Ugh, it was just my luck that he witnessed my fumbling fall. “Whatever,” I said, unable to think of a better comeback.
He rolled his eyes and lowered himself onto the edge of my bed. “You should stop overworking yourself. You’re not even being paid for overtime. Couldn’t you have finished your tasks next week?”
Nope. I couldn’t have. The deadline had been crystal clear.
“You’ve got your priorities all wrong,” he went on. I pinched my arm to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Was my big brother actually lecturing me? He normally sat back and let Mum do the reprimanding while he nodded and agreed.
To make matters weirder, Mum didn’t say anything. She only looked between us like an uninterested third-party spectator. Then, the next thing I knew, she stepped out of my room without another word, leaving him to carry on without further interruptions.
“Do you care about your own wellbeing at all? It’s not like you love what you’re doing at work. What do you think…” He trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut. After a few seconds, he opened them again and stared me down to deliver the striking blow. “What do you think Ba would say about all this?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing came out. He was right, of course. Here I was, slaving away full-time at a job I didn’t truly feel passionate about. All in the name of… what exactly? Money? Happiness?
Happiness… I’d promised that to Dad once before, hadn’t I? I recalled the exact moment I’d looked into his drooping eyes and assured him, Yes, Dad. I promise I’ll study hard and be happy.
I choked on a sob. A soft wailing noise escaped my mouth.
It had been a lie. Sure, I’d made the effort to do things I thought would make Dad happy, but had I ever been happy myself?
The reality hit me hard in the chest all at once.
No. I hadn’t been happy. I wasn’t now either. All the years spent studying hard to uphold a promise I hadn’t truly understood. But how could I change that? How could I be happy now?
“I don’t know what to do.” It was the first time I admitted it aloud. All this time, I’d been miserable on the inside. I thought all I’d needed to be happy was a small break. But the break had come and gone, and things were still the same. Nothing had changed.
Max patted my head. The awkwardly endearing action set off an avalanche on my bottled-up emotions. Tears cascaded down my cheeks. Before I knew it, I was bawling like a baby.
He heaved a loud sigh and wrapped his arms around me. “Come on, Dippy. Did you forget what you told me? ‘Live your life with no regrets.’” His soft voice vibrated against my shoulder.
“Mm-hmm,” I mumbled back. After Dad had passed away, Max had withdrawn into a shell of himself. Unlike Mum and I, he never openly cried. Until one night, on the way to a late-night toilet trip, I’d heard some muffled noises coming from his room. It turned out my brother did cry, just not in front of us.
At the time, it had taken all the self-control I instilled within myself not to cry along with him. Wanting to cheer him up, I told him my own mantra to stick by—live your life with no regrets. The very same mantra I’d said to Aiden.
I was such a hypocrite. When was the last time I’d followed that mantra? How had I forgotten why I’d made such a mantra in the first place? Dad had lost his life too early. When it came down to it, I didn’t want to leave this world knowing I wasn’t fully satisfied with what I’d done.
“It’s not too late to start living your life with no regrets,” Max said.
Was that true? Look at the huge mess I’d gotten myself into. And not just with my job. With my whole life in general.
“What do you think Dad would say now if I told him I’ve messed things up?” I asked Max.
“He’d probably tell you you’re overthinking it like Ma does. That you should take it one step at a time, or just throw the bad buns out and start over again with a clean kitchen bench.”
I gaped at him, completely stunned. That did sound exactly like something Dad would’ve said.
Max scratched his chin. “What? I spent a lot of time thinking about things he’d say to me after I failed classes in uni. Sometimes I even imagined the advice in his voice.”
I could relate to that. “I used to spend a lot of time thinking about what he would say to me too. Every time I did though, it just made me remember what he made me promise him.” I hiccupped, suppressing my urge to cry some more.
“Didn’t you promise him you’d study hard? Pretty sure you passed that without a problem.”
