CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

At the patio table, conversations in Chinese are happening around me, too fast for me to join in easily, but I don’t mind. It’s enough to be here. My family and Eric and Mimi’s family are having a late Mid-Autumn Festival dinner together. The Lius accepted my aunt’s invitation and came over after their own family’s celebration ended. Po Po, beaming at us all, sits at the head of the table with the adults to the right of her and the younger generation to the left of her. It’s almost too good to be true. Yes, my grandfather left before the Liu family arrived, and Eric and Mimi’s grandmother refused to come. But at least Eric and Mimi’s parents are here.

It takes me about five seconds to fall in love with the elder Lius. They seem relieved that the feud is finally over, although there was one weird moment when they came face-to-face with my aunt. “Anwen,” my aunt said to Eric’s mother, “Yanlin is lucky to have married you.” To him, my aunt said, “Yanlin, it’s good to see you so happy.” Abashed smiles all around.

There has got to be a story there.

I thought Alyssa would have been a nervous wreck meeting Mimi’s parents, but in true Alyssa fashion, she takes the opportunity to announce that she wants to use her social media popularity to start a nonprofit supporting women in the arts the way Wu Zetian did all the way back in the Tang dynasty. Alyssa holds Mimi’s hand while she makes the announcement, and no one even blinks. It looks like Alyssa and Mimi are on their way to getting their happily ever after. As am I.

I take a slice of raw meat from the platter in front of me with my cooking chopsticks and plop it in the boiling stew of the hot pot, nudging Eric’s meat out of the way as I do so.

“Hey!” He’s sitting next to me, all adorable and mock-indignant. “No fair! I already staked my claim on that spot!”

“I was just trying to save you from overcooked meat.” His meat is tangled in bean threads and cabbage now and barely visible, but I lean forward and pretend to scrutinize it. “I think your meat is done.”

“It needs five more seconds to be the perfect amount of doneness,” he says with lofty superiority, even checking his watch like he’d actually timed it. “I’ve done a study of this.”

I grin at him. “Oh, is that what your fancy Stanford business degree is good for?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “There was a course on cooking meat in my second year.”

“I stand corrected, then,” I say gravely, “and bow to your superior knowledge on the subject. After all, it makes total sense to go to America to learn how to cook Chinese hot pot.”

With fake ostentatiousness, Eric uses his chopsticks to lift out his meat, which, admittedly, looks perfect. “See, my college degree in America was totally worth it.”

His father, sitting across from Eric, breaks off his conversation with his wife and my aunt and turns to his son. “Speaking of that, Eric,” he says, switching to English out of courtesy to me, “what do you think of going to business school in America to get your graduate degree? Stanford has a good program.”

It’s not my place to say anything, but I want so badly to blurt out that Eric actually wants to do a graduate environment and sustainability program at UCLA. Instead, I kick him under the table. Hard.

Eric grimaces, but it’s difficult to tell whether it’s in response to my kick or his father’s question. “That can wait, Ba,” he says. “You need my help with the family business.”

His father snorts. “Between your mother, Mimi, and me, I think we’ve got it covered. The question is, what do you need? Mimi’s always been into fashion, but I’ve always felt your interests were different.” There’s a twinkle in his eye as he glances at me. “And maybe there’s even more of a reason for you to go to America now.”

Eric’s mother, who’s sitting next to her husband, looks over at us, her attention caught. “What’s this about Eric going to America? You know, this could be good timing. Your ba and I were talking about opening a store in LA, and we’ll need someone to oversee that.” She speaks in English, and she’s looking at me with bright inquisitiveness.

Now Eric’s looking at me too, and my face feels all hot. I’m giddy at the thought of Eric actually moving to LA. But I don’t want him to move for me. Or to think that the only way to get his parents’ approval is to follow their plans for him. Eric’s so used to living up to what he assumes his family’s expectations are that he hasn’t really stood up for what he wants. In spite of his über-supportive parents, he seems to think his own desires don’t matter. Maybe I could stand to absorb some of his dedication to the collective good of his family, but maybe Eric could also stand to be a tiny bit selfish for once.

Instead of kicking Eric again, I place my hand on his knee under the table and squeeze. “Tell them,” I whisper into his ear. “Tell them what you want to do.”

