Natalie Tan's Book of Luck and Fortune

by Roselle Lim

  Daniel slid his arms around my waist before lowering his head to kiss me.

  The bite of the red chilies from the sauce lingered on his lips. He tasted like everything I always wanted and needed. While I drowned in his kisses, a glowing warmth radiated from our skin, sending tiny bursts outward like a Fourth of July sparkler.

  If this was love, let me disintegrate into a thousand beams of light in the night sky.

  * * *

  After the early dinner, I returned to the apartment humming the tune the birds had sung as Daniel and I walked in the park. I dropped off my purse and picked up the cat, holding her against me in a joyful dance.

  “I really like him, Meimei,” I whispered to the purring ball of fur against my neck. “He’s wonderful. I know you’ll like him, too, when you finally meet him.”

  The cat kept purring.

  “I’ll figure out a date. It’ll be soon, I promise.”

  A sharp argument drew my attention to the street below. I moved toward the windows.

  The Chius.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Out on the street, I heard them before I saw them.

  The Chius stood arguing outside of their store. Miniature firecrackers popped in the air. I ducked out of view but couldn’t help wincing from the explosions.

  Mr. Chiu placed his hands on his hips. “Come home, Anita. This is ridiculous. You can’t keep staying out of the house because we’re quarreling.”

  “You don’t love me enough.” Mrs. Chiu wagged her finger at her husband. “I have sacrificed so much for you because I love you. You say you love me more, then show me!”

  “How can I show you if you won’t come home?”

  “What have you given up?” She reached out to her husband and tugged on his sleeve. “I always set aside my needs to accommodate yours. When was the last time I visited my family in Buffalo?”

  He pulled his arm away. “You never asked. I thought you—”

  “Do I have to ask, Wayne? I haven’t seen them in over five years. You know they can’t come to visit me because it’s too expensive. I missed my nephew’s graduation from law school, my niece’s wedding, and my sister . . . When she was sick, I couldn’t go to her side.” She sobbed. “If you loved me as much as you claim to, you would put me first every once in a while.”

  “How can you question my love for you? How can you doubt our marriage?” Mr. Chiu covered his eyes. “This isn’t a matter of checks and balances. You don’t quantify love.”

  “Easy to say when you’re not the one always at a deficit. I’m the one with the shortfall. Me. And this is why I’m not coming home.” Mrs. Chiu balled her fists and walked away, leaving her husband alone to collect himself.

  Fine lines formed under Mr. Chiu’s loafers. They spread out in tiny cracks, chipping away at the smooth surface of the sidewalk. The fractures branched out in a spiderweb formation, a miniature earthquake without the seismic vibrations, carving out the hardened concrete as if it were made of candy glass. The lines stretched onto another block of sidewalk, then another, until it reached the road and stopped.

  Mr. Chiu retreated into his store.

  The scars on the sidewalk lingered, an ugliness marring what was once something smooth and whole. What was happening with Laolao’s recipe? It was supposed to help my neighbors. I had followed the recipe to the letter. I had seen it work.

  Celia had been fine. Were the Chius the outliers? What about Older Shen? Why was this happening? I thought the recipes worked. I wondered whether Miss Yu had placed her confidence in the wrong person.

  Miss Yu. She would be the perfect person to help me.

  I rushed to the tea shop and yanked on the door handle. It rattled, but didn’t budge. Locked. A handwritten sign was taped to the glass: “Out for the day.” I leaned against the locked door and sighed. The grayness of the neighborhood was spreading, enveloping everything with a nothingness. I rubbed my eyes, but the blur lingered, rubbing out the details: the mortar between the bricks, the art deco architectural features, even the dragons on the lampposts. They were vanishing.

  We were vanishing.

  I ran toward Older Shen’s bookstore to check on him.

