San Francisco, 1980MarigoldMarigold Yuen used to think she had a knack for fixing things. C’s in chemistry, car lockouts, and tangled cassette tapes, even ankle sprains—every aunty north of Ashby Avenue knew to come to her for a miracle repair.
But at twenty-four, she had learned that there were two things beyond her skill: the heart she’d broken, for one. Then there was her mother.
Helen had slipped away to the airplane lavatory fifteen minutes ago. Were it anyone else, Marigold would have assumed a case of first-flight nerves—nothing to worry about. Except this was her mother. Nothing was normal when it came to her mother.
“Miss?” A stewardess knelt at Marigold’s side. “Your friend needs to return to her seat. We’re getting ready for departure.”
Marigold unbuckled her safety belt.
That’s my mom, not my friend, she thought, but she kept it to herself. Best to spare everyone the awkward soliloquy about how young Helen looked and how little she resembled her. “I’ll see if she’s all right.”
“Please hurry, we’re number three for takeoff.”
Marigold made her way down the narrow aisle to the back of the plane, ignoring the glares of her fellow passengers. The lavatory door read
Occupied.“Mom.” Marigold knocked. “Are you all right?”
No answer.
“I’ve got po chai yuen if you need it for your stomach.”
Still no response. Marigold twisted her hands. She was starting to get nervous.
The thing was, her mother had a habit of disappearing. Not
disappearing, the way Professor Thompson’s wife had run off with the IRS agent right before finals, or when Aunty Yip’s niece disappeared to Fresno for a month after getting plastic surgery on her nose.
Literally vanishing.
Three times in her life, Marigold had witnessed it happen. One minute, Helen was physically whole—from the tortoise-shell barrette in her hair, to the slight gap between her bottom front teeth, to the lumpy callouses on her palms—she was flesh and bone. She was matter. Then, with little warning,
impossibly, she was gone.
Each episode had ended with Helen returning safe and whole and pretending that nothing had happened. But lately her mother seemed to be struggling. Marigold worried—
sensed—that a fourth disappearance might be different. Final.
She knocked harder. She was starting to feel sick standing this close to the smoking area, and she coughed, the fumes clogging her throat. “Mom, whatever you’re thinking about doing, don’t.”
The door swung open, and there stood her mother, wiping her hands with a paper towel. One arm had become as sheer as a nylon stocking and shimmered as she moved, though maybe that was the lavatory light flickering.
“You look like you’re about to throw up,” Helen said calmly. “Did you bring your inhaler? There’s another toilet across the galley—you didn’t have to wait for this one.”
“I wasn’t—” Marigold exhaled and summoned her patience. “The pilot needs everybody seated for takeoff.”
“We’d better hurry and get off, then.”
“What do you mean, get off?”
“I left the wedding money on my dresser. I need to go home and get it. Don’t make that face, we’ll just take the next flight.”
Marigold couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “We’ve already left the gate.”
“Can’t we turn around? We’re not in the air yet.”
“No.” Marigold grabbed her mother’s sleeve, towing her back to their seats. “I’ll take you to a bank after we land. Everyone’s waiting for us to sit down.”
It was then that Helen noticed the other passengers. Their glares did nothing to faze her; that was the power of a beautiful woman. And in her youth, Helen had been famously beautiful.
Putting on an apologetic smile, she faced the cabin. “I wasn’t feeling well,” she said in Cantonese. “This is my first flight. Going to see family after many years.”
Only about half the passengers understood, but everyone immediately forgave her. The stewardess gave her a handful of Sina ginger candy and the men tucked in their arms so their jutting elbows wouldn’t obstruct the aisle. Marigold followed like a shadow that no one noticed.
Helen sank into her seat. Her arm
was shimmering, and Marigold was close enough to see that parts of her fingers were translucent.
Marigold knew better than to mention it. “Why’d you say that?” she asked.
“Say what?”
“That you were going to see family.”
“Oh. It’s easier than explaining that I’m going to the wedding of my friend’s son.”
“
Are you going to see family?”
Helen didn’t hear. Her arm was gradually returning to normal as she fiddled with her safety belt. “This is so aggravating. How do you close the buckle?”
Marigold clipped the belt in place for her mother. “Are you going to see family when we get there?” she tried again.
“I don’t have family in Hong Kong anymore. I’ve told you this.”
“I’m just worried. You were in the restroom a long time. You know if you’re not feeling well you can talk to me.”
“You’re a medical student, Marigold, not my doctor. I’m fine.”
Marigold pressed her lips tight. Helen was not fine, but pestering her would do no good. Her stubborn mother would never acknowledge her mysterious departures, and for the sake of peace between them, Marigold had given up trying to ask.
“There’s two movie showings on the flight. An American film and a Cantonese one.
Superman’s supposed to be good.” Marigold’s smile wobbled. “It’s got that actor Rosie has a crush on, Christopher Reeve.”
“I don’t like American movies.”
“I can translate for you.”
Helen ignored the offer. “What’s the Cantonese one?”
“The Young Master.”“With Jackie Chan?” Helen screwed up her face. “He’s not so handsome.”
“I like him. He’s funny.” Marigold placed her backpack under the seat in front of her. “We can watch it together.”
Helen raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re not going to study.”
Marigold couldn’t tell whether that was a question or accusation. “I didn’t bring any textbooks,” she replied. “This is a vacation for both of us.”
Helen crossed her arms, not believing her for a second. “You should’ve gotten seats closer to the front,” she then said. “The smoke’s not good for you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You were coughing earlier.”
“I had a tickle in my throat.”
“Don’t lie.” Helen gazed at the dark canoes anchored under her daughter’s eyes, then at the coffee stains on Marigold’s white gloves. “Why did you drop out of school?” she asked abruptly.
“I told you already, I didn’t drop out. I’m on a leave of absence.”
“Did you flunk your classes?”
“What? No.”
“Then it was because of the boy.”
Marigold’s breath hitched. The
boy. She hadn’t spoken his name aloud in nearly two years. “No, it’s—”
“Never mind, forget I asked.”
The plane took off, engines roaring. Marigold tightened her safety belt, a mixture of dread and anticipation sharpening inside her gut. Fifteen hours to Hong Kong. She hadn’t spent this much time alone with her mother since she was in the womb.
While Helen closed her eyes, Marigold reached into her backpack, looking for her book and a stick of gum to chew so her ears wouldn’t hurt from the pressure. As she dug under her sweater, pushing aside the rattling Altoids tin and map of Hong Kong for
The Forgotten Beasts of Eld, two passports shuffled to the top. Hers and her mother’s. She’d forgotten to give Helen’s back after they had checked in.
Both passports were equally thin, pages equally empty. Marigold peeled open the first one and landed on a black-and-white photo of her mother. Her hair was tied into a loose ponytail, her mouth caught in the prelude of a familiar pinched smile.
Helen Y. Yuen, it read.
This was her mother’s legal name—not the name she’d been born with.
That was Ha Yut Ying.
It meant “summer’s shadow of the moon,” a rather poetic name for a village girl in the 1930s. Marigold had always wondered why her mother never used it.
“What are you doing?” Helen asked.
“Checking which is yours.” Marigold closed the passport and returned it to her. “How’d you get the name Helen?”
“A friend chose it for me.”
Copyright © 2026 by Elizabeth Lim. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