His eyes darken as he stares at me, and for a moment, I worry that I’m pushing him too hard. Then he says, “From the moment I met you, you’ve never let me be less than what I can be.”

My heart does frenzied somersaults and leaps in my chest. How is it that we just kissed for the first time fewer than twenty-four hours ago? “Same,” I manage to say.

Eric tears this gaze away from me and turns toward his parents. “Actually, there’s something else I’d like to do.” He takes a deep breath. “I got into the environment and sustainability graduate program at UCLA. I know it’s not a business degree, but I feel it would help us take our business to the cutting edge of sustainable fashion. If it’s OK with you, I’d like to go there.”

“Hao bon!” his mother exclaims, slipping into Chinese to say “Very good!”

“It’s OK with us,” his father says, confident and beaming. “It will make us very proud and happy to support you in this.”

At this point, Mimi figures out what’s going on and gets in on the family lovefest, and I’m just bursting with pride in Eric. And, of course, giddy with joy that he’s coming to LA.

“Reconsidering college this year, Gemma?” asks my mother hopefully. She’s drifted over from the other end of the table and arrived in time to hear Eric’s plans for grad school.

I shake my head. “Next year,” I say firmly, “just like I planned.”

My mom sighs, and then her gaze narrows on Eric. “So, your name is ‘Eric,’ is it?” Uh-oh. I don’t suppose Mom forgot that accidental slip of the tongue when I called Ken by Eric’s name? Not a chance. Mom has a memory like a steel trap. Especially when it involves me and a romantic possibility.

“Um, yeah. I mean, yes, that’s my name.” He turns to me with a questioning look. Nope. Not about to explain to him why my mom knows his name.

Too bad my mom’s not playing along. “So, Eric, are you Gemma’s—”

“Mom!” I interrupt desperately.

Eric leaps to his feet. “Mrs. Huang, it looks like you and Gemma have a lot to talk about. Please, take my seat.”

“Thank you, Eric!” She beams and sits down next to me. “Now Gemma and I can talk about her plans for the future.”

“Traitor,” I whisper to Eric, but he just grins and goes to sit between my aunt and Po Po at the other end of the table. No doubt he’ll be completely charming, and I’ll have them asking me questions about him too.

Mom fixes me with a determined look, and it looks like we’re about to go round one hundred on the topic of college and my impractical acting career. But, to be fair, I have never run away from my family, participated in a protest that ended in a massacre, sprung a political prisoner from a labor camp, or gone on the run with said political prisoner (aka Dad). Remembering my mom’s exploits, I say, “Mom, how did you rescue Dad? And how did you get that painting back?”

She doesn’t shut me out the way she used to. She just smiles mysteriously. “A woman should get to keep some secrets to herself.” Her expression turns stern. “Now, about your plans . . . I haven’t heard much about this movie you’re shooting in Beijing.”

I’m so taken aback that I just gape at her. The movie. I haven’t given a second thought to the movie in the past twenty-four hours, but now my fear of failure comes crashing down on me.

Mom studies me closely. “Tell me about it.”

It all comes tumbling out of me. I tell her how I didn’t fight for my vision of my character, that I didn’t trust Eilene or stand up to Jake or do anything that I should have done. And that I don’t know how to fix my mistakes.

She listens intently, and when I’m done, she puts a hand on my shoulder. “It sounds to me like you know exactly what to do, Gemma.”

“I do?” Then in wonder, I realize that I do. “Tomorrow, I’ll fight for my vision. I’ll take back the movie.”

“That’s my daughter,” my mother says approvingly, and pats my shoulder.

Dinner wraps up without any other life-altering decisions being made. It’s time for the main event. At any other dinner, dessert would be an afterthought, but tonight, at the Mid-Autumn Festival dinner, the mooncakes have a starring role.

I break apart the round pastry, glazed with egg yolk to give it the ellow sheen of the moon, and pop a piece in my mouth. The flaky crust and smooth sweet date filling burst pleasurably against my tongue.

It’s good—but not as good as my mom’s. All my friends rave about Mom’s mooncakes, which she makes for every special occasion, not just for Mid-Autumn Festival. My friends demand to know what my mom puts in her mooncakes to make them so good, and I always tell them what my mom always told me to say. That it’s an ancient Chinese secret.