“It wasn’t just that.” I clamped my eyes shut, forcing myself to recall those words that held so much power over me. “‘Study hard, be happy.’ That’s what he asked me to promise him.”
“So,” Max said, “you’re finally admitting that your crazy overtime at work isn’t making you happy.”
“Of course I’m not happy about it, but it’s part of my job. What else can I do?”
“To be happy? I think I know what Ba would’ve said to that.”
“What would he have said?” I wanted his advice now more than ever.
Max patted my blanket-padded body. “It’s better if I show you.”
I stood beside Max, crinkling my nose at the usual clutter littering his bedroom desk. A notepad full of scribbles, used tissues, and a whole lot of I-didn’t-even-want-to-know. I resisted the impulse to clean it all up for him and focused on the culprit of the mess.
My brother slouched forward in his chair, click-clicking away with his computer mouse. “Found it!” He double-clicked a video file icon with a series of numbers as the title. I caught a glimpse of the tiny thumbnail—our bakery kitchen?—before a new window materialised on the screen.
Background noise came out of the computer speakers, followed by a familiar voice that made my body freeze.
“Ah, look at you. Already helping Baba,” Dad said in Cantonese.
Mini-me, perhaps five or six years old, leaned over a bench in the downstairs bakery kitchen. I stood on top of a wooden stool, waving a cooking brush in the air, the bristles soaked in egg wash. “When I grow up, I’m going to sell all the bao,” I declared, referring to the Cantonese name for buns, my cheeks puffing out in pride.
“Then I can retire earlier.” Dad laughed, lifting me off the stool and spinning me around in a circle. I let out a loud squeal of delight.
When he set me down, I lifted my gaze up to look at him.
Although I didn’t remember this moment, I could almost feel everything I would’ve felt in that instant. Love. Admiration. A desire to please. “I want to be as good as you, Daddy.”
Dad ruffled mini-me’s hair. “You will be. All you need to do is practice. You’re so smart, you could be anything you want to be.” He swiped the cooking brush from my hand and dabbed at a tray of pineapple buns on the bench, possessing the same baking grace and poise as in my memories.
A familiar ache weighed heavily on my chest.
Max hit pause on the video. “And there you have it.”
“I remember recording that.” I turned around to see Mum lingering in the doorway, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I took it the day your baba finally let you help out in the kitchen. You impressed him by how quickly you learned everything. But most of all, he loved how it made you happy. Your happiness was his happiness.”
My happiness was his happiness.
What Mum said was true. I’d been too blindsided by my promise to Dad to realise that.
Study hard, be happy.
I had taken his promise at face value, falsely believing I had to achieve academic greatness to make Dad proud. Then I’d never achieved the second, more important part of my promise to him.
Be happy.
“Is it too late to do things the right way?”
“It’s never too late,” Mum said. “Nothing is ever too late, so long as you’re living.”
“That’s right.” Max swivelled around in his chair to face us, his eyes shining bright. He took off his glasses and
rubbed his eyes. “Ba would want you to live your life to the fullest. To do what you want.”
I looked at Mum. “I thought you wanted me to study law. I didn’t want to disappoint you or make you stressed.”
Her reddened eyes turned sorrowful. “Oh, sweetie. I never would’ve pushed you so hard if I knew this was how you’d feel. I just wanted you to have a good, stable job so you wouldn’t have such a hard life like your baba and I did. If there’s something else you really want to do, then you should do it. You’re a smart girl. You can do anything you put your mind to.”
Part of my worries thawed away at her declaration, but uncertainty still lingered. “What if something I want turns out to be a big mistake?”
Mum folded her arms, and her eyes sharpened. “It’s called creating chances for yourself, Serendipity Tsang. I didn’t raise you to be such a scaredy-cat.” She closed in on me, brushing off a flyaway hair from my face. Tracing her fingers along my cheek, she stopped to tap my nose. “It’s half the reason why I chose your name. Good things happen by chance, but sometimes those chances don’t happen unless you’re willing to take risks.”
