by Roselle Lim
Acting on the same childish impulse one had when confronted by a pile of leaves, I leaned forward and blew on the mound. The dark shavings took the shape of tiny birds, soaring for a few inches before crumbling into gold dust. Delighted, I puffed my cheeks, expanded my lungs, then expelled my breath so that the rest of the pile took flight. A mass migration of miniature birds launched into the air, wings flapping, swirling into the space before disintegrating into specks of gold.
My joyous laughter signaled the rejuvenation.
* * *
My father was with Ma-ma now—his spirit at peace, and I knew they were both happy because they were together. Love was a powerful force. It made me think of Daniel.
My father had told me that time was the deciding factor. Over the years, love grew stronger while infatuation faded. Baba believed that Daniel would return and forgive me. Older Shen also encouraged me to pursue him.
There was still no response from Daniel.
I needed to find out for myself if he didn’t want to see me again.
Tomorrow, I’d cook dumplings and deliver them to his work after my meeting with Old Wu.
Once the restaurant was open, perhaps that would prove to Daniel I’d changed and was putting down roots. Otherwise, what reason would he have to believe my apology? Words weren’t as convincing as acts when it came to promises.
Exhaustion crept in, weighing down my limbs. I hadn’t realized how little sleep I’d had and how much had happened in the past few days. After sending a quick message to Celia, I settled onto the couch to binge-watch old musicals, where I ended up drifting into a long, deep slumber.
My dreams were happy that day. There were no demons or darkness. Instead, I pictured myself in the kitchen cooking with Laolao while Ma-ma and Baba and the cat danced to the music in the living room. The apartment overflowed with laughter and family. All of us under one roof.
* * *
I awoke to the beautiful voice of the erhu. It was faint, so faint that I thought I was still in a dream. I slipped off the sofa and followed my siren call.
The song of the erhu grew in strength, rising and falling, striking into familiar notes of “Sono andati?” I closed my eyes and followed the source while losing myself in the music. My feet found their way to Ma-ma’s bedroom.
I didn’t step across the threshold. My fingers touched the wooden doorframe, anchoring me, as I waited for the phantom song to end. The finality of the last note lingered in the air, giving way to silence that ushered in an overwhelming sense of loss.
Stepping inside, I opened my eyes. Something tickled my bare feet. Through the open window, sunlight bathed the room, illuminating a mountain of feathers from every hue of the rainbow: hundreds of them in all shapes and sizes littering the floor. I picked up a bright canary one, reveling in its sunny color. Another was as long as my forearm, snowy white, belonging to a swan. The largest was from an ostrich.
The shelves, where Ma-ma had kept her flock, were empty.
Ma-ma and her birds were free.
Baba was free.
And I was free.
Chapter Twenty-nine
My meetings with Old Wu at his restaurant were set weekly at nine in the morning.
I brought my homework for my first official meeting. My mentor waited for me at his special table. A pot of jasmine tea along with a platter of steamed chili turnip cakes populated the glass lazy Susan. He gestured for me to take a seat and spun the rotating disk so the teapot and the dish faced me.
I poured myself a cup of tea and helped myself to a modest portion. Rings of red chilies and sprinkles of minced green onion decorated the plump turnip cubes. I squeezed my chopsticks and took a nibble. The spiciness of the chilies complemented the creaminess of the turnip.
“The renovations are going well?” he asked.
The concert of hammering and sawing downstairs in my restaurant was soothing. The cat didn’t mind it either. She spent her time playing the game of tapping parts of the floor where the sound came from. The scent of cut lumber replaced the permeating smoke. Progress brought hope and new life to the scarred space.
“Yes, Lao Shi. Almost all of the damage has been cleaned up. I ordered the new gas stove and industrial fryer you recommended, and they should be delivered next week.”
Old Wu sipped his tea. “Have you given a thought about your seating plan? Do you want three tables or four?”
“Actually, two.” I brought out a sheet of paper from my laptop bag with a drawing of the restaurant’s layout. I placed the paper on the lazy Susan and spun it toward him. “I’d rather maximize the seats at the counter and make room for a bathroom.”
He picked up the design and studied it. “Ah, there is space then. It’s a better layout than before.”
“I found a way to incorporate it into the existing budget.”
Old Wu smiled. “Good, that was my next question.”
“How did Laolao manage all this? I’m thankful for the funding, but she started with nothing.”
“She bartered. Your grandmother’s skill in the kitchen was matched only by her negotiation tactics. She made shrewd deals with the shopkeepers at the market and her suppliers for the lowest prices. Pair that with her cooking, and she became profitable in a short amount of time.”
I nibbled on the story and savored it as if it were the piece of turnip cake between my chopsticks. “I really wish I had a chance to know her.”
“By reopening the restaurant, you are walking on her path and sharing in her experiences. I’d like to think that she’s watching over you as I am.” Old Wu checked his watch. “I have to get back to work. I will see you next week, Ye Ying.”
“Thank you, Lao Shi.”
“Think about your menu and start making a list.”
I gathered my papers and tucked them back into my bag. “I will.”
