I stand in my parents’ kitchen with a box of matches in hand, replaying this morning’s exchange with Bakery Guy. I snap out of my daze and give the giant horse-shaped cake I baked for Pó Po’s ninetieth birthday one more look over. It’s salted caramel chocolate—my specialty and Pó Po’s favorite. At three feet wide and two feet long, the platter takes up the entire kitchen island. Shaping the cake to look like a horse was no easy feat, but given that Pó Po is Year of the Horse, like me, I thought it would be a special and memorable dessert to honor her. The horse lies flat with three layers of chocolate cake, two layers of chocolate and caramel frosting, and an outer layer of chocolate frosting sprinkled with just the right amount of sea salt.
I wiggle the ninetieth candle into the cake and pull a match from its small box. I strike it once. Twice. No spark.
“I’m usually a lot better with matches,” I joke to Auntie Lydia, who’s preoccupied with taming stray hairs back into her shoulder-length bob in the reflection of a frying pan. At sixty-six, she still has flawless, glowing skin. Her youthfulness and elegance remind me of the actress Joan Chen.
“You just have to swipe it right. Isn’t that what the rage is all about nowadays?” Auntie quips. There’s a hint of bitterness in her voice. Like me, she believes in the power of a personally made match, not one made through a cellphone.
A spark ignites at the tip of the match, and I quickly move from candle to candle. A few matches later, I light the last candle while trying to remember where Dad told me he keeps the fire extinguisher.
Auntie and I carefully carry the flaming horse through the dining room’s sliding doors to the backyard where the party is in full swing. With over fifty people in attendance, it’s practically a Huang family reunion. Pó Po’s sisters, children, nieces, nephews, grandchildren, and close clients came from all over the world—China, England, France, South Africa, New York, Texas, and Washington—to join us in Pasadena, California, for her special day.
Mom and Dad transformed their two-thousand-square-foot bungalow for the birthday party, using the backyard as the festivity’s stomping grounds. And because Pó Po’s birthday usually falls within range of the Moon Festival, she prefers to celebrate both at the same time. Under vibrant red-and-gold globe paper lanterns, crescent moon balloons, and string lights, family and friends hold cool drinks and cluster in groups. When they see us with the cake, everyone in unison starts singing the first low chord of the Happy Birthday song. We sound like an off-key chorus.
Guests part to create a pathway for us as we navigate around wooden folding tables decorated with bud vases. The chorus grows louder as the kids and the ones who were too shy to join in at first contribute their voices, belting out the words with enough gusto to make Andrea Bocelli proud.
When we finally reach Pó Po, my heart swells with emotion. Delighted, Pó Po grins from ear to ear and places a hand over her cheek. When she smiles, her entire face lights up, the creases around her twinkling eyes deepening.
Auntie and I set the cake on the table in front of Pó Po, her face illuminated by the fire. As expected, a few singers go rogue and change the song’s ending, but Pó Po claps along anyways. I give Pó Po a side hug, and we link pinkies and press our thumbs together. It’s a gesture we’ve been doing ever since I could form a fist, as a promise that our love for each other will never change. I don’t know who I’d be without her in my life.
Pó Po closes her eyes for a few moments, wax slowly dripping down onto the top layer of the cake, giving the horse’s coat a healthy sheen. She blows out the candles, resting between each extinguishing to catch her breath. Everyone bursts into cheers and claps when she puts out the final flame. I make some noise for the woman whose past decisions have provided me with my future.
After Pó Po makes her wish, Auntie and I carry the horse cake to the winner’s circle, conveniently located at the dessert table. Mom strategically placed the dessert table by her blooming roses so Sān Pó Po, one of Pó Po’s sisters, could admire her handiwork. The sweet scent of the flowers wafts up in the light breeze. Beside the cake are trays of mooncakes, egg tarts, sliced apples and oranges, fruit tarts, red bean sesame balls, and Bo Lo Baos from this morning’s bakery run. I smirk at the memory of Bakery Guy instigating a trade. I may have lost my pork bun, but at least it was on my terms.
