Tina might hate volunteering here, but I don’t mind the manor that much. The yellow walls are cheerful, painted in the borders with sunflowers. There are little details all around meant to make it more welcoming to Chinese seniors: one wall where red decorative knots are displayed—some appear to be shaped like butterflies, others flowers. On another wall there’s a calligraphy scroll on which there is a good luck phrase bestowed upon the facility when it first opened eight years ago.

I let the cook in the kitchen know that I’m here, and she rolls out the snack cart for me. This is one of my jobs on Thursday afternoons—I make sure that I bring a snack to each of the residents and check whether they want to eat it in their room or if they want to join us in the common room for rec time.

There’s a list of restrictions already waiting for me, though I’ve memorized most of them over the past few months. The wheels clack on the floor every couple of seconds as I push it down the hall. This is normal. This is routine. Everything is as it should be. Nothing ever changes much in the manor, and I’m glad for it.

I knock on the doors of the rooms and call out today’s offerings. Cut-up pears in juice, almond cookies, lukewarm tea or soy milk. There are ten residents down each of the three halls, and a few of them are still asleep, enjoying their afternoon nap. I fill up the water in their cups as quietly as possible so I don’t disturb their rest. I leave one cookie for an uncle, who I know loves almond cookies and would be upset if he missed out. Some of the residents say hi to me as I wheel by, and tell me that they’re excited to hear me play.

After making my way down each of the hallways, I return to the kitchen to grab more snacks, then make my way to the common room. There are two tables of seniors already playing mahjong. I can hear the clicking and clacking of the tiles even before I walk through the door. A man curses as one of the other ladies cackles and drops her row of tiles, sweeping the table triumphantly. I don’t know much about how to play the game, other than the constant insults that fly back and forth as the tiles are shuffled together, their green backs facing skyward. They always offer to teach me, but whoever is in charge of me is usually quick to step in, telling them that they’re not allowed to gamble with minors, even though they only ever play for nickels and dimes.

Cindy, the rec therapist, comes and greets me enthusiastically. “Are you going to play for us today?” She flashes me a grin.

“Yes, yes!” one of the aunties, Mrs. Sui, calls out from the mahjong table. Probably one of my biggest fans. As usual, she’s bundled up in her wheelchair with a puffy vest and a scarf, since she hates the cold. She and her group of friends, who I call the Chorus of Aunties, love to listen to music. When I’m here, I play songs out of a “fake book,” which has simplified melodies of songs from their era I improvise from so they can sing along. Like “Green Island Serenade” or “Remnants of an Old Love.” Most of the songs have a Japanese flair because of Taiwan’s history as a former Japanese colony. Or Cantonese golden hits like “Evening’s Breeze” or “Winter’s Romance.” Here, it doesn’t feel like a performance—I’m merely the accompaniment, which doesn’t make me nervous.

I deliver the drinks to the aunties at their table and make sure everyone has their snacks while more residents trickle in at Cindy’s invitation. There’s the uncle who likes to sit by the window with the tree and often falls asleep with his head back, snoring. I put the bowl of pears in front of him. I notice another lady in the back corner, where the extra chairs are stacked. She faces the wall, not acknowledging anyone. Her eyes are closed, her head drooping, probably asleep. I put a cookie and a cup of soy milk next to her so she doesn’t feel left out when she wakes up.

When it’s time, I lift the lid off of the battered Kawai and flip through the songbook, waiting for them to pick which song I am going to play. While they squabble among themselves, I warm up quickly with one of Bach’s prelude and fugues, which sounds better than playing a series of scales like I would normally do at home.

The singing starts soon after. I have to improvise with my left hand while keeping the melody for them to follow with the right, and my brain is kept busy with sight-reading the sheet music. The time passes by quickly, as the seniors sing and laugh and reminisce about the time when they first heard this song or that. I love listening to their stories too, imagining what their lives must have been like back in Hong Kong or Tainan. All the history they lived through.

After the singalong time is done, I help clean up the plates and put away the glasses. The Chorus of Aunties always make me stop and chat with them for a bit while they set up for another round of mahjong. Ms. Tang complains about the way Mrs. Wang shuffles the tiles and accuses her of pocketing one up her sleeve. Just another day at the manor.

“Hey, Ruby!” Cindy calls out to me from across the room, picking up a plate. “Who is this for?”

I turn and see she’s still in the corner, standing right beside the lady that’s sitting slumped, facing the wall. I stare, not understanding. She’s right there.

I open my mouth to speak, but a hand grabs my arm. I look down at Mrs. Wang, and she gives me a slow shake of her head. Beside her, Mrs. Sui also looks at me, an expression of concern on her face.

“I…I must have made a mistake!” I call out to Cindy. “I thought there was someone there.”

“Bring it here!” Mrs. Sui demands. “I want another cookie.”

“Sure,” Cindy says, bringing the plate over, suspecting nothing.

A chill runs down my spine. That woman still sits there. As real as anyone I’ve ever seen. Nowhere is safe.

“What’s wrong with the lot of you?” Mr. Chu barks out. “Why did you stop shuffling?”

“Oh, hush, old man!” Mrs. Wang snaps. “Be patient for once in your life.”

“Huh?” Mr. Chu is hard of hearing and returns to muttering over his tiles, completely unaware of what is happening with me and the Aunties. Mrs. Sui pats my arm, giving me a look of sympathy. “I think it might be time for you to go home, Ruby. It’s getting dark.”

