gift card idea, though, in case they don’t.” I thanked the salesperson and returned to my bickering “parents.”
“Don’t push Vanessa.” Uncle Michael tucked the set of ramekins under his arm.
“Not pushing is why she’s still single in the first place. Linda isn’t aggressive enough in her setups.”
Ma’s machinations to get me married began the moment I was born, and I had rebelled against them ever since. Dad identified the strain of stubbornness as a classic Yu trait, and this failing of mine was excused, but only to a certain extent.
I cleared my throat.
Auntie Faye paused and smiled. “We’re only trying to look out for your best interests.”
“I know I am,” Michael interjected, “but I’m not sure about Faye.” He tipped his head toward the registers. “I’m buying these. You two should figure out where you want to go for lunch.”
Auntie Faye grabbed my arm and steered me toward the fine china. Of all the goods in the store, these were the most appealing, with their beautiful patterns of florals mixed with modern designs and colors. A few months ago, I treated myself to a set of milk-white La Porcellana Bianca plates as an impulse purchase. The gorgeous hollowed spiral design had a sculptural quality I could not resist. My dad praised my adult decision and excellent taste while we ate takeout tandoori chicken.
Auntie Faye lowered her voice. “Any new predictions?”
In addition to mahjong, it was a Yu family pastime to hedge bets on my predictions. To them, I was their beloved fortune-teller. My gift was as accepted as the science of Chinese numerology or the zodiac charts my uncles consulted before making business decisions.
“No, Auntie. Thank goodness.”
She frowned. “Maybe we can get one during lunch.”
My aunt was the family’s gossip queen. I often thought she chose a career as a beauty salon owner to facilitate her need to know everyone’s business. If gossip were a commodity, she would control the market.
“Auntie, I am not a fortune vending machine.”
“I just want to be here if anything comes up.”
Uncle Michael, armed with a paper shopping bag, approached us. “Faye, why don’t you go check out. I need to talk to Vanessa for a minute.”
“Tell me if she says something.” Auntie Faye waved and headed for the till. “I’ll just buy a gift card and be done with it.”
I let out a relaxed sigh. “Thank you for the save.”
“You know her. She needs to be the first for any kind of news.” He wrinkled his nose, jarring his glasses a little askew. “How are you holding up?”
“I feel the pressure. I already know Ma’s planning something, but I don’t know what. She is determined that I have a plus-one for the wedding. At least you’re good in that department. How are things with Jack?”
“Good! I think I have prepared him for the family. He’ll be ready for Cynthia’s wedding.”
Jack McCrae stepped into Uncle Michael’s life six months ago after I invited Michael to Jack’s photography exhibit and introduced them. Two months later, I had the formal pleasure of “meeting him” over hotpot. Jack was an energetic and passionate photographer. His photographs left me with an enigma. I wanted to know more about his subjects and the story behind them all. The portraits of my uncle were unabashed love letters: pictures that caught my uncle in his joyful moments. I didn’t need to be present to know the photographer contributed to said happiness: I had witnessed it firsthand on numerous occasions.
This man loved Uncle Michael.
“Maybe you can bring a friend instead?” he asked. “That might placate your mother for now.”
“I have no friends unless you count the cousins. And one of them betrayed me by getting married.”
“The horde” comprised the twenty-seven fourth-generation cousins; not enough for a full football roster, but enough for two teams of softball in the summer. The sports activities were fun, but I preferred the wine and painting nights.
“If you and your aunt haven’t decided where to eat, I know just the place.” He offered his arm and escorted me to the exit, where Auntie Faye was waiting.
* * *
* * *
Uncle Michael chose a quiet Indian fusion restaurant ten minutes away, and while we browsed the menu, I ordered mango lassis for all three of us. My uncle and aunt were engrossed in a conversation about the lavish prizes and ongoing bets on who would win the aunties’ upcoming annual mahjong tournament. The tension eased from my shoulders as I sipped the delicious drink in peace.