Chapter 2

Once Alan and Maria started reminiscing about Daisy's life abroad, they couldn't stop.

One embarrassing story followed another.

At 20, Daisy still had to be coaxed into drinking milk.

Meanwhile, I had spent an entire winter washing dishes in freezing water at a restaurant after Alan got scammed and needed money. My hands cracked and bled from the cold.

Alan had told me that I was all he had and he needed my help.

So I curled up alone in my tiny rental room, took every job I could find, and learned how to deal with his creditors.

Alan and Maria went on and on about Daisy.

They remembered almost every detail of her life abroad, from the day she arrived to the present.

Daisy laughed until tears filled her eyes. Then she tilted her head toward Alan and asked, "Alan, don't just talk about me. What funny stories do you have about Amanda's last few years in Texas?"

The table fell silent. Alan and Maria stammered, unable to think of a single story.

At last, Alan gave an awkward laugh. "All right, everyone. Are we done eating? Let's have some fruit."

With that, Alan and Maria left the table.

The escargot in front of me was already cold. Not one of them had bothered to ask what I wanted to eat.

Daisy sat on the couch, finishing the rest of the caviar.

Suddenly, she swayed and her face turned pale.

She doubled over, clutching her stomach with a groan.

Maria rushed over, unable to hide her alarm.

Daisy's eyes reddened. "Maria, my stomach hurts so much."

Maria pulled her into her arms, half worried and half exasperated. "You must have eaten too much."

Alan started pacing. Then he whirled on me. "What are you standing there for? Go get Daisy some stomach medicine!"

"You ate way too much caviar, so of course your stomach hurts. Everything in this house is yours. No one's going to take it away, so slow down!"

Maria led Daisy to her room, helped her into bed, and gently rubbed her stomach.

I followed behind like a ghost and watched Alan gaze adoringly at Daisy's pale face.

"Don't overeat again for the next few days," Alan murmured.

Daisy mumbled, "But there's so much caviar left. It'll go to waste if we don't finish it."

Alan answered immediately, "Amanda can finish it. She's never tried it anyway."

My chest tightened with pain.

Suddenly, I was 28 again.

For years, I had survived on expired sandwiches thrown out by supermarkets. My stomach was a wreck.

Once, I suffered a perforated ulcer, and the pain made my whole body shake.

I thought I was dying. My hands shook as I called Alan.

He barely seemed to be listening. "Go see a doctor. I'm really busy here. I still have several meetings to get through."

Then he hung up.

I never got the chance to tell him that I couldn't afford medicine.

I was too ashamed to borrow money from relatives, so I lay there in agony until sweat soaked my clothes.

By the time my landlord came to collect the rent, I had passed out.

The landlord spat in disgust. "Don't die in my apartment."

Only then did he bother calling an ambulance. I was rushed to the hospital and survived.

When Alan finally called afterward, his voice was full of concern. He said he hated that he couldn't give me a better life.

I believed every word. I told him not to worry and said everything was fine.

So I learned to suffer quietly and take care of myself whenever I got sick.

Whenever my stomach acted up, I dragged myself to a small drugstore and bought the cheapest medicine I could afford.

My vision blurred. For years, I had thought getting sick simply meant suffering through it alone.

I never knew it could mean having someone worry about you, take care of you, and remind you to look after yourself.