Mom would kill me if I ever revealed what her secret ingredient really is. Cream cheese in the crust. “Let people think my cooking is magic,” she says.

I always respond in the same way. “You are magic, Ma.”

She is. She really is. And thanks to her magic, I feel strong enough to take on—not just Jake—but the entire film industry. The entire world. Anything that makes me feel less than what I am.

My mother checks the time on her watch. “I promised to call your father,” she says as she stands up. “He should be up now.” In an aside, she mumbles, “If he slept at all, that is.”

Guilt pricks me as I stand up from the table too. “Is Dad angry at me for lying? Um, did I mention how sorry I am?”

She presses her lips together. “You mentioned it, yes. Say it again to your dad. He’s not mad—just worried about you.” Her mouth softens. “I told him there’s no reason to be worried. I told your dad that we raised a daughter who might not make choices we agree with.” Ah, college again. “But that you have a good heart and would make your choices from the heart . . . as we did when we were your age.” She smiles. “I don’t suppose we can ask for more than that.” Maybe Mom understands me better than I thought she did.

“Let’s call Dad,” I say, my throat suddenly thick.

We move away from the table to a nook shadowed by tall rosebushes, and I put in a video call to my dad.

He picks up at once, and his anxious face fills the screen. “Gemma, are you OK?”

My mom scrunches up her face next to mine. “We’re both fine, Delun!”

“Dad,” I say, “I’m so sorry about everything—going against your wishes and then lying about it. I’m sorry you were worried, but I’m fine. I really am.”

His face relaxes. “Hao.” OK.

I’m not really going to be let off the hook that easily, am I? But that is pretty on brand for my dad. The muscles in my shoulders loosen.

Apparently, my mom has come to the same conclusion. With an exasperated sigh, she commandeers my phone. “Delun, you’ll never guess what has happened!”

As she starts recounting tonight’s events in Chinese, I back away. Until I bump into a solid, muscled chest. Eric’s. I turn around. “Don’t tell my mom I said this, but I think I got off easier than I deserve.”

He leans against the iron railing of the patio with a grin. “How so?”

I tilt my head, considering the whole vision of cuteness that is Eric. “Well, for one thing, Mom’s so caught up in all this family reunion stuff—that she hasn’t asked a million not-so-subtle questions about you.”

“Hey, listen,” Eric says to me, “earlier, when your mom was about to ask if I was your boyfriend . . .”

I guess it was too much to hope that he hadn’t caught that. “Yes?” my voice cracks.

“I didn’t answer because we haven’t talked about it, but I just wanted to let you know that if you wanted to, then I totally want to . . . to be your boyfriend.” Red in the face, he shakes his head. “Sorry. Too soon, I know. Just pretend I didn’t say anything.”

A thrill pulses through my body. “By the way, I love that suit,” I say casually.

Eric frowns in confusion. “Um, good?”

I smile. “And I love that it’s a gift from my nan peng you.”

He searches my eyes. “Gemma, I don’t know if you realize it, but you just called me your—”

“Nan peng you,” I say. “Boyfriend. My Chinese isn’t so bad that I didn’t realize what I just said.”

“Are you sure?” Eric smooths a strand of my hair away from my face. “If I tell Mimi that you’re my nu peng you, she’s not going to let us get out of it.”

Girlfriend. I could get used to hearing that. “I’m sure.”

“Did I hear my name?” Mimi asks. She and Alyssa stroll over arm in arm to join us by the railing. “What are you two talking about?”

“Just talking about my mom,” I say hastily, “and how she’s thankfully not asking too many questions about us.”

“You’re lucky!” Alyssa says. “My mom has asked a bunch of questions about Mimi!” But she looks delighted by this turn of events.

Mimi grumbles, “You don’t seem shy about telling your mom all about me. Just be glad I haven’t told my parents everything about you.”

Eric and I glance at each other and hide our grins. Because Mimi looks just as delighted as Alyssa.

“By the way,” Alyssa asks, peering at us, “just what is going on between you two?”

I smile and turn to peer over the railing to where the first firecrackers are starting to burst into red and gold, lighting up the heavens. “A girl should get to keep some secrets to herself.”

Together, on this Mid-Autumn Festival, we join arms and look up to the night sky, where the yellow moon rises among a splash of fiery lights—round as a new beginning.