Dad turns Pó Po’s moon-themed playlist back on and Frank Sinatra’s “Fly Me to the Moon” blasts from the outdoor speakers. Pó Po slowly waltzes her way over to me. She’s the proud leader of the local senior-citizen dance team and finds every opportunity she can to show off her moves. She holds up two sideways peace signs in front of her eyes and pulls them apart. I extend my arm diagonally up to the sky with a disco finger and then bring it down across my body.
“Are you ready?” Pó Po whispers. She adjusts the cornflower blue vest she’s wearing over her white polo, her signature daytime look. Her short hair is freshly waved from hair rollers, a style she’s preferred for decades. “I’m going to make the announcement after the cake is served.”
“I think most people already know, Pó Po. Was it supposed to be a big secret?”
“Aiyah! I guess I should’ve expected the news to spread. This is the Huang family, after all. No respect, even at ninety-one years old.” Pó Po laughs and reaches out to rub a rose’s soft blush petal. “Ah well, I’ll still give a little speech. It’ll be nice.”
“Pó Po, you’re ninety! Not ninety-one,” I say, holding her gently by both shoulders.
Pó Po gives me a subtle wink. “When I was born in China, children were considered to be one year old at birth. That would make me ninety-one, but yes, let’s go with ninety. Oh, Liv? The cake. It’s hilarious. Thank you. Can I put in an early request for a unicorn next year?”
“They’re becoming harder to find, but if that’s what you want, I can make it happen,” I say with a mock-serious tone.
She pushes a loose strand of my dark brown hair behind my ear and takes a moment to study my face. “Why do you look so radiant? You’re practically glowing!”
I bring a hand to my cheek. “Am I? Well, I’m excited about today!”
“For the announcement?” she asks probingly.
“What else?” I say casually, fiddling with a plastic fork. I’m definitely not glowing because of Bakery Guy. That would be ridiculous. I don’t even know his sign.
“Okay. Well, good.” Pó Po nods slowly. “Ah, before I forget, there’s someone I think you’ll want to meet. Should I set up a date?”
It’s one of Pó Po and Auntie’s favorite pastimes to introduce me to people they think I might want to meet. Really, they’re young men they want me to meet.
“Do you really think now is the best time for me to be dating?” I ask. “There’s going to be too much to do with Lunar Love.”
Pó Po narrows her eyes at me. “We’ll revisit this later. Auntie also has someone you might like. Choices are never a bad thing! One way or another, we need to get you matched,” she says before fluffing her hair and twirling off to find more family members to charm.
I pluck the melted candles out of the horse and smooth over the icing. When I cut into the cake, it becomes apparent that this looks very wrong. In its entirety, the cake looked great. Dismembered, not so much. I divide the tail into six pieces, placing each one onto small round paper plates. I line the plates up next to each other and attempt to re-create the shape of the horse so that it doesn’t look like a bunch of body parts scattered on the table.
A bracelet-covered arm jingles past me to grab half a hoof. Without needing to look, I smell Alisha’s gardenia perfume and know it’s her. Alisha Lin, my co-matchmaker at Lunar Love, always looks put together in stylish clothing. She sweeps her long, dark brown hair over to the side, the curls cascading over her shoulders. Ever since Alisha was hired at Lunar Love three years ago, she’s quickly become one of my closest friends and confidants.
Randall Zhu, Lunar Love’s finance, admin, legal, and human resources teams all wrapped into one, follows closely behind. Randall joined as an intern around the time Pó Po retired and worked his way up, so he knows practically everything there is to know about Lunar Love.
Alisha and Randall deeply inhale the chocolate-on-chocolate cake scent. “Your Pó Po is major goals. She doesn’t look a day over seventy. What’s her secret?” Alisha asks.
“Full-moon milk baths, red wine, and dark chocolate,” I reveal.
“I’m lactose intolerant, but I’ve got the other two covered,” Alisha jokes.
“It’s working. You don’t look a day over thirty-three,” Randall says, teasing Alisha.
