by Roselle Lim
“Now I want to help you. I want to repay the debt. Is there anything you need help with?” he asked.
“Yes, yes, there is,” I confessed. “I’m afraid I’ll self-sabotage this wonderful thing with someone special.”
He took off his flat cap and placed it on the counter.
“Is it possible that the past can repeat itself?” I asked. “I have a date with Daniel. I’m thrilled, but also afraid of committing past sins. Once I caused a great deal of pain to a good man, and now it’s almost like I don’t feel worthy of this new relationship.”
“Everyone is worthy and deserving of love. Look at me! My wife is talking to me again, and I thought I had screwed up my marriage a long time ago. You’ve proven there is always hope for redemption.” He asked, “What happened?”
“I was afraid and I left Emilio at the altar. I can never forgive myself for the pain I caused him,” I replied. “What if I’m not meant to be in love because I hurt the one I’m supposed to care about?”
“I sincerely doubt that.” Mr. Kuk Wah stroked the stubble along his jaw. “I’d like to think you have learned from your mistakes. We all do. That’s the only good outcome from making mistakes, isn’t it?”
“Is it fair that I ruined Emilio’s life, yet I get a second chance at happiness with Daniel?”
“It’s not mutually exclusive. I understand that we Chinese love misery and self-flagellation, but we also should seek every scrap of joy we can get. Allow me to put it this way: would you want Daniel to suffer because of this Emilio?”
I snorted. “Of course not.”
“Then go on your date. You will solve their problems afterward,” he advised. “Have some happiness for yourself. Go on your date, Xiao Niao.”
“I will.” I was nervous, but I would try. It seemed to be the time for new beginnings.
“If you need further advice, I will ask my wife. She has always been wiser than I will ever be. She’ll think of something.”
I smiled. “I’m glad she’s talking to you again.”
Mr. Kuk Wah was right. My opportunity to alter the course of my romantic life was in a few days, and I needed to make the most of it.
Chapter Fifteen
I left my dark hair down in thick waves and chose a strapless, bohemian maxidress. It was a feminine piece Celia had picked out. If I ever needed to go shopping again, I’d ask her to come with me. Her eye for fashion was unparalleled. I finished the outfit with a pair of plain gold earrings, matching bangles, and gladiator sandals.
The cat loved the bangles and the sound they made as they shifted on my arm.
I refilled her food and water bowls before heading downstairs to the restaurant to wait for Daniel.
He arrived five minutes before noon. My heart jumped when I saw the smile on his face. Daniel carried a bouquet of powder pink peonies. His outfit today was a crisp, long-sleeved plaid shirt over a solid white tee and dark jeans. If his clothes were ever drying on the line, it would be a dream to bury my face in the fabric, inhaling his intoxicating scent of chocolate, spearmint, and coffee.
I opened the door.
“Hi.” His dark eyes drank me in. “These are for you.” He handed me the bouquet.
“Thank you.” I lowered my face into the soft petals. “How did you know I love these?” I placed the flowers in an empty vase I found in the restaurant’s kitchen before grabbing my purse from the counter.
“I was torn between these or hydrangeas. I wanted something big, lots of petals: what a cloud would look like in flower form. You can imagine how the florist reacted when I described it.” His sheepish grin caused me to smile.
“Why clouds?” I asked.
“Because you belong in the sky among the stars.”
My feet floated off the ground as we walked outside. There was an earnestness about him that seemed to stem from the conviction with which he approached life. Daniel seemed to have a steady compass, one I both envied and admired.
“Where are we going?” I asked, locking up.
“To an art gallery. My friend has an exhibit, and judging by the way you loved the flowers, I hope you’ll enjoy it.”
An art gallery. Ma-ma mentioned once that her first date with my father had been in the same setting after I told her our fourth-grade class had a field trip to the art museum. It had started there and ended in the destruction of my parents’ marriage. A sense of foreboding tugged at me, but I brushed it away. I needed to trust the man who held my hand and whose eyes gazed at me with such care.
He drove us to our destination in the Marina District. Pockets of blue from the bay were reflected in the windows of the small building. Inside, there were swatches of sheer white fabric concealing the view of the exhibition sign, which read: “Petals: An exhibition by Swapna Mehta.”
Daniel held the door open for me as we headed inside. The interior was cooler than I had expected. Daniel removed his overshirt and settled it on my shoulders. I was enveloped by the warmth from his body heat and comforting scent.
“You forgot, didn’t you?” A petite, Indian American woman with a dazzling smile walked over and gave Daniel a playful smack on the arm. “I told you on the phone to make sure she brings a sweater.”
He smiled and introduced me. “Swapna, this is Natalie. Natalie, this is Swapna, the artist herself.”
Swapna extended her hand. Her dark eyes sparkled. She wore a long, aqua knit sweater over white culottes. Very artsy and lovely. “Pleasure to meet you. Daniel said the nicest things about you.”
I couldn’t stop the fountain of glee from bubbling inside me. He had been thinking of me as much as I had of him. I shook her hand. “Nice to meet you as well.”