I let her admission sink in. “That’s how you met Dad, isn’t it?” By pure chance. A pang of longing shot through me, and I clutched my chest. “Can we go through his scrapbook?”
Mum pursed her lips in contemplation. She’d put together a scrapbook of specially selected photos after Dad passed away. A sort of physical commemoration of his life. Of who he’d been. Of what he’d achieved. Whenever one of us had a hard day, we’d take the album out to reminisce.
“Okay,” Mum said at last.
We followed her to the living room where she rummaged through the cupboard and retrieved the scrapbook. Settling onto the sofa next to her, with Max on her other side, she flipped through each page, telling us the story behind each photo. “This is when he first came to Australia from Hong Kong. He was twelve.” The photo featured a smiling boy wearing a school uniform. She recalled everything Dad had told her of his childhood. How it was hard for him to learn English, but he befriended several kids at school over a game of tennis during sports class. How he kept up that same passion for tennis for the rest of his life, becoming an avid tennis fan and taking us to see the Australian Open almost every year.
Many photos later, we reached a page with a photo of him in a chef’s hat. It was my favourite story—how Dad met Mum while working at a Chinese restaurant. “He was so friendly. Too friendly. I thought he was too good to be true at first,” Mum said.
We’d heard the story before, but we still loved to hear it anyway. About how Dad had asked her out after a week of knowing her as one of the waitresses at a small restaurant.
“I said no since I didn’t really know him, but he didn’t give up. He asked me again a month later.” From the smile on her face, she didn’t need to clarify that she’d said yes that time. “He said he liked me because I was funny. I acted very ‘Aussie’ but at the same time I acted very Chinese.” Mum had moved to Australia from Hong Kong when she’d been five years old, so she’d grown up more fluent in English than Dad.
The most interesting part though centred on the fact that it all happened based on several chances. Or as Mum loved to call it—serendipity. “He was only there to temporarily cover for another chef who’d been badly burned the week before. I almost wasn’t going to work there either. I had a bad experience with my manager at the restaurant I worked at, so my friend offered me a job at her family restaurant instead. And that’s how I met your baba.”
The story reminded me of her words from earlier.
It’s called creating chances for yourself… Sometimes those chances don’t happen unless you’re willing to take risks.
That night in bed, my thumb hovered hesitantly over my phone, one sentence typed out and ready to be sent.
Can we talk?
Short and simple.
If I was to overcome all my regrets and live a life Dad could be proud of, I had to tackle the biggest regret in my life first. It was time to risk it all and create a chance for myself. A chance to right my wrongs.
With a huge gulp, I pressed the send button before I could change my mind.
Chapter 26
You can do this. You’re not walking to your death. My stomach roiled non-stop as if to convince me otherwise. It felt like someone was whisking egg whites at maximum speed inside me. I didn’t usually get so easily nauseous, but the mere thought of what I was about to do made an acidic taste rise in my throat.
I swallowed it down and inhaled deeply through my nose. Take it easy, Sere. Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out.
I continued the calming routine as I pushed open the door to the cafe. On my next inhalation, the scent of coffee hit my nostrils full force. I salivated over the smell saturating the air, grateful for a distraction while I mentally braced myself. Finally, when I felt confident that I wouldn’t run away, I took a tentative step forward and let the door swing shut behind me.
My gaze scanned over the area. The cafe had a very nature-esque theme to it. Potted plants sat on the small window ledges, and fake vines climbed the wooden beams and poles. But it also seemed modern with its round, white tables and matching chairs. Most of the seats were unoccupied, which naturally drew my attention to the only person sitting alone at a table.
I slowly made my way over, repeating the same chant as before in my head.
You can do this, you can do this, you can—
“Sere.”
My former best friend leapt up from her seat as soon as she saw me. If we’d still been close, I would’ve teased her for the worried expression on her face. She looked like she’d been told her favourite tennis player was possibly retiring. Which would probably be true if her favourite player was Aiden Andale.