“These days it takes skill to actually look your age,” she says with a mock-defensive tone. Alisha takes a bite of cake and groans. “This is perfect. Not too sweet.”
“Yeah,” I mumble, half my mind still stuck on the man from this morning. Why is this happening?
Randall takes a step back and shoots me a concerned look. “Are you okay? You feeling nervous about your first day as Head Matchmaker on Monday? It’ll be fun since we have that conference to attend.”
“I’m not nervous! You know that’s my favorite event of the year,” I say. I try to find the words to explain what happened this morning, but they jumble in my head. I met a man is all that comes out.
Alisha gasps. “Ooh, who is he?”
“No, it’s not like that. It was at the bakery. He took Pó Po’s cocktail bun, I made a trade for it, and he works downtown. That’s really all there is to know.”
Alisha’s eyes glimmer as she closely watches my face. “What sign is he?”
I fiddle with the cake server. “I didn’t ask for his birthday or analyze him that closely,” I admit.
“You didn’t analyze him?” Alisha asks. Her widened eyes are as round as full moons. “I don’t believe you.”
“I didn’t expect to be engaging in negotiations this morning,” I say. “It caught me off guard.”
“Okay, well, what were his traits? Could he be a candidate for one of our clients? Let’s debrief,” Alisha says, taking another bite of cake. “You said you made some kind of trade? Maybe he’s a lawyer.”
I cross my arms. “Let’s see. He’s overconfident and engages in social behaviors that are a little too forward for my taste. He told me he likes to go to Lucky Monkey for breakfast, but he works all the way downtown, which indicates that he puts his needs before his company’s. Yes, he was eventually charming and was surprisingly good-looking. He had stunning eyes. Hazel! Well-dressed. But he probably knows that, and in a relationship, he’d likely want to be told those things. I wouldn’t tell him what he needed to hear; we’d fight about it.”
Without stopping for a breath, I add, “I can see it now: A couple of months into the relationship he’d be frustrated that I prefer doing things the way I want to do them. I’d be annoyed that he can’t sit quietly with himself and that not everything can be a negotiation. That kind of dependency, paired with my need for alone time, would never work.”
Alisha and Randall look stunned for a moment. Then they finally break the silence by clapping against their plates. “You continue to impress us. But who said anything about a relationship?” Alisha says, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Oh, I didn’t mean relationship. They’re just always on my mind for our clients,” I hurriedly reply, fumbling over my words. “You know how I feel about being matched.”
She sighs. “Right, of course. You’re the matchmaker who can’t be matched.”
I shrug. I know how people will act—and how things will turn out—because I know their traits on a deep level. I’ve accepted my fate. For everyone else though, there’s hope.
“By the way, we were debriefing about him. You brought yourself into this,” Randall adds with a gooey smile.
“I was just trying to put it into context. Enough about him,” I add defensively.
Alisha wags her finger in thought. “You’re right. Enough about him, more about you. Monday is coming up, and we need to get you out there more. Podcasts, listicles, interviews with young professionals–type stuff. You’re the new face of Lunar Love. Let’s show the world that. Maybe the media, and a younger clientele, will find it interesting that the new owner of LA’s original zodiac matchmaking company is a gorgeous young woman.”
“That’s exactly what we should do. Try to reach a younger market,” I agree.
“I have a contact at WhizDash. They’ve become really popular. I’ll let her know that we want to get something up on the website,” Alisha says. She crams the rest of her cake slice into her mouth, licking the crumbs off her lips along with some of her berry-colored lipstick. “If you want to write something, I can send it to her.”
“I’ll start thinking of article ideas,” I tell her, ideas immediately flooding my mind.
“Perfect. I—ooh! Randall, there’s Aunt Vivienne!” Alisha says, becoming distracted by my aunt across the yard. “She has that list of art documentaries for us to watch. Liv, we’ll catch you in a bit!” The two of them shuffle through the grass, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
My sister, Nina, catches my attention from the outdoor dining table, and I rush over to her. Her arms are filled with bowls and plates stacked on a large platter where, just an hour ago, eight Peking ducks sat among steamed buns, cucumbers, green onions, and hoisin sauce. My mouth waters at the memory of all the flavors melting together. I can tell she’s stressed by the thin layer of sweat forming on her upper lip.