“The exhibit is pretty straightforward. You’ll understand soon why we have to keep it cold in here.” She waved to someone by the entrance. “I’m sorry, I have to go. I hope you two enjoy yourselves.”
Daniel and I entered the first room. I gasped. On the largest wall, pressed between circular sheets of glass, were petals of every color imaginable forming a mandala. The explosion of colors complemented the complexity of the arrangement. The air was filled with the heady smell of a full, floral garden.
“It’s so beautiful,” I said.
Daniel walked alongside me. “Swapna knows what she’s doing. She went to the Rhode Island School of Design before moving here. She did this all herself. It took months of planning. Like you, she’s found her true calling. It’s amazing to see when that happens.”
“Running a restaurant is a lot more complicated than I thought.” I pulled my attention away from the mandala. “I feel like the odds are already stacked against me, but I think I have it under control. It would have been helpful if I had finished culinary school.”
“You can cook. Everything else, you can learn. Sure, papers, degrees, or certificates are great, but it’s not the only way to get things done. A few of my friends don’t have computer science degrees, yet they run very successful tech corporations.”
We walked to the next room. This installation was a floor rug made of petals. Alternating colors of purples and golds formed the main border while the field was an ombré sea of blues and fuchsias. A center medallion was composed of gold and scarlet tulips. The design reminded me of Islamic mosaics I’d seen in pictures of the Alhambra in Spain. Swapna’s palette was intensely vibrant.
The weight of my confession pressed against my better judgment. I shouldn’t have burdened Daniel with my worries. “I’m a horrible first date for dumping my problems on you. Please, just ignore what I said.”
“I want you to succeed in your restaurant. Of course, I’ll help.” His dark eyes bored into mine. “You care about this, so I care about this. It’s that simple.”
The third room showcased a rain shower. Blue hydrangea petals were suspended from the ceiling via invisible fishing lines, like raindrops. There must have been
thousands of them, and the effect was breathtaking. The sound of a gentle rain shower filtered through the stereo system. Magical.
“This is one of the most beautiful dates I’ve ever been on,” I said. “I never imagined flowers could be transformed this way.”
“Now you know why I had such a hard time finding the right experience for you. Three of those floral raindrops, I am responsible for. I had to learn how to sew on the fly. Swapna had me prove my friendship via needlework.”
We held hands and walked into the final room. Inside was a snow white wedding gown made of gardenia and rose petals. The twelve-foot-long train bisected the room, reminiscent of the central aisle of a church. The silhouette of the dress was the same shape I would have worn if I had married Emilio that day. Guilt punched me in the gut.
“Are you all right?” Daniel asked.
He must have noticed the change in my expression. I could have chosen to keep my mouth shut and remain silent, but I didn’t.
“It looks like the wedding dress I had. I was engaged once, but I never made it down the aisle.” I stopped. I never even had the chance to tell Ma-ma about it. At the time, I planned to tell her, and if I had gone through with it, we would have had a ceremony at the apartment for my mother’s sake. But the wedding never happened, and my guilt for keeping it from her disappeared along with a future I once envisioned. Had I made a mistake again in disclosing too much to Daniel too soon? Once revealed, the truth expanded, free of its cage. Trying to coax it back in was as futile as trying to shove toothpaste back into the tube.
“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked.
“I wasn’t ready. I should have told him how I felt before everything was set. If I could do it all over again, we’d take the relationship slower. I didn’t want to hurt him, but I did.”
“It’s in the past. You’re here now, and I for one am glad you didn’t get married. Things have a way of working out. A few months ago, I thought I’d be living in Seattle. I got a job offer there and was thinking of accepting it, but I didn’t. If I had, I wouldn’t have met you.”
“There’s something refreshing about living your life without regrets, isn’t there?” I asked.
“I agree. I never want to say the words ‘if only.’ It would mean that I’d missed out on something very important to me.”
He meant me. I was the important thing. Was this how Ma-ma had felt? Accepting love and feeling worthy of it? My mother knew she’d found her mate almost instantly. It had taken me a few more meetings, but I was coming to a similar conclusion. I could only hope that I didn’t screw this up somehow by running away.
* * *
After the art gallery, we headed in search of Daniel’s favorite food truck. He’d promised me the best cabeza tacos I’d ever taste. We grabbed two orders and two sodas before finding a picnic table near the water. The tacos were juicy and heavy on the cilantro, which I loved.
He leaned over and wiped a spot of sauce near my chin. “Good?”
“Very good,” I replied. “You know that I’m an only child. How about you?”
“One older sister. Alana lives in St. Paul with her wife, Helen. She’s a physiotherapist with her own clinic. They have two boys, Matty and Tim. I try to see them as much as I can. My parents moved to Minnesota to be closer to their grandkids. My sister tells me that I get custody of our parents when I have kids.”
I laughed. He sounded like he was quite close to his family despite their being thousands of miles away. Ma-ma would have loved him. “Do you want to have kids eventually?”
“I’d be happy with one or five. You?”
“I want a daughter. Anything more will be a blessing.”