  * * *

  The bookstore was empty. The recent bustle of repairs had stopped: no sign of tools or paint cans anywhere. New recessed lighting installed in the ceiling illuminated bare shelving while the walls sported a deeper, richer hue of turquoise than I had seen last. The store was perfect except for the alarming lack of books. Paperbacks, journals, magazines, newspapers, even community newsletters had disappeared.

  Older Shen stood beside the counter. He toyed with his phone, swiping and clicking as if wielding a remote control for a nonexistent flat-screen. A heavy cast wrapped around his left calf, and a pair of crutches was under his arms.

  “Mr. Shen, what happened?” I asked.

  He glanced up and pointed at the cast. “Hello, Natalie. Ah, you mean this?”

  I nodded. My stomach wobbled as blood rushed to my cheeks. Had I caused this like I had the Chius’ separation?

  “Renovations. Recessed lighting adds more value than the fluorescent lighting.” He set his phone aside. “I also changed the color of the wall. It needed to be bolder. Much more appealing, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, your customers will love this.”

  He leaned over, holding a hand beside his mouth, and mock whispered, “It’s not for the customers.”

  My stomach lurched, pitching forward as if I were on a roller coaster, heading for a precipitous descent. “Who is it for?”

  “Prospective buyers! I’ve been checking over the listings for commercial buildings. The prices have gone up, and I could sell this place for a lot more than I ever hoped for. Ms. Minnows has been very helpful. I can retire in style and travel the world like I’ve always wanted to do.”

  Melody Minnows. It was as I feared. If Older Shen sold the business, his store would be the foothold for those who wanted to gentrify us, converting the building to office space or overpriced condos. Once one business owner sold, more would follow until this neighborhood died. The community derived its strength from being whole. Like the Dragon’s Gate, Older Shen and the others were intrinsic to this street.

  “Mr. Shen, you can’t listen to Ms. Minnows. She may not have your best interests or the community’s interest in mind,” I said.

  Older Shen looked around. “For years, I’ve been tethered to this place. Perhaps it’s time to move on, to try something new, and see what else is out there.” He nodded. “Change can be good, right?”

  “Sometimes, but I think you’re making a mistake. You said you wanted to improve your business, and the changes you’ve proposed will make it better. Besides, don’t you want to be here to see the results of your efforts?”

  His brow furrowed. “It’s easier to sell. Why struggle when there is a better way? There is no pride in eking out a living. Longevity isn’t admirable if it’s a result of mediocrity. Haven’t we all been the same way? The neighborhood has been struggling for decades. It was never the same once your laolao died and the restaurant closed. The tourists dried up. Why stay if it means financial ruin and misery?”

  “I still have hope that things are meant to turn out better. Isn’t it more commendable to fight than give up?”

  “Perhaps, but it’s time to start thinking about myself and not what everyone else thinks is best for me. I can walk away a rich man, and after years of hard work, I deserve it. It’s wiser to know when to walk away.”

  His words burrowed into my being. Walking away was my modus operandi.

  I understood what it was like to need freedom. I would be a hypocrite to argue, so I kept my silence.

  “I’m sorry I’ve upset you,” he said. “Sometimes, there are things you just can’t prevent from happening: natural disasters, death, economic downturns. Yo
u do what you need to do to survive and adapt. Ms. Minnows says the sale will increase all of our property values. A business is a tricky thing, as you will see soon enough when you run the restaurant.”

  How could I tell him that his decision to sell his bookstore on Ms. Minnows’s advice had shattered my dreams of opening? How selfish was I that I only wanted him to stay for all the wrong reasons when he should have the right to choose what was best for himself?

  Had I helped the neighbors with the solution that I’d wanted for them instead of what they actually needed?

  All I knew for sure was that now I had failed both the Chius and him, three of the people I had chosen to help. This wasn’t what I had intended. “I—”

  Ms. Minnows entered in a pink version of her power suit. She greeted Older Shen with a pair of air kisses on the cheek. “Oh, Fai, you did a really good job finishing up the space. And I have excellent news. Three start-up firms contacted me with interest. We may even have a bidding war. And if you can get your brother to sell, we can add more to the pot.” She turned to me. “Or you, Ms. Tan. The more properties I sell on this street, the bigger the price tag and appeal for these companies. We can call it an innovation park!”

