Scrapes, Scolds, and Suppliers
Chapter 2
You are reading The Misadventures of Endora Pan, a romantic comedy exploring the unpredictable nature of love and the chaos of everyday life. Set in the world of a young Taiwanese-American woman, this story delves into themes of self-discovery, cultural identity, and finding connection in unexpected places. Written in a witty, self-aware style, this novel is for readers looking for a light-hearted yet emotional read.
“Aiya! What happened to you?!”
Endora tried not to roll her eyes as her mom ran over from the kitchen. A spatula covered with something like ground meat was still in Chi Jun’s hand. “I’m fine, Mom,” Endora said.
“You call that ‘fine’? Look at you!” Chi Jun grabbed her daughter’s face, spatula pressing into Endora’s cheek. “妳不是去跑步嗎？怎麼傷成這樣？(Didn’t you just go running? How did you get hurt like this?)”
Endora pulled her mom’s hands off and patted her own face. “What’s wrong with my face?” She winced as her fingers brushed against a scratch. “Oh. Didn’t notice.”
“Come here, sit.” Chi Jun half pushed, half dragged Endora to the couch past the kitchen. “What happened? Did you fall again?” she asked as she rummaged through the drawers for the first-aid kit, slamming them as she went.
Resigning herself to her fate of being fussed over, Endora collapsed onto the well-worn couch and propped her leg up on the coffee table. “It wasn’t my fault this time, okay. The delivery guy totally just got in my way as I was running and I don’t even know what happened.” She let out a loud, exasperated sigh.
Chi Jun made a tsk sound of disbelief as she bustled back and began dabbing Endora’s scrapes with Neosporin.
“What!”
“Nothing, nothing,” Chi Jun said. She slapped the band-aids onto Endora, eliciting cries of indignation and pain. Ignoring these, Chi Jun continued, “When are you going to be more careful?”
Endora scowled. She would not grace such remonstrations with an answer. “Whatever. I need to call my supplier and order some more chocolate.” She waved Chi Jun’s hands out of the way, now trying to pick stray leaves out of her hair, and limped up the stairs, ignoring her mom’s cries that she needed ice for “that foot of hers.”
Shut in the quiet of her room at last, Endora plopped onto her bed and rolled on her back. She pulled out her phone, noting the cracked screen. She sighed before pressing her best friend’s number on her favourite contacts list.
If you were to have a birds-eye view of Endora at that moment, you’d see a Taiwanese-American woman in her early thirties. She’s dyed her medium-length hair with brown highlights, layered to her shoulders. It frames a round face and dimpled cheeks that readily break into smiles or scowls, depending on who she happens to be talking to at the moment.
Her muscular frame of well-toned legs and arms would cause you to guess she leads a lifestyle of weight-lifting, gymnastics, or some other intense and painful activity. This would not be far from the truth. Endora has an interesting habit of thrill-seeking. As we will soon hear her aforementioned best friend complain of, this results in too much solidity and not enough “squish.”
I’m not sure why this would be a point of objection, but I’m no omniscient narrator, after all.