If Sammy really had lost as much weight as she said he had, he’d be invisible.
“Hi, Mom.” He stepped aside so she could come in. “Let me take that for you.”
Amy Yu’s arms were laden with shopping bags from Wing Fa, a popular Asian supermarket near his parents’ house.
“No, no. I got it.”
She slipped off her shoes before winding her way to the kitchen. In her pale pink polo shirt, white cropped pants, white sneakers, and pink-and-white tennis visor, his mother looked as young and spry as someone in her thirties, even though she was pushing fifty-six.
“I was already at Wing Fa and thought I’d buy you some groceries.” Amy unloaded boxes of silken tofu, bunches of bok choy, and bags of frozen dumplings onto the marble counter. “When was the last time you had soup? You look tired. I’ll make you lotus root and pork soup,” she decided. “Good for energy.”
Sammy leaned against the kitchen island and folded his arms over his chest. “Okay, who is it?”
His mother blinked, innocent as a doe. “Who is who?”
“The girl. Who’s the girl you want to set me up with this time?”
Sammy was twenty-nine, hardly old or decrepit, but his mom had been on his case about getting married for years. She wanted grandchildren, and she wanted them now.
Once she realized Sammy was nowhere as pressed about his marital status as she was, his mom took it upon herself to set him up with every eligible woman she knew. He’d indulged her in the beginning, but after more than a dozen blind dates—some okay, some downright horrible, none earth-shattering—his patience was wearing thin.
His mother knew it, too, which was why she always showed up with food whenever she wanted him to go on another matchmaking date. Food was his weakness.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Amy opened the freezer door and started stuffing the dumplings and shrink-wrapped foam trays of oxtail, pork, and beef inside. She’d bought enough groceries to feed a small army for a month. “By the way, are you going to dim sum tomorrow?” Her tone was casual. Too casual. “We haven’t seen you in weeks, and your grandparents miss you.”
Yep, she was definitely going to spring Mystery Woman on him at dim sum.
“I call them every week.”
“Calling isn’t the same as seeing, is it?” Amy arched an eyebrow, and he suddenly felt like he was ten again, tracking mud through the house after she’d mopped the floors. “They’re old, and your grandfather’s health isn’t so good. Who knows how much longer they’ll have?”
No one could guilt trip like an Asian mom.
Sammy sighed. “I’ll be there.” He’d learned to pick his battles a long time ago.
“Great! Your grandparents will be thrilled. I heard Edison has big news, too.” Amy snorted. “He probably bought a new car or something equally tacky. Your Auntie Ling’s always bragging about him like he’s something special because he went to Harvard and is a big-time lawyer, but I know better.” She patted Sammy on the cheek. “You turned down Harvard. Who needs a degree from that big, over-hyped university anyway? Harvey Mudd is smaller, more prestigious, and you work for yourself instead of some corporate boss. Plus, you’re taller and more handsome.” His mother looked smug. “Edison’s only 1.5 meters tall, and he’s not the one all the waitresses at Wah Sing go crazy over.”
Even though she’d lived in the U.S. for over three decades, Amy still used the metric measuring system instead of the American Imperial system. Old habits die hard.
Sammy’s cheeks colored. “Mom!”
“What? It’s the truth.” She leaned in and whispered, “I heard from your Auntie Felicia that Edison got implants for that receding chin of his, which does look stronger nowadays.”
The one thing his relatives loved more than guilt-tripping their children was gossiping.
“I’m not touching that topic with a ten-foot pole.” Sammy helped his mom unpack the rest of his groceries. “How’s Dad?”
“Fine, fine.” His mom shoved a bottle of hoisin sauce into a cabinet. “He went hiking with your uncles. Imagine! A bunch of old men trying to act like they’re still young. I told him if he made it to the top, I’d eat my shoe.” Her words were harsh, but her tone was loving.
“Not your new Coach sneakers, I hope.” Sammy laughed when she punched him playfully in the arm.
“Don’t sass me—”
A door opened and closed in the back of the house, followed by the faint but unmistakable sound of a shower running.
Sammy’s shoulders stiffened. Oh,