his lead and attacked the tea egg in my rice bowl. The creamy yolk disintegrated in my mouth. Tapping the shell during cooking allowed the marinade to seep in, which created a linear pattern resembling cracked glass in the hardened egg white. Ma and I sometimes made tea eggs on weekends where we boiled the eggs in a secret recipe of spices and Yu tea. It was a calming ritual. The hectic game of keeping it hidden away from my father, lest he eat them all in one sitting, was less so.
A retired couple power walked by, clad in matching lime-green sweat suits. A pair of teens held hands, their shoulders brushing as they sauntered down the sidewalk. Squirrels chased one another up a red Chinese pistache tree. The universe mocked me.
“If I fill my life with other things, can I forget that love is the one thing I can’t have?” I asked my father while watching the squirrels.
He set down his fork and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Back in college, I had a crush on your mother. It took all four years to gather the courage to ask her out. I have faith, though, that you will find your match. You have a big heart. You deserve to be happy.”
Dad still had hope—a hope I did not recognize. Hope was not for people who halt an evening engagement blurting out a relationship’s end, or predicting a home burglary, or revealing future unemployment. Only one date had a happy prophecy: a lottery win. He ran out of the restaurant to start his exciting new life without me.
My teeth grazed the extra-large straw as I sipped my boba slush. The creamy powderiness of taro lingered on my tongue while the chewy tapioca pearls provided a satisfying challenge for my teeth. It was one thing to tell myself that I’d been doomed to be forever alone. It was another for a matchmaker to confirm it. I was twenty-seven, single, and still hooked on boba tea. Only one of those was a problem.
Our conversation moved on to breezier topics, the sports pools he had joined and Ma’s chances of winning this year’s mahjong tournament. Dad was still terrible at fantasy sports drafts unless his home basketball team was involved. We both agreed that Ma would take the championship tiara and sash this year. She was due.
As he settled the bill, I grabbed my purse. My drink had a few sips left so I gulped them down, careful to avoid choking on the pearls at the bottom. As I chewed my last piece, I pulled out the straw, tearing open the plastic sealing the top.
I gripped the table to steady myself as my stomach knotted. My father placed his arm around my shoulders.
The prophecy formed in my mouth, larger than anything I had ever experienced. It crackled with energy. A taste of Himalayan salt, with a dominating bitterness of burnt garlic, assaulted my palate. The pressure pushed against the bones in my head until it felt like someone had rammed a rod through my right temple in an aborted attempt to release the tension. My hands wrapped themselves around my stomach as I held my breath, willing myself to stay silent.
“Brendan will have a heart attack during the fourth inning of the Angels baseball game. He will die in your arms.”
Dad’s glasses fogged over. Cupping his hand over his mouth, he sobbed. The gesture did little to muffle his anguish.
He had known Brendan for over forty-five years. They grew up on the same street, played on the same softball team, went to the same high school and college. Uncle Brendan was Dad’s best man at my parents’ wedding. They went on annual fishing trips. He was more than Dad’s friend: he was family.
Dad lowered his hand and wiped the condensation from his lenses. “He took up running. He finally started to eat right. It was so important to him to change.” His voice cracked. “He became a grandfather this winter.”
Three tears slid into the deepening lines of his pale face.
My heart broke.
I made my father cry.
In the engulfing silence, all that lingered was the sorrow the prediction bore.
“Dad, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I repeated my apology over and over as if my words could mend the wound, could take us back to before the damage—before my father cried.
He enveloped me in a tight embrace and kissed my hair as my tears soaked his shirt, mingling with his own.
When learning to roller-skate,