The woman slipped her hand into her apron pocket and took out a few colorful slips of paper. Swiftly flipping through them and pulling out one spare slip in the middle of the stack, she pocketed the rest and approached the man at the sink. She waited for him to dry his hands on a rag before she bumped her hand against the side of his arm, holding out the stack of colorful slips. He looked down at his arm and nodded, opening his mouth but saying nothing audible. Reaching across himself, he took the slips and pocketed them without another look. Then, he turned back to the sink, scooping up the bin of bowls and retreating towards the open-back truck. The woman returned to the front of the stand, the shades already half closed, and picked up a bowl with a few remaining rambutan, already peeled and deseeded. Staring at them for a bit, she then turned to the blender on the table and dumped them in. Adding in some milk, she closed the blender top and noticed a girl standing in the corner of their shop area, staring out.
“An, come here dear.”
The girl did not move. She kept her eyes fixed on the man, who was walking away from the stand, head hunched forward. Once he was far enough away, a dozen or so cars down the street, she then answered her mother’s beckoning. But she did not look so happy, her forehead slightly furrowed.
“Ma, why does Kamon earn more than me?”
“Because you’re a child, An.”
“But…!” her voice rose in a sudden but hushed and measured manner. “But he is new! I worked here longer than he has. I can peel pears… and mangos and… rambutan! Faster than he can!”
Ma lifted her hand from the blender, letting it come to a stop.
“And I’m your daughter.”
“An, dear… Kamon is an older man.”
“…”
The two of them stood there, facing each other. An’s expression brewed, lips drawing in and her eyes darting back and forth from her mother’s face and somewhere else off in the distance, like she had something to say but could not let it out. Ma waited patiently for her daughter.
“Is that it?” she said eventually, throwing her arms up and dropping them. “He gets more because he’s old.”
“He’s older, dear.”
She didn’t seem to understand. “Why does he get more because he’s old?! I’m better than him!”
Ma sighed. “An, realize our time here in this world is not forever.”
An’s frustrated face twisted into confusion.
“As you grow older, your time becomes more expensive, because you have less time left.”
She dropped her gaze to the blender on the table, watching streams of juice bead down the inside of the glass.
“And he is choosing to spend that time helping us at our fruits stand. I have to acknowledge that.”
“But I’m better than him.”
“I know you are, dear,” her mother assured. “But he’s older.”
The little girl’s eyes started to water as she kept her gaze locked on the blender, brows still furrowed.
“How would you feel if you were paid less than your younger brother, if he was as good as you?”
“But he’s not,” she tearfully pouted.
“But what if he was? How would you feel?”
An did not answer.
“And he’s younger than you.”
Still no answer.
“And you have children to feed.”
Silence. She did not look like she wanted to talk anymore.
Watching her daughter several moments longer, the woman turned her head and pressed down on the blender, finishing up what she was doing. Retrieving a plastic cup from the back, next to the sink, she rinsed it and poured herself a drink, taking a long sip before offering the cup to her daughter. She eyed it with her squinted and teary eyes, but did not take it. Only when her mother withdrew the drink to take another sip did the girl abruptly shoot out her arms, stretching open her fingers for the drink. Ma handed it to her, and she took a reluctant sip, keeping the cup’s lip smushed to her mouth.
Taking the blender container out of its base, Ma left the front. “Your mother is closing up the shop, okay? If you’re not going to clean up, tell anyone who passes that we are closing.”
As the woman went towards the sink, An turned to the side to hide her tearing face from the front. She kept taking little sips of the drink as she thought over her mother’s questions.”