He smiled. “A mini version of you would be adorable.”
I could get lost in his eyes and his words, the way sincerity rang through each look and compliment. I felt spoiled, like a child with carte blanche in a sweet shop. It was a foreign and exhilarating sensation.
“Why are you being so wonderful to me?” I asked him.
“Because you’re worth waiting for.”
Daniel leaned across the table. His handsome face hovered inches from mine. The air around us popped with bubbles, evanescent, floating like miniature balloons. The same kind that were populating the soda bottle by his hand.
I inched closer. The instant my lips touched his, the bubbles hovering in the air exploded into minuscule fireworks. The sound of fizzing erupted around us, waves and waves rising from the cool glass, bursting into stars. Bliss.
* * *
We walked along the waterfront and counted the boats in the marina.
I didn’t want the date to be over. I yearned to know more about this wonderful man who held my hand and my heart. “Why don’t I come over and cook you dinner?”
He smiled. “We’ll have to hit the grocery store beforehand. My fridge is pretty empty unless you count the random condiments and bottles of iced tea.”
“You can’t cook?” I feigned shock by pressing a hand to my chest.
“Mac and cheese. Out of the box. And possibly ramen. Even then, it’s touch and go.”
“Let’s go get supplies then. Prepare to be dazzled.”
He smiled at me. “I already am.”
* * *
After a trip to the nearest Asian supermarket, we headed for his condo. Daniel owned a two bedroom near Valencia Street in the Mission District close to his work. It was one of those narrow builds that had more levels than square footage. No wonder Daniel kept in great shape; he walked to work every day in addition to climbing stairs.
The clean and tidy spaces showed a minimalist aesthetic. Framed vintage sci-fi movie posters and the modern light fixtures added pockets of color. I lingered and studied the family pictures hanging against the wall by the staircases. The order of the shots was chronological, with the most recent ones taken at a family vacation in Hawaii. Daniel, his sister, her wife, their two kids, and his parents all sported sun-kissed smiles by the beach.
“I love that you’re close to your family.” I straightened one of the frames by tipping the bottom right corner down.
“I don’t know what I’d do without them. We all still take trips together every winter.” He set down a bag of groceries to point to a picture of his parents. “They’ve been married for thirty-three years. When my friends’ parents were divorcing, mine stayed united. I asked my dad about it, and he told me that it’s because he and Mom are a team. It explains why the childish tactic of asking the other one for a different answer never worked.”
“I wish my parents were like yours.” Envy coated my words the way powdered sugar clung to a beignet. “I loved my mother, but I never knew my father. He left us before I was born.”
“I’m sorry,” Daniel said.
“He made his choice. He’s out there in the world living his own life without a thought about what he left behind. I don’t know anything about him, not even his name, because Ma-ma never talked about him.”
“Your mother was a very strong woman. I wish I had had a chance to meet her.”
And with those words, the brief shadow of my father’s abandonment vanished in my mind. I smiled. “I think she would have liked you.”
“Maybe you’ll get to meet mine one day.”
The kitchen and dining area were on the second level. Daniel’s kitchen was empty of nutritional food, but like Celia’s cupboards, it was packed with snacks: roasted seaweed, potato chips, candy, cookies, chocolates, and sugared cereals.
I washed my hands at the sink. “Your nephews must love it when they come over.”
“Both my sister and mother are horrified at my diet. They’re very grateful I have a good income to make up for my deficiencies in the kitchen.”
He pointed me toward the cupboards that housed beautiful, pristine cookware: a set of pots, pans, even a roaster. I brought out a sm
all pot and a wok. “These are aspirational, aren’t they?”
“My mother insisted.” Daniel leaned against the counter. “I may have used the skillet once or twice in my attempt to cook eggs.”
“Since you’re here, you might as well help me cook. Maybe you’ll learn something.”
Like I had at Celia’s, I’d be cooking one of my own dishes, as the magical side effects were from Laolao’s recipes, not mine. At the supermarket, I decided to make classic comfort food: mapo tofu and fried eggplant with garlic sauce. The former was my idea and the latter Daniel’s request.
Daniel might not appreciate most of what his mother had bought him, but I was thankful for her generosity. The prospect of making a decent meal without proper tools and equipment was daunting.
After demonstrating how, I tasked him with chopping the eggplants. His dark brows furrowed as he approached the assignment with care. By the time he finished, I’d already started stir-frying the ground pork and chilies for the mapo tofu. We worked side by side, Daniel listening intently as I explained what I was doing. His thoughtful questions reflected his consumption of foodie documentaries, books, and articles.
“I’ve always been fascinated by the lack of measurements. It seems to be the common sign of a true chef.” He took out two large bowls and two plates from the upper cupboards. “My parents shared cooking duties. They made decent meals, but it was always from someone else’s recipes.”
I dipped a spoon into the spicy mapo tofu and blew across it to cool it down. “Here, taste.”
He hurried over to my side. “This is my favorite part.”
I slid the spoon through his parted lips. He let out a honeyed mmm.
“Good?”
“Not as good as the chef herself.”