of expression on his face. He hadn't even bid his father goodbye.

Strange, Meileen thinks. She sidles up close to the said young man, and asks, "hey, do you want me to show you to your room?"

Chris looks at her for a minute. Then, he shrugs, "Sure."

Meileen is aware of his height -- all too aware of how cramped this house is for someone as tall as Chris -- as they totter up the wooden staircase. It had suffered through loads of rain and moisture. It's a miracle it's still standing. Not for long though. They walk up, greeted with a small circular hallway that gives view over three rooms; the left is Gong gong's, the right is hers, and Chris will be residing in the makeshift guest bedroom that had previously served as a lounge.

"That's yours," Meileen motions towards the bed, watching Chris walk in and look around. She's not quite sure if she's seeing this right, but is this displeasure on his face? Disgust? Oh well, nothing much she can do about that. If he finds that disgusting, then he'll be horrified at the thought of treading through the pig farm.

"You can settle in," she stands in the doorway, "I'll bring you a blanket and a towel. Do you need spare clothes?"

"No."

A pause.

"Alright then," she says. Wow, how cold.

The rest of the day goes by uneventfully enough. It's Saturday after all and all the week's work had already been taken care of before their guest had arrived. At five-thirty, Meileen skips down the stairs -- having taken the time for a quick nap -- to start on the dinner for tonight; simple fried rice, char siu that she'd cooked this morning with a side of bok choy to complete the meal.

Humming as she pulls out all the ingredients from their respective places, she doesn't realize the figure standing behind her until a voice rings out in the tiny foyer:

"What are we eating?"

Meileen jumps, startled, and whips around to see Chris in the doorway, hands shoved in his black hoodie and hair mussed up. He too, has probably woken from a nap, "ah, uh fried rice with char siu. And bok choy," she manages to stutter out.

Chris pulls a face at that, "I don't eat fried rice."

Meileen almost does a double-take, "Why not?"

"Cause there's egg in it."

What the-- He's a city boy! He's supposed to eat eggs for breakfast! Isn't that what they all do?!

Meileen is more than flabbergasted and Chris takes her surprise as a leeway to continue, "and that bok choy looks sick. Why is it so small?"

"Small? It's not small. What are you talking about--"

"Well it's small compared to the ones back home."

"But--"

He doesn't allow her to finish. Doesn't even look away as he shoulders past her out into the garden while ignoring her calling his name with growing aggravation.

Meileen gapes after him, irritation flaring up in her chest. And here she thought they could get along fine enough if they tried! Back in their younger days, they had gotten along just fine, had spent the entire summer days playing in the rice field and getting their pants dirty until Gong gong would call them back for the night.

Maybe he's tired and irritated. That must be it, she tries to reason with herself, force down the negative thoughts while turning away to focus on the dish at hand. If he doesn't eat egg, then she'll probably have to cook an alternate meat; like pork or beef.

Dinner that night is quieter than usual. Meileen forces herself to make jovial conversation, asking Gong gong about this and that, telling them about the new recipes that she'd discovered while searching through the old man's storage attic, breaking the news about the worldwide events happening around them as she speaks. That is a futile attempt, if only to escape the awkwardness that lingers in the air, so thick and coiled with so much pent up emotion she can feel it pressing against her chest.

Finally, Chris excuses himself to bed early and Gong gong merely sighs once he's out of earshot. That prompts Meileen to look over at him, and it is clear from her face that she wants an explanation.

"It's complicated, Meileen," Gong gong finally breaks the silence.

"What is?" she doesn't face him as she speaks, determined to scrub away at the dishes to keep her anger at bay.

"Chris. He's...a problem child. He got wrapped up in a lot of incidents at school."

"That doesn't explain anything."

"No, it doesn't. He's got a lot of work to do," the old man sends her a pointed look, "we've got a lot of work to do."

"And you couldn't have told me this before?" Meileen lets out a sigh as she puts up the last of the plates to dry. Wiping her hands on the kitchen towel hanging by the sink, she walks back to sit down opposite Gong gong, "what kind of work are you talking about?"

"Oh I think you'll see for yourself," he smiles his mischievous smile and that does nothing to reassure her, "tomorrow. For tonight, just rest. God knows you'll need it."

If Chris is any closer to Gong gong's description, then the three months to come wouldn't be as smooth sailing as Meileen had imagined them to be.