Chances for Serendipity

by Natalie Chung

  I backtracked to him, surprised to find the door open. It’d been closed when I’d gotten up this morning. “You’re awake.” How was he not sleeping? Or had he not slept at all? That was the more probable answer. Max was the worst night owl who ever walked the earth. Sometimes I went to the toilet at 4:00 a.m. and he’d be up. “Mum’s gossiping about you again.”

  “Yeah, you know she loves me.” He sat at his messy computer desk, mashing keys on his keyboard. His eyes stayed glued to the computer monitor, as they often did when we spoke. I envied his multi-tasking abilities. “Are you going shopping? Bring back some of that Greek yoghurt that’s still on special this week.”

  That was why he’d called me? “Anything else, Your Majesty?”

  “That’s Gor Gor to you.” Ever the stickler for being called an older brother in Cantonese.

  “I’ll call you that when you start acting like one.”

  His black-framed glasses caught the light as he spun around in his chair to scrutinise me. “Hah. Guess you don’t want me to pick you up from the train station anymore.”

  Oh crap. Walking home alone late at night did not sound the least bit appealing to me, especially during summer. “Sorry, Gor Gor.” I clasped my hands together to implore him.

  He nodded in approval. “That’s more like it, Dippy.”

  I rolled my eyes, making my way to the edge of his unmade bed. The mattress dipped as I lowered my weight on it, and something uncomfortable poked my bottom. I jumped up to find a pair of rolled-up socks I’d accidentally squashed. “Gross.” I dangled them in the air.

  “Those are clean.”

  “Better be.”

  “What a Dippy,” he said as he turned his attention back to his computer screen again.

  I’d long since stopped bothering to ask what preoccupied him for all hours of the day on his computer. He always came up with vague explanations that made no sense like, “I’m envisioning this app that’ll cut the cost of groceries every week if I tweak the code to blah blah.” Blah blah being the part where the rest of his words went through one ear and out the other. Then, when he saw my clueless face, he’d say, “Don’t ask if you don’t care, Dippy.”

  Funny how I had to call him Gor Gor, but he got to call me a silly nickname like Dippy. Where was the fairness in that? Not to mention… “How come Mum doesn’t try to throw you into a relationship?”

  He shrugged half-heartedly, tapping away on his keyboard. “Who’d she try to set you up with this time?”

  I tossed up the pair of rolled-up socks and caught them. “Ben or something. Mrs Wong’s son.”

  “Pah. Don’t think you’d like that guy. Saw him with her last week. Kind of screams posh.”

  “Nice to know.” I’d never seen the guy and wondered how someone could possibly scream posh. Rich clothing? Condescending speech? I was happy not knowing, but I was willing to bet I’d see him soon if Mrs Wong and Mum had anything to do about it. “I’ll need you to cover for me for Mum’s lunch break today. I’m busy.”

  “Sure, busy. You don’t start uni for another three months. What could you be busy with? You just want to avoid Aunty’s son. Don’t blame you.”

  I hurled the socks at his head, but he ducked and laughed. “Don’t forget my yoghurt, Dippy.”

  Pushing my trolley down the fresh produce aisle, I glanced at my phone, marking off the pork mince on Mum’s shopping list. Next was sugar. Ten one-kilogram bags of them. Normally we got it shipped to our shop directly from our supplier, but they’d upped the price this month, and Mum said with the specials at supermarkets this week, it was cheaper to buy in-store.

  But… Crap. I’d totally forgotten. Without Max’s car, I wasn’t capable of bringing ten bags, plus all the other groceries, home by myself—even with the help of Mum’s pulley shopping trolley bag, currently tucked safely beneath the supermarket trolley. I used to bring the supermarket trolleys home until they installed those annoying slots where you had to insert a dollar coin to use them. The last time I’d taken one home, someone had nabbed it after I’d left it out front. Probably someone who had wanted to make a quick, free buck. I guess I couldn’t really blame them. Mum would’ve done the same thing.

  The best I could do now was get three bags of sugar and ask Max to pick up the rest on another day this week after he finished work. Should be able to carry that much on my own. With that settled, I steered the trolley in the direction of the baking aisle.

