“There’s no algorithm in the world that can capture what it’s like to laugh uncontrollably with the person you love or that feeling when you’re sitting next to someone for the first time at a movie and wondering if they want to hold your hand just like you do,” he says, taking deliberate pauses and steps across the stage. “Or when you bomb so badly on a date but don’t care because every second you spend with them is more important than any second you had without them.”
Just when I think he’s finished, he looks up at me and dives into why he started ZodiaCupid. He shares a condensed version of the story he told me about finding his mother’s journals, and how his parents were mismatched yet perfectly matched, and the importance of discovering your culture no matter what age you are. It’s when he speaks from the heart that I notice the young audience shifting in their seats and focusing on him instead of on their phones.
He hits his stride and returns to the data and statistics. He discusses the beta version of the app, who they’ve been able to hire with savings, their marketing plan and how the strategy has been working, estimated expenses and anticipated revenue, and potential user numbers post-beta. At first, he captured their hearts—a feeling I know well—and then he captured their wallets.
As I watch him in his element, I think about all the ways that online dating has benefited me. While Lunar Love lost clients, it made me figure out how to be smarter about the business and our offerings. Without the app, I may never have found Parker to match with Harper. Without ZodiaCupid, I may never have found Bennett.
On my phone, I see my dad’s name light up the screen. I decide to call him back after the pitch, letting his call go to voicemail. When he calls a second time in a row, I can’t ignore it.
“Hello?” I whisper, ducking out of the audience and into the lobby.
“Hey sweetie,” Dad says quietly. “Where are you? Can you talk?”
Through the windows, I watch as Bennett speaks animatedly. The crowd loves him.
“I’m actually in the middle of something.”
“Would you be able to get out of it and come home?” he asks.
“Why? What happened?” I ask, my tone more urgent. “Can you tell me now?”
Dad clears his throat. “I hate to tell you over the phone…” I sense a shift in his voice. I press the phone harder against my ear and search for a private corner.
“Dad, what is it?”
“Pó Po passed away in her sleep last night,” he says sadly.
Everything goes quiet. People in my line of sight blur. I freeze in place but the room feels like it’s spinning around me. A hollow silence hangs between us as I process what I’ve just heard.
“It was very unexpected,” Dad continues. “I’m afraid I don’t have good news to follow this up with. Are you there?”
“Nn-hnn,” I mumble, half listening. My dry throat and eyes burn. “She seemed fine.” My mind jumps to when she fell into the car, triggering a reminder of her feeling tired when we made dumplings. My pulse races. How could I not have seen that she wasn’t well? “Wasn’t she?”
“Honestly, we don’t know. The Huang women have always put on a strong face. If she was sick, she never let on how bad it was,” he says.
I lean back against the poster-covered wall and curl forward, tears streaming down my cheeks onto my leggings. Everything in my body stings. “How are Mom and Auntie? Does Nina know?” I manage to ask. My heart feels like it’s going to climb its way up my throat and out of my body.
“They’re being practical about it all. I’ve been delegated to making calls. The paramedics came this morning. We don’t know what happened yet.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. Remaining calm is Mom’s specialty. My theory is that it comes from her years of lawyering—If I let myself feel all the emotions I want to feel working in this legal system, I’d never make it through the day—and being raised by Pó Po, the most practical of them all—Everything comes to an end. That’s life!
“I’ll come over in a bit,” I say, dazed.
When Dad and I hang up, I bury my face in my hands and sob, not caring who’s watching. Pó Po can’t be gone.
After one last look at Bennett on stage, I head to the only place that can provide real comfort right now.
I push forward on the door of Lucky Monkey as I’ve done day after day after day, only to remember I have to pull. The door feels heavier. While normally butter and sugar welcome me in, today I don’t smell anything. I wind my way past browsing customers to the back counter and find Mae Yí-Pó shuffling back and forth. I can tell by the look on her face that she already knows.
“Olivia,” Mae Yí-Pó says. She extends her arms, and I bend down, letting myself be cocooned in her embrace. I squeeze my eyes shut to prevent tears from leaking out onto her shoulder, but no luck.
“I can’t believe it,” I say, sniffling.
Mae Yí-Pó holds me as my tears cascade down my cheeks. She gently pushes me back, holding me by the shoulders. “Come with me,” she says.
I follow her to the back office of the bakery where there’s another person sitting in a chair. My steps slow as I process who’s in front of me. She must’ve heard about Pó Po from her mom, who’s close friends with Auntie.
“Colette?” I whisper. “What are you doing here?”
Colette jumps up from her seat and takes a step toward me before stopping herself. She looks exactly the same as she did three years ago but has longer hair. People confused her, Nina, and me for triplets. We all may be mixed-race Chinese American, but we don’t look the same.
“Hi, Olivia. I heard about Pó Po. I’m so sorry,” Colette says sadly.
Mae Yí-Pó clears another chair covered in aprons and papers. “Please, both of you sit,” she directs to us both. “I’ll be back in a second.”
I walk past Colette and take a seat on the edge of the chair next to hers as Mae Yí-Pó leaves the room and quietly closes the door behind her.
“When did you get back in town?” I finally ask.
“Five months ago. I was in New York City for the past few years after…” She trails off.
I twist my ring. “How’d you find me?”
“When my mom told me the news, I had a sneaky suspicion you’d come here. It has always been our safe place,” she says. “I meant to get in touch earlier, but I wasn’t sure how. Then I saw you at that baking class, and you totally ditched.”
An unexpected laugh slips out at the thought. “I didn’t. My date slipped,” I respond, surprising myself by how natural our interaction feels. It’s as though no time had passed since we last saw each other.
Colette’s eyes widen, her mascaraed eyelashes framing her light brown eyes. “You have a new boyfriend? I…that makes me so happy to hear, knowing that you didn’t let your ex ruin love for you.”
Before I can correct her, she adds, “I saw the recent press on Lunar Love. You’re in charge now. That’s amazing. It’s what you always wanted.”