They’re always concerned about me taking the bus on time, keeping an eye on the clock, making sure that I’m getting home when it’s light out. I always thought it’s because they’re like my parents, fretting about my safety, but now I realize…it might be because of something else.

“You can see her?” I lean down and whisper.

Mrs. Sui shakes her head and puts her finger to her lips. “Shh…not now. We won’t talk about it while she’s here.”

While who is here? The woman in the corner? Or Cindy? Nothing makes sense anymore. The clicking of the mahjong tiles resumes, leaving me as confused as ever.

Tina spends the bus ride home chatting with another friend. Just as well, as it leaves me the time to brood with my own thoughts alone. When we get home, the house is filled with the smell of dumplings frying. Denny is so proud of himself, with flour in his hair and sticky fingers. He excitedly shows us his plate of dumplings that he made on his own. He makes us each promise that we will try one of his “specials,” even as he whines that we missed all the work of making the dumplings.

The dumplings are delicious eaten hot off the pan, crispy around the edges and then juicy in the middle. We dip them in each of our personal sauces. I like mine with soy sauce, a little bit of black vinegar, and a drizzle of chili oil. Tina’s is equal amounts of soy sauce and black vinegar. Baba puts a ton of fresh, chopped garlic in his soy-sauce-and-chili-oil blend. Ma likes soy sauce, sesame oil, and green onions, while Denny has the same, minus the green onions. We all agree Denny’s creations are not that bad, though some of them are mostly dough and a smear of filling.

Baba is in a great mood tonight. He can’t seem to stop smiling, and the mood is infectious. He takes out a bottle of sake that he saves for special occasions and pours some for him and Ma to share.

When Ma brings out a little cake covered with fruit that she bought from one of the Asian bakeries, we finally find out what’s made him so happy.

“I signed a big contract today!” he tells us as he digs into his slice of cake. Ma reaches over and squeezes his hand, obviously proud.

“Great job, Baba!” Tina goes and gives him a hug, and Denny has to jump in as well, climbing onto his lap.

“It was a risk to join such a new firm, but it looks like it’s finally working out,” Baba says, face slightly red from the alcohol. He looks at Ma again, and then his voice quivers as he continues, as emotional as I’ve ever seen him. “When I moved here, I thought I would one day own my own business, and now it’s a dream come true, and too bad Ba and Ma aren’t able to see it.”

Baba takes off his glasses and pinches the skin between his eyes, like he’s trying not to cry. Ma rubs his back, and I can see she’s emotional too. I get up to get Denny another slice of cake so that he doesn’t disrupt their moment. Tina sits at the window seat, the cake still balanced on her knees, half-eaten.

“You good?” I ask.

She gives me a smug little smile. “Dreams do come true, do you see?”

“Sure,” I say, not wanting to argue with her that it wasn’t making a wish at some mysterious temple that made Baba’s dreams come true. It was years of hard work. Years of working long hours at jobs where he wasn’t treated very well, told he couldn’t be promoted because of his accent. Tina was too little to remember those days, but I remember. I also know the word to describe it now: discrimination. It’s why they sent us to public school instead of the Mandarin charter school, and for years didn’t want us to join those Taiwanese youth groups. They wanted us to fit in, to speak English without an accent, so we would have different experiences than they did.

After I brush my teeth, Tina’s waiting for me on my bed. I swallow the urge to snap at her, knowing that there’s a reason she’s lying there.

“That guy you were with today.” She speaks up to the ceiling. “What’s his name?”

“He’s a classmate I have to do a project with,” I tell her, the lie coming easy.

“Didn’t look like that to me.” Tina sits up, slowly, looking at me with that knowing smirk. “The two of you seem…close.”

I yawn and turn to my dresser to pull out my pajamas, hoping she’ll get the hint that I’m tired.

“Listen, it’s getting late—” I start, but she’s suddenly there, only a few inches from my face. I flinch as she jerks my arm between us, hard enough that I yelp.

“What is that?” she demands, shaking my arm. My sleeve slips down, revealing the bracelet.

My wrist begins to…glow. Tina stumbles back, snarling, the sound too animalistic to be coming out of the throat of my little sister.

“Did he give this to you?” she growls, voice still too low.

“No!” I choke out, struggling to maintain my composure. “I bought it because I thought it was pretty.” But then a thought pops into my head. Shen had called it a talisman. A way of protection. I slip it off my wrist and hold it in my fingers, dangling it before her.

“Do you want to see it?” I ask, feigning innocence. “You can borrow it if you want.”

“Get that…away from me!” Tina screeches, flipping backward, landing on all fours. Her back is raised, almost like a startled cat. Her head contorted at an unnatural angle.

I quickly slip the bracelet back on my wrist, pulling my sleeve over it so that it can’t be seen anymore. Regretting that I even attempted this experiment.

Slowly, vertebra by vertebra, she unfolds from the floor to her feet. She takes one step backward, then another, her arms dangling limply at her sides, almost as if she can’t control her movements. Like someone else is moving her body. Her eyes are still on my wrist, as if she’s looking at a venomous snake, something that could reach out and bite her.

“You’re up to something, Ruby,” Tina murmurs, a dangerous glint in her eyes. She never calls me by my name. It’s something my parents have never allowed. I’m always Big Sister or 姊姊, and the way she drawls out Rubeeeeee disturbs me just as much as her slow backward walk. “I’m going to figure out what it is.”

There’s a sudden gust of wind, and my door slams shut, leaving me alone in the dark.