Touching Heart Marah Hoffman

Marah Hoffman

Our feet are tired. A sweet, shared tired. All-day manufactured soles have pressed against our feet as we walked from the Reading Terminal Market and its deli of draped limbs and market of exotic fruits, to Macy’s, to the homeless man singing an aria on the street corner—his crystal sound swirling with the exhaust, to the Franklin Institute where the butterflies seemed to surf our breath— their paper wings a different art than the hard statues, to the Macy’s again and its kindness of a public restroom, finally to Nom Wah. The hostess calls us friends. “Sit down, friends. I will get you some tea.” Jasmine. Aromatic and warm. We hold the four-ounce mugs close to our thawing chests. Nom Wah translates to touching heart. It is our tradition to finish a day in Philadelphia with Dim Sum. Mom has the esteemed privilege of choosing our courses. They are small and savory—hence, the Sum in Dim Sum. She orders all our usuals.

First are my favorite, the pork buns, so airy it feels like my teeth are puncturing clouds. Then shrimp shumai which we let swim in soy sauce before taking slow bites. Next the sticky rice. I pull a clump of it apart with my fingers until I discover the heart—a trove of pork and sauce. Dad tells me I have “no concept of germs,” that my hands have been everywhere today, and this is true, but I don’t care. Hunger has me tripping back in time to the habits of a child, though I am twenty-one, and it is something to relish. Even he sees the joy of it as he chastises me with a slight smile.

I wonder how long we will do this. How many more times he will parent me as we collectively sink into the cushioned seats of Nom Wah after an exhausting day of adventure, before I am doing so with my own family.

I see my future family now as vapors—or are they steam rising from the silver dishes— materializing from in front of my chest, taking their place next to me. I hear them make the same approving “mmmm” sounds, see them use the same sauces my parents first spooned onto my dumplings when I was four. I understand they will be a natural extension, a newly opened chamber of the same heart.