  I was strolling through the newspapers and magazines section when my eyes caught on a flash of something familiar. I stopped short, my gaze snapping to a magazine.

  No way.

  I plucked the magazine off the shelf and examined the front cover.

  The huge title read, “Exclusive Interview with Teen Tennis Sensation, Aiden Andale” accompanied by a photo of Aiden that took up half the cover’s space. He wore full tennis gear, complete with a racket in hand, posing as though in the middle of hitting a backhand. A cool, one-handed backhand. He had a smile on his face that wouldn’t have existed in a real tennis match.

  My heart skipped a beat, and I thought of the last time I saw that smile in person. Two years ago. Had it really been that long already?

  My mind went back to that day, moments after he’d abruptly said goodbye. Liz had squeezed my shoulder hard and whispered loudly, “Don’t you know who he is?”

  “No? Why would I?” Did he go to our school or something?

  “He won the junior boys Australian Open this year!”

  My jaw dropped. “No way.”

  “Yes way. Told you you’d see a famous tennis player, Sere!”

  I shook my head at the memory, bending the flimsy magazine in my hands. Had he expected me to recognise him back then? Maybe it was better that I hadn’t. Though, why did it matter? Not like I was ever seeing him again.

  But that didn’t mean I wasn’t interested in reading about him. Aiden was known as a notoriously private person. He had no social media accounts and usually never gave personal interviews, so this would be my only chance to know more about him outside of his tennis career.

  I traced a finger over the magazine cover. Plastic sealed the entire magazine along with the free drink bottle it came with. I contemplated throwing it back on the shelf and walking away. I considered it for a few seconds.

  Yeah, right. Who was I fooling? I’d regret it for the rest of the day if I didn’t buy it.

  Sighing in defeat, I chucked the magazine on top of my pile of groceries. It was worth it. The magazine came with a drink bottle that normally retailed for eight dollars. My inner frugal approved. But my traitorous heart knew the real reason why I was conning myself into buying something I would usually never take a second glance at—I was a big snoop who wanted to know more about Aiden Andale.

  I tried to ignore this fact as I continued gathering all the items on my shopping list, pausing in between to dump a tub of my brother’s favourite Greek yoghurt in the trolley. When I was satisfied I’d checked everything off the list, I headed to the self-checkout. Being early had its perks, because the queue was practically non-existent.

  I’d scanned through half of my items when a screeching noise overrode the beep of the scanner. I turned to see a lady in the checkout beside me, rocking her baby in a carry sling. The baby wailed non-stop as the lady scanned her only item, a container of baby formula, through the machine. I observed her from the corner of my eye as I continued to check out.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake. Where is it?” The lady took off her backpack and shoved her hand around inside it. She did this for the next few minutes while I finished up and paid for the groceries.

  At this point, I was fairly certain she must’ve forgotten or misplaced her wallet. If my no-nonsense mum was here, we’d definitely have walked away by now, with her tattling to me in Cantonese, This is why we should take care of our things. But she wasn’t here.

  Live a life with no regrets. That was what I’d promised myself after I lost Dad. Past-me would�
��ve hung my head down and walked off, with or without Mum. But this was present-me now, and I wasn’t going to leave without seeing if I could help.

  “Excuse me. Are you okay?”

  The lady craned her neck up to look at me. Her eyes were rimmed red with heavy dark circles, no doubt from having to attend a young baby day and night. “It’s nothing, hon. I think I must’ve left my wallet at home. I’ll just have to go and—”

  Another cry from her baby interrupted her. She bobbed up and down, making soft soothing sounds. While she was preoccupied, my eyes slid to her checkout screen highlighting the total—thirty-five dollars.

  “You didn’t bring your phone?”

  “No,” she said, despair written all over her face. “I left it charging at home by accident.”

  So she had no other way to pay or withdraw money from an ATM. At this point, I still had the option to say, Oh well, that’s too bad. Good luck, and walk away. Except I didn’t. Instead, I withdrew my wallet from my handbag.

  She put out a hand to stop me. “Oh, honey. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

  Her baby’s cries told me otherwise. “Doesn’t your baby need that formula?”

