Natalie Tan's Book of Luck and Fortune(25)

I was disarmed by her kindness and her generosity. Celia Deng had never been anything but sweet to me, and she had nothing to gain from doing so. She was another example that proved the neighbors weren’t as toxic as I’d wanted them to be.

How much had I missed being away, and what had I overlooked while I was here? Did I not see because I’d refused to?



* * *





?We chose a sushi bar two blocks over. Celia ordered an assortment of rolls and a basket of tempura vegetables and shrimp. In between bites, and sips of matcha tea, I brought her up to date and regaled her with the tale of my victory with Older Shen.

“So you have to help the Chius and then you’re done?” she asked.

“No, I still have to find one other person to help.”

“The Chius are a mess.” Celia fanned herself with the drink menu. “They’ve been hit the worst by financial problems, and it’s sucked the love out of their marriage. I’m glad you’re helping them.”

“Other than the meal for Fai, have you tried out any more recipes?” She wiped the corners of her mouth.

“I cooked dumplings and meant to save some for you, but I had an unexpected customer.”

“Ha! People come from miles around for good food. I can take a rain check on those dumplings. Some of your laolao’s cooking skills must have passed on to you. Miranda had it, too, but she never cultivated it. I know because I’ve tasted her dishes.”

“This must have been after I left.”

Celia shook her head. “I used to visit when you were in school. Miranda would cook a little something to snack on, and it was always delicious.”

I was comforted by the fact that although I hadn’t known much about it, the two women had been friends, and not just through necessity.

“Was she depressed when she was growing up?” I asked.

“Miranda wore her sadness like her natural hair color. It was a part of her for as long as I can remember. It’s not like she wasn’t capable of happiness, she just felt sorrow more keenly than the other emotions. She was my closest friend. Even though she was older than me, it didn’t matter.”

“What about her agoraphobia?”

“When she was younger, she still went outside. Everything got worse after your grandmother died. Your laolao’s accidental death hit her hard. She was never at ease going out of the house, and then your father . . .” Celia sighed. “It’s like she believed that going outside would place her in physical danger.”

“Did she ever try to get help?”

“As far as I know, Miranda never saw anyone to treat her condition. I think it was a source of tension between her and your grandmother. Your laolao didn’t know how to deal with her depression and anxiety. My parents tried to convince her to get help for Miranda, but Qiao didn’t understand. Mental illness isn’t treated as well as a case of arthritis in our culture.”

If I hadn’t already liked Celia before, I’d like her even more now. It gave me great comfort that someone else saw my mother as a person, and not as a cursed eccentric.

“I wish I could have done more for her,” I confessed.

Celia reached across the table and patted my hand. “Oh, darling, we all do. At least you’re doing something for her now.”

“You may have tasted her food, but you’ve never tasted my cooking. I’ll need to make something for you soon so you can see for yourself.”

Celia smiled. “I think great cooking is in your blood. Your restaurant will be wonderful and it will help the neighborhood so much. Some people pray to Jesus, Allah, or Buddha, but I worship sublime cuisine. It has been there for me all my life. Food comforts, heals, and is the only lover I will ever take.” The last line was delivered with a wink.

I stifled a giggle. “But you haven’t found your true love yet. I don’t think you should settle.”

“It’s not settling. My future boyfriend will know soon enough that food is my husband and he’s the mistress.”

We both erupted in laughter.

And so I found an ally in the most unexpected of places.

It dawned on me suddenly that the last person I needed to help was, of course, Celia.



* * *





?After my lunch date with Celia, I visited the market again. I emerged from the floral shop with armfuls of lavender peonies and violet hyacinths. The flowers were for Ma-ma and Guanyin. It might have been a trick of the light, but the statue of the goddess seemed less melancholy this morning, though the pits and craters still scarred her. One day, I vowed, I would see her restored to her original beauty.

The sonorous notes of “Celeste Aida” greeted me as I came out of the store. Mr. Kuk Wah, his head moving in unison with his bow, sat at the curb playing his erhu. If the soul could exist outside the body, his would be his instrument.

For five minutes, the world stood still. Nothing existed for me but the voice of that erhu.

I swayed to the music like seagrass, undulating to the shifting notes. Hope stirred within me, surging with the melody, uplifting me like no other force in this world could. I was my mother’s child, a true melophile through and through. Too soon, it ended.

“Thank you, Mr. Kuk Wah,” I murmured.

He set aside his instrument and smiled. Tiny lines wrinkled around his dark eyes. As was his custom, the musician wore a palette of grays and blacks, dressing in the same monochromes found in the cement sidewalk underneath him. “I’m glad you’ve decided to stay. Is the restaurant open yet?”