The meeting was about as long as I’d expected, since Old Wu was quite busy. This freed up the rest of my morning to prepare the dumplings I wanted to deliver to Daniel’s office on Mission Street. I wasn’t attempting bribery so much as I was determined to apologize in person.
I missed him.
The risk of being rejected was worth the chance of seeing him again.
* * *
I arrived at the Hearttech office on the sixteenth floor two hours later. I’d hoped to get there before the noon lunch hour. Clean lines, bright woods, and glass along with the same red logo on Daniel’s lanyard greeted me.
The receptionist was a perky, twentysomething Asian American named Jeanna with a sharp-angled pixie bob.
“Hi,” I said. “I have a delivery for Daniel Lee.”
Jeanna leaned forward. “Oh, that smells amazing. He always finds the best food. What did he order?”
“Special-order dumplings.” I lifted the lid a bit and gave her a peek. “I’m hoping I can take it to him, but if he’s busy, I’ll just leave it here.”
“Let me check if he’s in a meeting right now.” She picked up the phone. “Mr. Lee, there is a delivery here for you.” Jeanna hung up and smiled. “I can take you in.”
“Thank you,” I said.
She led me through a maze of open cubicles to a corner office. Everyone wore business-casual wear, similar to what I’d seen Daniel in when he visited me. The employees in their brightly decorated spaces seemed in good spirits. As we walked by, there were curious stares, but it wasn’t directed at me so much as it was at the box I held in my hands. The tantalizing aroma trail of the dumplings swiveled every head in the vicinity.
“You need to leave me your card or menu. I definitely want to check out the restaurant,” Jeanna whispered. “I’ll pass them on and you’ll get a bunch of us from work coming by.”
“It’s undergoing renovations right now. I’m hoping in a few months I’ll host the grand reopening.”
She slipped a
card into my hand and winked. “In that case, call me when you’re ready.”
We stopped at a door with Daniel’s name. He opened it before Jeanna had a chance to knock.
“Hi,” I said. “I brought you a snack.”
Daniel held the door open and I slipped inside. “Come in.”
The view from his modest office showed the city and its color palette of neighborhoods. A classic Lost in Space poster hung on the far wall along with a couple of family pictures, while a massive desk with dual screens dominated the space.
“I’m sorry. I came in person to apologize.” I handed him the box.
He placed it on his desk. “Thank you for the dumplings.”
His expression was unreadable. His dark eyes behind the glasses studied my face. I didn’t know whether I should stay or leave. He hadn’t acknowledged my apologies, and being near him again swept me away with longing.
“I wasn’t sure if you got my text.”
“I did. I needed time, Natalie.” He traced the lid of the dumpling box with his index finger. “I wasn’t sure if there was anything left to say after how we ended things. Up until now, I thought you had left.”
“I was going to leave, but I decided to stay. I found a mentor, and he’s a fixture in Chinatown’s business association. He’s helping me. I’m going to make it work.” I stepped toward him. “I also want to make us work.”
He didn’t move from his spot by his desk. “I don’t know if I do. I still need more time.”
My heart constricted. Tears collected in the corners of my eyes, and it took all of my will to keep them from falling. “I see.”
“It’s great that you’re back on track with the restaurant. You should focus on that. I wish you the best of luck . . .”
I nodded and slipped away, closing the door behind me.
As I made my way out of Hearttech’s offices, the dams of my disappointment and sorrow crumbled. I sobbed in the empty elevator for what I had feared I’d lost, but was now confirmed: Daniel.
Chapter Thirty
THREE AND A HALF MONTHS LATER
Color had returned to the neighborhood the way the silver screen once transitioned from black-and-white to Technicolor. The faded gray darkened, redefining the shapes and silhouettes of the alleys and architectural details until the buildings emerged from the dim. Reds came back first, bold, bright, the harbingers of fortune and luck, before ushering in the rest of the colors. The giant poster of Melody Minnows had been taken down when she left in search of other prey. San Francisco’s Chinatown was known for its vivacity, the heightened, ornate chinoiserie that beckoned to visitors.
My neighborhood was restored.
The cracks on the sidewalk from the Chius’ marital discord had healed into fine hairline fractures. When it came to the affairs of the human heart, a scar would still be left after the problem was mended, a physical reminder of survival and hope.
My restaurant underwent a transformation. The rock concert of electric drills, hammers, and band saws from the construction had tested my delicate sensibilities, but even I couldn’t deny the wondrous metamorphosis that had taken place downstairs.
At Old Wu’s suggestion, the galley kitchen had been widened to accommodate more than one person at a time. Shiny updated appliances were unwrapped from their plastic cocoons and readied for service. Slate replaced the chipped laminate wood of the long countertop, and fresh flowers filled the vases flanking the goddess, who now graced her own niche in the wall. The permits and licenses were displayed prominently. The renovation had been completed two days ago, and now the grand reopening was scheduled for tomorrow. I would open the restaurant to the public before closing early to cook ten courses—with the help of Old Wu—for a private neighborhood party.
