“By the way, we were debriefing about him. You brought yourself into this,” Randall adds with a gooey smile.
“I was just trying to put it into context. Enough about him,” I add defensively.
Alisha wags her finger in thought. “You’re right. Enough about him, more about you. Monday is coming up, and we need to get you out there more. Podcasts, listicles, interviews with young professionals–type stuff. You’re the new face of Lunar Love. Let’s show the world that. Maybe the media, and a younger clientele, will find it interesting that the new owner of LA’s original zodiac matchmaking company is a gorgeous young woman.”
“That’s exactly what we should do. Try to reach a younger market,” I agree.
“I have a contact at WhizDash. They’ve become really popular. I’ll let her know that we want to get something up on the website,” Alisha says. She crams the rest of her cake slice into her mouth, licking the crumbs off her lips along with some of her berry-colored lipstick. “If you want to write something, I can send it to her.”
“I’ll start thinking of article ideas,” I tell her, ideas immediately flooding my mind.
“Perfect. I—ooh! Randall, there’s Aunt Vivienne!” Alisha says, becoming distracted by my aunt across the yard. “She has that list of art documentaries for us to watch. Liv, we’ll catch you in a bit!” The two of them shuffle through the grass, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
My sister, Nina, catches my attention from the outdoor dining table, and I rush over to her. Her arms are filled with bowls and plates stacked on a large platter where, just an hour ago, eight Peking ducks sat among steamed buns, cucumbers, green onions, and hoisin sauce. My mouth waters at the memory of all the flavors melting together. I can tell she’s stressed by the thin layer of sweat forming on her upper lip.
“Do you need help?” I ask, extending my arms to assist.
“So. Many. Dishes,” Nina huffs, keeping the pile to herself. “Mom wants them cleaned before the big announcement.” She lifts her elbows as high as she can as I fan her with my hands to cool her down. “It’s October! I’ll never get used to the fact that it’s still eighty degrees in autumn.”
“It’s only going to keep getting hotter every year,” I mumble bleakly.
Nina sticks her tongue out and adds, “I can’t wait for my Cookie Day when I won’t have to do any of this. Enjoy the view. You’re looking at your future.”
“I’m going to be a sweaty bride-to-be with hoisin sauce on my shirt?” I ask. We both start cracking up.
“I need to get back there before I make a scene. Save me a piece of cake. And if you see my future husband, tell him to refill the jasmine tea.” She slowly walks toward the kitchen, carefully balancing the remains of this afternoon’s meal.
I grab a slice of cake for Nina and retrace her steps to the kitchen. I swing the kitchen door open to find my dad leaning over the sink with his head turned toward a small television under the cabinets featuring reruns of Seinfeld. The stack of dishes Nina brought in looks untouched. My footsteps startle Dad, and he jolts, his hands quickly resuming position with the scrubber. He lifts a plate out of the bubbly water and starts moving the brush counterclockwise in efficient strokes.
“Are there any leftovers?” I ask, hopeful for a honey-glazed prawn.
“Oh, hi, sweetie. I thought you were your mother.” His eyes shift back to the screen, and he absentmindedly drops the plate into the sink. “I think there’s a bit of broccoli left. And birthday noodles. Or maybe I already ate those.”
“Why do I hear so much chatter when I should hear more scrubbing?” Mom asks as she sets empty cups and wine bottles onto the kitchen island. Her eyes shift over to the pile of dirty dishes. Dad picks the plate out of the water as quickly as he dropped it, his eyes now glued to the dish. Though only five foot three compared to Dad’s six-foot-three frame, Mom’s the one who commands the room.
Dad hangs his head, a strand of sandy brown hair flopping over his face, and speaks in the voice of an omniscient narrator. “At that moment, Marty looked at those dishes, not as a pile of porcelain and stainless steel, but as a direct representation of the failure that is his life.” He lifts a dirty soup bowl from the dish mound.
Mom and I look at each other and shake our heads. Dad finds joy in making people laugh by occasionally speaking as though he’s writing a script. For him, it comes with the territory of being a screenwriter.
“The dessert portion of the afternoon seems to be a hit,” Mom says to me. “Has Sān Pó Po come by for a slice yet?”
“I saw her sneaking around the dessert table with pruning shears.”
“Ha ha. Very funny,” Mom says, checking the time on her watch. “Pó Po’s getting ready for her speech. How are you feeling? If you change your mind, I can get you out of whatever contract you signed.” Mom smiles to show me she’s kidding. As a public defender, Mom never meets halfway in any negotiation and delivers tough love like a pro.
“In that case, can you renegotiate my salary?” I ask. “I want double what I make now with a guaranteed annual bonus.” We share another laugh.
“Is this cake for me?” Dad asks, nodding toward Nina’s slice.
“You already finished the last of the long-life noodles. I think you’ve had enough,” Mom says with as much tenderness as she can muster in a family reunion setting. She wraps her arms around Dad’s waist and hugs him from behind. To me, they have a marriage I’ve only dreamed of one day having. They’re respectful of each other, communicative, and most importantly, compatible.
A high-pitched noise rings from the outside, and I follow my parents out to the backyard. It’s time.
“Everyone, please gather around. Closer!” Pó Po shouts to the group. She stands in front of the backyard’s circular fire pit as everyone slowly forms a U-shape around her. Pó Po taps her glass with the edge of her knife once more. The group falls silent. “Thank you all for making your way here to join me on my birthday. I only wish Gōng Gong could be here with us.” Pó Po’s eyes become glossy. “This entire day has been about me. I’m tired of me at this point, and I know you are, too.” Polite laughter ripples through the air.
“Nǐ zhǔnbèi hǎole ma?” Pó Po asks Auntie.
Auntie lingers for a moment. Then she gives a quick nod and joins Pó Po. “Ready.”
“Other than me lasting this long, I have more good news,” Pó Po continues. “When I first started Lunar Love, I could never have imagined it would become what it has. After twenty-five years, I passed the business down to my daughter Lydia.” Pó Po wraps her arm around Auntie’s waist. “Lydia took over the business in the mid-nineties and ran it for another twenty-five years. And now, it’s time for Lydia to pass our business on to the next generation. Olivia, my granddaughter, will be Lunar Love’s new guardian Cupid.”
Pó Po and Auntie signal for me to join them. My heart beats faster as a few heads in the crowd turn to look in my direction. The moment isn’t lost on me. Pó Po coordinated the timing of the announcement so that the entire family could be here to witness not only her birthday but Lunar Love’s emergence into a new era. I stand up straighter knowing people are watching.