  “Yes, but I can drive home and back.”

  “That sounds really inconvenient for you.” What with the baby and you looking half-dead. “Don’t they have strictly limited supplies for formula?” I knew that didn’t apply to all formulas, but recent news was all about people buying the stuff out everywhere.

  The lady nodded. “Yeah…actually this is the first store in a while that’s stocked this one.” She bit her lip. Her baby was now silent, as though he or she, too, understood the gravity of the situation.

  Well, that did it. “I’ll pay for you, then. There’s no need to go back and forth.”

  “But, hon—”

  I ignored her, rescanning the formula—stupid self-checkouts auto-cancelled after a few minutes—and then pressed on the “Pay Now” button. I tapped my credit card and watched as the receipt printed out.

  “Here you go.” I deposited the large can of formula into the lady’s arms.

  Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, thank you so much. You’re a sweetheart.” She pulled me into a one-armed hug, her baby making a gurgling sound while squashed between our bodies.

  I patted her back awkwardly, not used to praise, before taking a step back and smiling at her baby.

  “Daisy says thank you too,” she said, tickling the baby’s chin. “I’ll pay you back today. I promise you. Can I get your contact details?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it. If you have to come to me, you’ll just be going out of your way all over again.”

  “Nonsense. Do you live nearby? I can drop in when I pass by.”

  I considered this. “Yeah. My family owns a bakery about five minutes’ walk from here.”

  “Perfect!”

  “But there’s no rush. Please only come if it’s convenient for you. And you can sample some of our buns too.” If the lady liked them enough to buy some, that might make Mum forgive me if she found out I’d paid for a random person’s groceries. I still hoped she never found out though. I crossed my fingers that the lady would come during Mum’s break or odd day off when Max or I went on duty instead.

  I pulled out a small business card from my wallet and handed it to the lady.

  “‘Tsang’s Bakery,’” she read. “‘Hong Kong-style baked goods.’”

  The glossy blue surface of the card shone as she turned it over. A simple design, courtesy of my brother and the time he dabbled in graphic design, only to decide he didn’t hold a single creative bone in his body. Still, all the details were there. Phone number, address, email.

  “Oh,” the lady said. “My sister lives close to your shop. I’ll call her up. I’m sure she can drop by later to pay you back.”

  “Yeah, sure. No rush.”

  The lady beamed at me. “Thanks again, hon.”

  Chapter 5

  “Hi, you must be Mrs Tsang’s daughter?” The guy who walked into the shop looked like he could’ve been sponsored by a high-end sports brand. The same fancy logo decorated everything he wore, from his cap, to his crisp black T-shirt, all the way down to his fluorescent yellow shoes.

  Was he who I thought he was? “Yeah. You are?” I asked, feigning I had absolutely no idea.

  “Ben Wong.”

  I schooled my expression into nonchalance, trying not to burst out in a fit of inappropriate laughter. My brother was spot on with his vague description. Screams posh indeed. “What can I help you with?” I asked in a calm voice betraying nothing of my inner thoughts.

  He scratched his head, barely rumpling his short hair. He had one of those stylish undercuts that needed fortnightly trimmings to stay neat. “My mum said you were interested in a tutoring job?”

  Seriously? Mum and Mrs Wong really one-upped me this time. “Nope. I already have a tutoring job. Thanks for asking, though.”

  “Oh, okay…” Ben looked around helplessly. “My mum also said you guys have great buns, so I thought I’d drop by.”

  “I see.” Awkward. Max had seen him before at the store, so this wasn’t Ben’s first visit. I gave him the benefit of the doubt. He was probably giving himself an excuse to stay, so he wouldn’t make himself look dumb for coming here all the way for nothing. Wait till I told Max about this.

  Speaking of Max, I was going to kick him for refusing to take my shift during Mum’s two-hour lunch break. This was all his fault. Mum accepted his excuses of having some important project to do, but I didn’t buy it. He practically lived, breathed, and slept with his computer when he wasn’t at work. He could definitely spare two hours of a day to help.