I arrived at Old Wu’s restaurant for our weekly meeting ten minutes early. One minute longer and I would have been considered late. This wasn’t our usual time but, waving to the host, I let myself in, weaving through the crowded tables of the lunchtime rush to reach the table surrounded by folded screens.
My mentor sat with his stack of newspapers and his customary cup of jasmine tea. Baskets of dim sum rested on the glass lazy Susan: spicy phoenix claws, plump purses of har gow, shumai topped with green pea crowns, and airy wu gok.
I had learned from previous meetings that the old man was adamant about following tradition, which meant I had to arrive with an empty stomach. Refusing offered food was an insult Old Wu didn’t take lightly.
I helped myself to a sample of each dish. Made of minced pork with a paper-thin wrapper, the steamed shumai was tender, and the har gow was juicy with the shrimp with bamboo shoots highlighted by a peekaboo skin. Then I bit into the wu gok, a fried taro puff with a wispy, crunchy shell and a dripping shrimp and pork filling. The powdery creaminess of the dish made this my favorite of the bunch.
I wiped my mouth with the cloth napkin. “Good afternoon, Lao Shi.”
He glanced up from his newspaper and greeted me with a smile. “Are you ready for the grand reopening?”
“Yes,” I replied before listing the completed preparations for my mentor. “With all of that done, I’m still left with the decision of what to choose for the first daily special.”
The old man laughed. “I thought you were going with the duck. Have you changed your mind back to the shrimp and mushroom dish, Ye Ying?”
I winced and shook my head. “I want it to be perfect. Maybe I should serve both.”
“It is your restaurant and your decision. As it should be. You know what is best.”
The decision about the two dishes was the last detail I needed to confirm. Everything else was accounted for. I’d even hired and trained one assistant based on my mentor’s recommendation. Old Wu had insisted that the restaurant would soon be busy enough and someone needed to take care of the front of the house while I cooked.
“You still have the permit for our special party, yes?” he asked.
“It arrived two weeks ago. I made sure I filed before the ninety-day-window requirement. The neighborhood can’t wait to celebrate.”
“Good.” Old Wu reached under the table and withdrew a small, flat box wrapped in decorative red foil. He placed it on an empty spot on the glass and spun the revolving stand so that the gift arrived to where I was seated. I cleared my spot before pulling the present toward me.
“What is this? You’ve already sent a beautiful bouquet, Lao Shi.”
He shrugged. “Why not open it and find out?”
My fingers found the edges of the slippery foil, tugging it loose from the small pieces of tape. The present was roughly the size of a hardcover book, about two inches thick. I should have known that the old man would have something up his sleeve. The one takeaway lesson I’d learned from my mentorship was never to underestimate my teacher. The box underneath was simple but elegant with an etched lotus design.
I lifted the lid.
A familiar face with my eyes stared back at me from a picture frame, a black-and-white photograph of a woman with a determined brow and angular features. I had seen this woman before.
Laolao.
“Thank you,” I murmured. My throat tightened. “The only picture I had of her was claimed by the fire. Her book survived, but the memento didn’t. Up until this moment, I thought I had lost her face forever.”
“It is not right that you do not have a photograph of her for your family shrine. I believe that is the only surviving photograph of your grandmother. She belongs with you.”
“But—”
“Qiao lives on in here,” he said, pointing to his temple. “And in here.” He patted his chest. “I was a friend, but you are family, Ye Ying. There’s more.”
I checked the box and, at the bottom, found three sheets of paper. These were recipes written by Laolao’s hand: ones I hadn’t seen before. “What is this?”
“
These were given to me by Qiao. We developed those recipes together. They’re now yours. Consider this your graduation gift.”
I tried my best not to cry. The show of emotion might unnerve my mentor. Instead, I bowed my head and clutched the rosewood photo frame to my heart. “Thank you, Lao Shi.”
* * *
I returned home long enough to install my grandmother in her rightful place beside my mother in the family shrine and to give the cat a quick update before heading downstairs to the restaurant to take care of last-minute details, one of which included writing thank-you cards for the flowers I’d received for the grand reopening.
The dining room of the restaurant had been transformed into a tropical garden with its profusion of orchids, birds-of-paradise, yellow gold chrysanthemums, and Chinese roses. I closed my eyes and took in the heady fragrance combination. The Chius had sent a bouquet of chrysanthemums and red roses with two bright yellow banners. From Older Shen, an arrangement of bamboo with yellow gold chrysanthemums, and from Younger Shen, birds-of-paradise and Chinese roses. Old Wu had chosen a garland of Chinese roses along with a red and gold ribbon and banner wishing prosperity.
My neighbors. My community.
I smiled and returned to the task of finishing my note to Older Shen.
A sharp tap on the glass broke my attention.
Miss Yu stood before the door carrying pink orchids. Dressed in a cream shawl and a long blue sheath dress, she was resplendent. She had long since recovered from her concussion from that ill-fated dinner.
I opened the door and let her in.
“I can’t wait for the grand reopening and our party later on.” She leaned in to give me a quick peck on the cheek. “Congratulations, dear one. You have done it.”