Even the name Lunar Love is simple and straightforward yet full of significance. The lunar horoscope was created because of the moon’s movements and phases, which people interpreted and assigned meaning to. Each of the twelve animal signs and its accompanying personalities rules a lunar year. The lunar calendar, based on the moon’s phases in a month, is the guide for determining the most auspicious dates for momentous events.
When Pó Po chose the name, she wanted her business to reflect the power of the moon, both physically and figuratively. More than just making the name modest, Pó Po also simplified the business concept in an attempt to keep it alive. She realized that Westerners were more interested in zodiac matchmaking when it wasn’t too complicated. She figured out how to streamline the magic of it all in order to avoid losing intimidated clients.
Just as she did, I need to figure out which changes to make that feel right for Lunar Love. The speeches and toasts and gold necklaces are special, but that’s not what any of this is about. I’m carrying Pó Po, Auntie, and Lunar Love’s legacy into the future. What I do from now on is the true test of what I’m made of and what the business can withstand in these changing, challenging times.
I walk toward the rear of the space where one of the three rooms in our building is designated as an office. Across from the waiting area is the Session Room, where we meet with clients.
I flip through the pile of mail, assessing the damage. Some marketing, some wrong address, but mostly bills. I drop them onto the teetering pile of mail Auntie left on my desk, which I discover contains even more bills. Before I have the chance to tackle my emails, I hear the front door close, followed by the sound of a woman calling out into the waiting area.
“Hi there. Can I help you?” I ask, rushing out of the office to greet the unexpected guest.
“Yes, I’m looking for Lydia. Is she here?” the lady asks. She looks professional chic in her baby blue pantsuit. Inside her oversized leather bag, I spot two eyes shining back at me and then hear a small yip. The woman lifts the bag to her face and coos into the small opening. “Don’t mind Poppy. She’s friendly.”
“Lydia’s not here. Did you have an appointment?” I ask, thinking I might have overlooked one of Auntie’s clients. “We’re transitioning all of her clients over to me and my colleague. Sorry if we—”
“Oh, no,” she says, furrowing her eyebrows. “Quite the opposite.” The woman hands me a business card accompanied by a dazzling smile. “I’m Carol.”
I review the shiny silver words on the card: “Carol Rogers, Realtor, Silver Linings Real Estate.”
“So you’re not a client?” I confirm.
“Darling, is Lydia here? I have some important business matters to discuss with her. I tried emailing but didn’t get a response.” She lifts loose fuzz from her sleeve and lets it float through the air until it finally lands on the carpet.
I bend the business card back and forth between my fingers. “Lydia’s actually no longer with Lunar Love. If there are business matters to discuss, you can do so with me. I’m the new owner.”
Carol’s eyes flicker in disappointment. “Oh. I didn’t know you were…are you Korean? I thought this was a Chinese company.”
“I’m half-Chinese,” I say hesitantly. It’s the answer that will satisfy her. An easy categorization. When she dips her head in a nod as though she’s had an epiphany, I feel like I’ve failed at something.
“In that case, I wanted to discuss this property. As you may know, this area is very popular,” she says with a wink. She hands me a slip of paper before grabbing my business card from the reception desk. “Here’s what I think this land is worth.”
I scan the surprisingly high number on the paper but maintain a look of neutrality. This is what Mae Yí-Pó had warned me about.
“Let’s set up a time to chat. I’ll email you! Stay silver!” Carol sings as she heaves her purse up her arm and waves goodbye. The head of a brown Pomeranian pops out. “Say bye, Poppy!”
Back at my desk, Operation Destroy ZodiaCupid is off to a slow and confusing start. I stare at the blinking cursor on my screen trying to come up with bullet points for my “10 Reasons Why ZodiaCupid Is Flawed” article for WhizDash. Obviously, I need to make it clear that ZodiaCupid is a total scam. What did Bennett tell me? Oh, right. His app is the opportunity he saw as available and seized it without care or concern for anyone else.
This should be easy, yet I can’t seem to find the words. Why couldn’t Bennett have been completely awful? A horrible villain who wants to match incompatible people together just to watch them suffer while he laughs maniacally under a green snowfall of dollar bills and scrapes icing off the top of every dessert he can find. Children wouldn’t have frosting on cakes because he got to it first. Chefs, cookbooks, and cooking schools would be destroyed because he has all the best recipes in the world, and no one dare try to say otherwise.
Instead, the man threw himself on the ground for me. He made me laugh. Multiple times. Then he had the nerve to ask for my number. How can I try to hurt a seemingly decent man with an unforgettable smile and a soft spot for the Chinese zodiac? I roll my head back and groan. What’s gotten into me? It’s a workday, and I’m daydreaming about Bennett. Of all people! In an alternate world, maybe I could entertain thinking about him without consequence. But that’s not the world we live in.
The still waters of my pond have been disturbed by Bennett. I can’t let the ripples throw me off balance. I have to get back to a state of calm. And what this man does to me is the opposite of that. He’s cannonballed into the pond and splashed around, slapping his hands against the surface of the water. It’s just plain rude.
Bennett is a Rat, and I’m very much a Horse. Whatever that “date” and our meeting at the bakery was doesn’t matter. It can’t matter. I can’t go down that path again. Even if I wanted to, I know better. Spending more time together wouldn’t be good for either of us. In fact, I’d be doing a good deed by putting this to an end with my article. Bennett might be hurt by it, but any brief aggravation he’ll feel is nothing compared to the heartbreak he’d feel when it all comes crashing and burning down, as incompatible relationships inevitably tend to do.
I peek at the photo of a fish with a parasite tongue on the background of my phone and remember the mission. Be the parasite. I’ll just start with a little Vent Drafting where I’ll type out all of my feelings and allow myself to be angry and mad. After that, I’ll write the nicer version that I’ll actually send out. If I don’t let myself vent, my frustration could evolve into something more destructive from the inside out.
I summon the words from within, wrangling each word out into the open. My fingers move cautiously over the laptop keys as my emotions find their voice. Before I know it, I’m pounding furiously against each key, pouring my wrath into the sentences.
There. Vent Draft done. Seeing the list in its entirety, there’s no way I could’ve actually sent this out. Especially not with my real name on it. It’s way too cruel. But now I feel better. Does Vent Drafting count as self-care? Because it totally should.