  But no, he knew this would be torture for me, so of course he let me do it instead. The fact that Mum complied—despite her usual habit of lecturing him to get out of his room—should’ve raised my suspicions.

  “Uh, which buns do you recommend?” Ben’s question startled me from my thoughts.

  Can you please leave? You’re wasting your time, I wanted to say. But I couldn’t be blatantly rude to a so-called customer. I pointed to an assortment of different bun pieces scattered on a tray at the counter, toothpicks sticking out of them. “Try some.”

  He picked one up. “What’s this one?” He popped the piece into his mouth before I could respond.

  “Char siu bao,” I said. Barbecue pork bun.

  “It’s nice,” he said, then went to pick up a piece of red bean bun next.

  “Yeah.” No kidding. What was this Ben guy doing? Was he trying to scope me out? Ask me for my number? Or just pretend to not know anything about buns and buy some? Forget kicking Max for this. I was going to pummel him instead and then make him cover my next ten shifts as payback.

  Just when I thought this would be the beginning of a long nightmare, the shop bell jangled, bringing in a fresh draft of wind and an unfamiliar lady.

  She surveyed the shop before her eyes settled on me. “Hi,” she said. “I’m looking for Serena.”

  “Yep, that’s me.” Did I know her? I stared intently at her tired eyes that blinked back at me. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, sunglasses perched atop her head. Nope. I was certain I’d never seen her in my life, but—

  “Thanks so much for helping my sister buy the baby formula today.”

  Oh. That was why she looked questionably familiar.

  “I’m Rose Miller.” She held out a hand and I shook it.

  “Rose…” The lady I’d helped at the supermarket had introduced herself as Iris before we’d parted ways. I thought it was cute she’d named her baby after a flower too. But to think her sister’s name was Rose…

  “Yes, I know. Iris, Rose, Daisy,” she said. “Everyone mentions it, so I’ll clear the air. No, I don’t have any daughters, and if I did, they wouldn’t be named after a flower.” She laughed to herself. “Iris just wanted to continue the tradition.”

  “That’s cool though.” It was way cooler than being
named Serendipity. No offence to Mum.

  “Isaac,” Rose called, turning around. She took hold of a little boy I hadn’t noticed behind her and shifted him in front of her. “This is my son, who I didn’t name after a flower.”

  I laughed. “Hi, nice to meet you.” A familiar-shaped bag was slung over his shoulder. “You play tennis?”

  Isaac nodded stiffly, his hand moving to grasp his mum’s arm.

  “That’s cool. I do too.” Only occasionally nowadays, but I still enjoyed it.

  “He’s very shy,” Rose said. “Isaac, tell Serena who your favourite tennis player is.”

  I bent down to look into his deep brown eyes. He averted his gaze to the floor. I waited for him to say the name of one of the top, ageless pros like Nadal or Djokovic.

  “Aiden Andale,” he whispered instead, so softly I had to strain my ears to hear.

  “Oh,” I rasped out.

  Another chiming of the bells on the door broke my concentration, and I looked up to find Ben Wong gone. Goodbye I guess, and I hope to never see you again.

  “Who do you like?” Isaac asked me, louder this time.

  “Hmm.” That was a difficult question. Out of the WTA, my favourite player to watch was Hsieh Su-wei, with her cool double-handed forehand and variety of shot-making tactics. But if we were talking on a more personal level, I supposed it would be pointless to deny it. “I guess my favourite is Aiden Andale too.”

  Isaac’s eyes lit up at my answer. “He’ll win a Grand Slam soon,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “He probably will,” I agreed, not to appease him but because it was most likely true. The way Aiden was playing now, he could be winning multiple Grand Slams soon.

  “He won two titles this year.” Isaac listed the names of each title, Aiden’s opponents, and even the scores. I gaped at him in stunned silence, wondering how such a shy boy could suddenly turn into a talking tennis encyclopedia.

  “I want to meet him again,” he continued.

  Wait, what? “You’ve met him before?”

  “Yeah! He’s so cool. He has the best backhand! I wanted to ask him to teach me, but Daddy said I shouldn’t ask because Aiden’s a busy person.” His smile dropped into a pouty frown.