At that thought, my anxiety increased twofold. One step at a time, Sere.
“Hey, Liz.” I lifted a hand in greeting. The action made the plastic bag around my arm smack me, reminding me of its existence. I extracted it from my arm and offered it to her. “Here. This is for you.”
“Thanks.” She opened the bag and peered inside it. “Egg tarts?”
“Yeah. Your favourite.” A peace offering. I hadn’t been certain what her reaction would be to seeing me, despite her agreeing to meet up. Since she’d tried instigating so many conversations by messaging me, I had high hopes that we could talk this out as two mature people. But honestly, I wasn’t sure what to expect from others nowadays. And from the slightly bemused look on Liz’s face, I wasn’t sure if my offering had worked either.
“So, it’s been a while,” she said.
“Uh. Yeah. A while.” That was putting it mildly. She looked completely different from the last time I’d seen her. Her hair was cropped short in a pixie hairstyle, a far cry from its previous below-the-shoulder state. “How’ve you been?”
She stared at me, unblinking, and I shrunk under her penetrating gaze. “How have I been?” She placed her hands on her hips in her infamous Judgy Liz look. “You mean, besides you ignoring me for more than a year? Not too bad, I suppose.”
I winced. Of course Liz wouldn’t beat around the bush. She’d crash headlong into it and stuff the consequences, thorns, scrapes, and all. That was her. “Yeah, about that…” I’d gone through a dozen practice sentences in my head, but they didn’t sound appropriate now that I was here. She would only accept something as straight as her own blunt words.
Just as well it was her that ended up breaking the ice for me. “Look, I get it,” she said. “I was an idiot. I should’ve been the first person to tell you when it happened. But I didn’t know how to. It wasn’t exactly a nice topic. And I know you may disagree, but you were better off without him.”
“I know. You always made it perfectly clear you didn’t think we were a good couple.” A year ago, I would’ve uttered this with hatred boiling inside me. Now, thinking about what had happened only evoked a small twinge of pain within me instead. I was no longer consumed by
it. No longer wishing for karma to hit everyone who I thought deserved it. Weirdly enough, I was curious to know what happened since that dreaded day everything had gone wrong. “How is Jeremy anyway?”
Liz’s eyebrows hitched up high. “Do you really want to know?”
I blew out a breath. “Not really.” I didn’t know when it happened, but I’d stopped thinking about him. My thoughts nowadays were thankfully all Jeremy-free. What a shame it couldn’t be free of a certain pro tennis player too.
“Yeah, I gathered you had more important things to talk about.” Liz pointed in the direction of the cashier. “Why don’t we get something to drink first?”
“Sure. Sounds good.” Moreover, it gave me time to think about how to best explain my reason for contacting her.
After ordering an iced coffee, I took it back to the table and slid into the chair opposite Liz.
She took a sip from her cappuccino. “So what did you want to talk about?”
I followed suit, gulping down some of my iced coffee. The heady dose of caffeine eased the trepidation swirling in my stomach, the coolness of the drink waking my senses. Clearing my throat, I finally found my voice. “I want to apologise.” My thumb stroked along my smooth glass cup. “It’s just that—I, uh…” Though I’d spent hours in bed rehearsing what I would say, all the words tangled on the tip of my tongue, a jumbled mess of nonsense.
Liz rested her elbows on the table, tucking her chin in her hands. “What exactly are you apologising for? For ignoring all my messages?”
“No.” I forced myself to look straight at her. “It’s just—I don’t want us to hate each other anymore. I’ve realised life’s too short for us to hold onto hate.”
“Wait.” A wrinkle formed between her brows. “I get why you would hate me,” she said slowly, “but why would you think I hate you?”
“Because of what I said that day.” There was no need to clarify when “that day” was. We both knew. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it.” I didn’t add that most of that time had been spent playing the victim. It was only after Max reminded me of my mantra yesterday that it dawned on me—I wasn’t living my life with no regrets.
Chances for Serendipity Page 20