  I leveled a glare at her, one Ma-ma had often used when she suspected I was lying. “Right. Because a tech campus is what the paifang represents. Nothing says Chinatown like a bunch of overpriced condos and office space.”

  “It’s going to infuse money back into the neighborhood. Do you prefer that the buildings die and be demolished? At least this way, it will be better off.”

  “They’ll never demolish the paifang.”

  “Well . . . the gate would stay. It’s a landmark after all,” she responded with a robotic smile. “Your people will have the rest of Chinatown.”

  “Yes, my people will always have Chinatown. We haven’t quite been driven out yet.” I turned to Older Shen and tipped my head. “Please consider my words, Mr. Shen. This doesn’t feel right. There must be another way.”

  I made my way out of the bookstore without looking back.

  As I walked away, I realized I couldn’t do anything about Older Shen selling, nor was it my place to tell him not to. I wished he could find someone better to sell to. Ms. Minnows was right about the skyrocketing real estate market in San Francisco: Older Shen would have offers for the building in no time, but if he sold, what would prevent the rest of the neighbors from doing the same?

  Older Shen had broken his leg. Mrs. Chiu had moved out with the threat of divorce. Had Laolao ever failed this way? She had helped so many people in her time with no disastrous results, at least none that I’d heard of.

  Did Laolao’s recipes have staying power because her roots to the community were deeper than mine? Would my attempts at her recipes always fail or be temporary at best? Ma-ma had told me once that I would never cook as well as Laolao. Why had I thought I could do this?

  I realized suddenly that I’d toyed with people’s lives for my own personal gain. Asking Older Shen to stay because I needed to open the restaurant would be wrong. Worse, it was the same as asking the Chius to save their marriage; not for themselves, but for me. My intentions were good, but my motivations had not been so pure or altruistic.

  My doubts billowed as dark as the clouds overhead. An ominous rumble echoed in the distance, the briefest of warnings before the rain descended. Fat droplets pelted my hair, soaking my white sundress and leather sandals. Unrelenting droplets heaved from the sky, soaking everything in sight, the gutters, the newly formed cracks in the sidewalk, painting everything in tones of gray.

  I ran home through the downpour.

  Laolao’s recipes were backfiring, and I had to find out why.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Meimei greeted me at the door and meowed to be picked up. I had gotten used to carrying her, and it seemed she preferred this mode of transportation to walking. She purred in my arms: soothing, rolling vibrations that traveled under my skin and mimicked the thunder outside. Even after only a short time, I loved her and I couldn’t think of my life without her. She must have given Ma-ma so much comfort and love.

  I carried Meimei to the sofa and held her up so we were eye to eye. “What are we going to do about the neighbors? Everything is falling apart and I’m responsible for all of it. I have to help them.”

  The cat mewed.

  “Because . . .” I sighed. “It’s the right thing to do and they’re good people.”

  The cat mewed once more, her musical voice ending on a high note as if she were asking a question.

  “They aren’t strangers anymore. They helped Ma-ma while I was gone and stood by me at her funeral. They’re supporting me with the restaurant. They’re my neighbors and I care about them.”

  I read over my grandmother’s book feverishly, unable to find any disclaimers. I had followed the instructions to the letter and had seen the immediate results. Those who’d eaten the food had remarked that I’d nailed Laolao’s recipes. What had I done wrong? Was I not a good enough cook?

  My fingers lingered on the ragged edges in the book. When reading through the recipes the first time, I had noticed the three missing pages and wondered what they contained. Could the damage be related to the disasters I’d caused? I didn’t know, and I felt a stab of pain as I realized I couldn’t ask Ma-ma and Laolao about it—they were gone.

