Natalie Tan's Book of Luck and Fortune(28)
I gestured to the stools by the counter. “Please, have a seat. I will bring you the food shortly.”
Returning to the kitchen, I added the finishing touches to their plates with an ear cocked toward the dining area. Eavesdropping was a social transgression, but since I was already meddling in their lives, it felt like a minor offense—although, lately, I’d been a repeat offender.
“Anita . . .”
“Don’t. I came here for her, not you. She just lost her mother and you’re only thinking of yourself,” Mrs. Chiu hissed. “You’re always thinking only about yourself.”
“I’m thinking about us. I can’t stop thinking about us.” The tone of his voice shifted from a plea to a question, one a lawyer might ask in front of a jury. “Our son told me that you still keep your wedding ring on when you visit him. Why do you keep it on when you’ve told me—”
“Because I haven’t decided yet.”
“Then there’s hope.”
I didn’t hear an answer from Mrs. Chiu, so I took the silence as my cue to bring out the food and a fresh pot of tieguanyin tea. I’d arranged the crispy chicken wings on a bed of romaine hearts to showcase the contrasting colors of golds and greens. Every chef was an artist at heart. The key to the most successful dish was to first seduce the eyes and the nose, for if the dish failed in this, no one would want to take the next step of tasting it.
“I hope you like chicken wings,” I declared, emerging from the kitchen.
Mr. and Mrs. Chiu both stared at the plate in awe. Mr. Chiu wiped his hands with a napkin before picking up a drumette with his fingers. Mrs. Chiu picked up her fork and stabbed her wing, avoiding the dilemma of messy fingers.
A loud, satisfying, crunching sound emerged as they ate. As I watched, fractures ran along the surface of their skin, reminding me of shattered porcelain. The cracks deepened as they ate. Once they were finished, tiny streams of glittering gold filled the cracks: mending, repairing what was broken, and transforming it into something far more beautiful. It was similar to a piece of kintsukuroi I’d picked up in Kyoto, repaired pottery that had been mended with gold.
The Chius turned to each other. Their eyes met and their hands reached for each other, fingers and palms touching. Mrs. Chiu reached for her husband’s cheek with her free hand. “Wayne, I’m so sorry. I really do love you.” She sounded almost surprised to remember.
He leaned over and kissed her. “Let’s get out of here.”
A girlish giggle escaped Mrs. Chiu’s lips.
The couple walked out in a half embrace, side by side.
As they exited the restaurant, the glass door swung open. Dressed in a plum frock, Celia panted, bracing herself against the opened door. Her round face was flushed and her perm askew. She caught her breath before shrieking, “Where are the chicken wings?”
I swallowed before confessing, “I’m so sorry. I only made enough for the Chius.”
Celia staggered to the counter and sobbed. “No! I smelled them and came as quickly as I could. I almost threw my ankle out running over so I could get here before anyone else.” She banged her fists against the counter. “But I’m too late.” She sighed.
Oh no, the wings were her favorite. If I had known, I would have set some aside for her. A twinge of guilt stabbed me. Celia sighed and sniffed. The ghost of the chicken hung in the air. She inhaled the lingering aroma, excavating the layers like an olfactory archaeologist.
Her bottom lip trembled. I reached for Celia’s shaking shoulder and squeezed. “It’s all right, I can always make you more.”
“You can?” She lifted her head. “It’s been decades since I last ate those chicken wings. I thought I would never see or eat them again. Yet this morning, I smelled them in the air. I thought I was having a stroke. But the aroma grew stronger and when I saw the Chius come out of the restaurant, I knew it must be true. If the smell is any indication, you have re-created your laolao’s dish perfectly. I didn’t think it would affect me this way, but your grandmother’s food was incredible.”
It must have been. My grandmother’s book was magic after all. It wasn’t necessarily in the ingredients or the techniques, for I’d been cooking a few of these dishes for years without the startling results I’d recently witnessed. Instead, there seemed to be something tangible happening underneath the gastronomic chemical reactions. Those who’d required sustenance had received delicious food. Those who had needed more, Laolao’s recipes had healed.
I patted her hand. “I promise I’ll cook for you soon. I’ve been helping the neighbors, but I never asked you if you needed any help. Just say the word, Celia, and I’ll do what I can to help you.”
“No, I don’t need anything.” She lowered her eyes and shook her head. “You should focus on helping the others.”
“How about dinner? At your place. I’ll deliver it tonight, unless you have plans of course.”
She grinned. “It’s a date!”
* * *
?After I walked Celia back to her store, I returned upstairs to the apartment to do some much-needed reading. Although Celia had requested the chicken wings, I wasn’t sure if they would be beneficial for her given the effects I’d seen with the Chius.
I had to find a new recipe and prepare a dish for Celia for tonight. Meimei assumed her position on my belly while I flipped through Laolao’s recipe book.