“Do you need help?” I ask, extending my arms to assist.
“So. Many. Dishes,” Nina huffs, keeping the pile to herself. “Mom wants them cleaned before the big announcement.” She lifts her elbows as high as she can as I fan her with my hands to cool her down. “It’s October! I’ll never get used to the fact that it’s still eighty degrees in autumn.”
“It’s only going to keep getting hotter every year,” I mumble bleakly.
Nina sticks her tongue out and adds, “I can’t wait for my Cookie Day when I won’t have to do any of this. Enjoy the view. You’re looking at your future.”
“I’m going to be a sweaty bride-to-be with hoisin sauce on my shirt?” I ask. We both start cracking up.
“I need to get back there before I make a scene. Save me a piece of cake. And if you see my future husband, tell him to refill the jasmine tea.” She slowly walks toward the kitchen, carefully balancing the remains of this afternoon’s meal.
I grab a slice of cake for Nina and retrace her steps to the kitchen. I swing the kitchen door open to find my dad leaning over the sink with his head turned toward a small television under the cabinets featuring reruns of Seinfeld. The stack of dishes Nina brought in looks untouched. My footsteps startle Dad, and he jolts, his hands quickly resuming position with the scrubber. He lifts a plate out of the bubbly water and starts moving the brush counterclockwise in efficient strokes.
“Are there any leftovers?” I ask, hopeful for a honey-glazed prawn.
“Oh, hi, sweetie. I thought you were your mother.” His eyes shift back to the screen, and he absentmindedly drops the plate into the sink. “I think there’s a bit of broccoli left. And birthday noodles. Or maybe I already ate those.”
“Why do I hear so much chatter when I should hear more scrubbing?” Mom asks as she sets empty cups and wine bottles onto the kitchen island. Her eyes shift over to the pile of dirty dishes. Dad picks the plate out of the water as quickly as he dropped it, his eyes now glued to the dish. Though only five foot three compared to Dad’s six-foot-three frame, Mom’s the one who commands the room.
Dad hangs his head, a strand of sandy brown hair flopping over his face, and speaks in the voice of an omniscient narrator. “At that moment, Marty looked at those dishes, not as a pile of porcelain and stainless steel, but as a direct representation of the failure that is his life.” He lifts a dirty soup bowl from the dish mound.
Mom and I look at each other and shake our heads. Dad finds joy in making people laugh by occasionally speaking as though he’s writing a script. For him, it comes with the territory of being a screenwriter.
“The dessert portion of the afternoon seems to be a hit,” Mom says to me. “Has Sān Pó Po come by for a slice yet?”
“I saw her sneaking around the dessert table with pruning shears.”
“Ha ha. Very funny,” Mom says, checking the time on her watch. “Pó Po’s getting ready for her speech. How are you feeling? If you change your mind, I can get you out of whatever contract you signed.” Mom smiles to show me she’s kidding. As a public defender, Mom never meets halfway in any negotiation and delivers tough love like a pro.
“In that case, can you renegotiate my salary?” I ask. “I want double what I make now with a guaranteed annual bonus.” We share another laugh.
“Is this cake for me?” Dad asks, nodding toward Nina’s slice.
“You already finished the last of the long-life noodles. I think you’ve had enough,” Mom says with as much tenderness as she can muster in a family reunion setting. She wraps her arms around Dad’s waist and hugs him from behind. To me, they have a marriage I’ve only dreamed of one day having. They’re respectful of each other, communicative, and most importantly, compatible.
A high-pitched noise rings from the outside, and I follow my parents out to the backyard. It’s time.
“Everyone, please gather around. Closer!” Pó Po shouts to the group. She stands in front of the backyard’s circular fire pit as everyone slowly forms a U-shape around her. Pó Po taps her glass with the edge of her knife once more. The group falls silent. “Thank you all for making your way here to join me on my birthday. I only wish Gōng Gong could be here with us.” Pó Po’s eyes become glossy. “This entire day has been about me. I’m tired of me at this point, and I know you are, too.” Polite laughter ripples through the air.