  No matter how many times I checked, there were no clear answers in the book, no recipe to undo what I had done. But if I didn’t find the solution soon, I feared it meant impending doom for Celia. What would happen to her because of my ineptitude?

  I spent half an hour peering through the apartment windows, stalking Celia’s gift shop, indecisive. She had mentioned conducting meetings with tour operators. Would she be safe? Someone was arguing outside.

  Again.

  My stomach clenched, as did my jaw. I moved to the windows to investigate. The squabble grew louder until I could make out the words.

  “No, you can’t do this to me!”

  Celia.

  “I am not obligated to refund your fees.” The stranger in a faded tee and jeans crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s in the contract.”

  “That’s five thousand I can’t afford to lose,” Celia pleaded. “This is a scam. You can’t do this.”

  “And what are you going to do about it?” He raised his arms in the air and made a rude gesture before walking away.

  Celia’s shoulders undulated, bobbing up and down in tandem with each sob. She dashed to her building and slammed the door.

  And just like that, my last good deed fell apart. My heart ached for Celia. Something was definitely going wrong with my versions of Laolao’s recipes. The initial effects were exactly as described in the book, but the conclusions were going sour. Somehow, the magic was being corrupted and I had no idea why. I might not have bargained for the aftershocks, but I was the one using the recipes.

  I’d done this.

  I needed to claim responsibility no matter the consequences. Celia would be blaming herself right now, and that wasn’t fair or right.

  Grabbing my purse, I headed to Celia’s, armed with the truth and the acceptance of the censure that would come along with it.

  When I arrived, Celia was in the midst of drowning her sorrows in a pile of barbecued pork buns. Judging by the number of crumpled papers, she was working on bun number four. I joined her at the kitchen table. “Help yourself,” she sniffled. Celia’s high standards had demanded one dozen of the best pork buns in Chinatown as comfort food. I picked up a bun, squeezing it with my fingers and watching it spring back against my palm. I bit into the soft, steamed bread, the sweet, saucy filling of minced pork belly dripping onto my tongue. I devoured the rest of the bun and soon another, and another. The palm-size buns vanished into my stomach but failed to assuage the uneasiness in it.

  She sniffed. “Is
it horrible that I thought I’d get ahead even if it was only for a little while? I was doing so well. The tour operator promised me more than he was able to deliver. I should have gone with the others with better reputations, but I gambled. I was too greedy. He was probably right. I’m old and foolish.”

  “You’re not.” I swallowed. “It’s my fault. All of it.”

  Celia set her half-eaten bun down. “It’s not like you pushed me into signing a sketchy contract.”

  The truth was a tricky creature. It was lauded and respected, yet heartbreak, sorrow, and betrayal were among its followers. I had to tell Celia about my meddling now.

  “I used Laolao’s recipes to give you extra luck,” I confessed. “I’m sorry that it turned out so horribly. I know you never asked me to. I thought I was helping you.”

  Celia’s face was a kaleidoscope of emotions, shifting from realization to embarrassment to rage. Hands balled into fists at her side, her flushed visage contorted into a grimace.

  Anger was unpredictable: the length of the wick and the force of the explosion varied per person. Ma-ma’s wick had been forged in camphor and bitterness. Coiled for months, it waited for its timed detonation every year in the middle of June when she slammed cupboard doors and stomped until the floorboards creaked. I’d never asked why, for it was obvious. I knew my mother and I had directed our anger at the same target—my absentee father. June was the month he had left her.

  Ma-ma had once said that you never truly knew a person until you’d seen them angry.

  “I trusted you!” Celia’s voice was a low hiss, like a mother chastising her misbehaving child in public. “I said I didn’t want you to help me. We spoke about your recipes. You manipulated and used me. How many times could you have told me but chose to remain silent?”

  I didn’t answer. Nothing I could say would lessen her pain.

  “I thought we were friends, but all this time, I was nothing but a pawn in your quest to open your restaurant. Like the others! You don’t care about us. You’re just like Melody Minnows!”