“Nǐ zhǔnbèi hǎole ma?” Pó Po asks Auntie.
Auntie lingers for a moment. Then she gives a quick nod and joins Pó Po. “Ready.”
“Other than me lasting this long, I have more good news,” Pó Po continues. “When I first started Lunar Love, I could never have imagined it would become what it has. After twenty-five years, I passed the business down to my daughter Lydia.” Pó Po wraps her arm around Auntie’s waist. “Lydia took over the business in the mid-nineties and ran it for another twenty-five years. And now, it’s time for Lydia to pass our business on to the next generation. Olivia, my granddaughter, will be Lunar Love’s new guardian Cupid.”
Pó Po and Auntie signal for me to join them. My heart beats faster as a few heads in the crowd turn to look in my direction. The moment isn’t lost on me. Pó Po coordinated the timing of the announcement so that the entire family could be here to witness not only her birthday but Lunar Love’s emergence into a new era. I stand up straighter knowing people are watching.
“It has been my life’s great honor to carry my mother’s legacy all these years,” Auntie says emotionally, dabbing the corner of her eyes with a paper napkin. “Her vision has lasted over five decades. That is a true testament to her ideas, her work ethic, and who she is as a person. We both feel comforted knowing that Lunar Love will be in great hands.”
Pó Po positions me between her and Auntie. “Truthfully, there have been more than a fair share of challenges lately,” she says. “It seems young people these days have greater trust in their phones to find them true love than experienced matchmakers, but after all these years, I know in my heart that it’s just a growing pain. A phase.” Pó Po grabs my hand. “It goes without saying that Liv will do an excellent job bringing Lunar Love into the future.”
I give her hand a squeeze. Challenges is putting it lightly. In recent months, more clients have left Lunar Love complaining about the high cost of services and lengthy matching process. They say they want to explore other options. More modern options. I have my work cut out for me.
I watch Mom pour small amounts of whiskey into glasses that Dad passes around.
“And now, in following tradition, this necklace is yours.” Auntie flips the gold crescent moon pendant between her thumb and pointer finger one last time before reaching behind her neck to unfasten the dangling gold chain. I’m beaming with excitement, and in this moment, I allow myself to feel it. The anxiety can wait.
Auntie extends her arms to place the necklace around my neck. I twist the little moon back and forth between my own fingers. The necklace itself is lighter than I imagined, but the weight of what it represents feels like a cinder block.
Before this necklace was Auntie’s, it was Pó Po’s. She bought it for herself with the money she made from her matchmaking practice in China, a one-woman show at the time. She wore the necklace when she moved from China to Taiwan, and ultimately over to America. Pó Po felt proud being able to not only support herself and her family but celebrate her small but good fortune with a special piece of jewelry. When she successfully transitioned her business to America, she attributed the accomplishment to hard work, late nights, single men and women who were willing to take a chance on an immigrant who promised true love, and good luck in the shape of a little crescent moon.
I turn to the crowd to say a few words. “I’m over the moon to be a part of Lunar Love’s legacy in this way. All I want to do is make Pó Po and Auntie, and all of you, proud. I am ready and excited for this next chapter in my life and for Lunar Love. If you know anyone who’s looking for love, you know who to talk to.”
All three of us hold our glasses up to our friends and family. They hold theirs high in return, and we toast to the future and good health. I take a sip of the amber-colored liquid, notes of oak and caramel dancing on my tongue.
Tears sting my eyes as I lean in to embrace Pó Po and Auntie in a group hug. “Thank you both,” I whisper. “For this opportunity, for believing in me, for everything.”
An overwhelmed laugh of disbelief escapes my mouth. I absorb every last detail of this moment, taking a second to appreciate how far this journey has taken me. Starting Monday, I’ll no longer be following in the footsteps of a well-worn path. A new adventure begins, and with all the challenges ahead, I’ll be forging my own path. I can hardly wait.