Natalie Tan's Book of Luck and Fortune(39)

I went to bed with Meimei asleep on my belly. The dreams I had that night were of the restaurant and Daniel. He had said he was coming back tomorrow to ask me out. What should I cook for him?





Chapter Thirteen





In the morning, it came to me. I went down to the restaurant and cooked youtiao, my favorite treat. It wasn’t one of Laolao’s recipes, but a dish Ma-ma had served that never failed to bring me sprinkles of happiness. There was much to celebrate: Older Shen’s revitalization efforts for his bookstore, the Chius’ marriage, Celia’s upturn of luck, and my being closer to my goal, even though the nagging fear of Old Wu still weighed heavily on my mind.

Hot oil bubbled in the wok as the pale, thin strips of dough took their plunge. My chopsticks snapped into action. I rolled the dough, spinning, turning the pieces so each side cooked evenly. Soon, the raw beige gave way to golden sunbursts, with each ray tipped in crisp light brown. They floated to the surface like wayward pool noodles only to be rescued by my intrepid chopsticks.

I heaped three onto a plate to bring upstairs to the family shrine.

I delivered the youtiao and sent a quick prayer to Ma-ma. Back downstairs in the restaurant, I resisted the urge to sit by the window until Daniel arrived, and distracted myself by leafing through my grandmother’s recipe book. I didn’t want to appear desperate despite the fact that I would be horribly disappointed if he didn’t show up.

Yesterday, I was afraid he wouldn’t come too.

How long would it be until he arrived?

I busied myself by arranging and rearranging the fritters on a platter. Keeping an eye on the time on my phone, I managed to create seven different patterns with the long donut sticks with my trembling hands. Anticipation battled dread in the arena of my stomach.

Finally, the tiny bell at the door rang. I peeked into the dining room to see that Daniel had walked in. I exhaled a long sigh of relief. He wore his telltale earbuds and the wide strap of his messenger bag over one shoulder. My heartbeat accelerated like a hummingbird seeking the nectar of a flower.

“I haven’t had youtiao in a long time. That’s what I smell, isn’t it?” He grinned.

I returned to the kitchen to gather the donut sticks, piling them onto a large oval plate. I poured him a glass of cold soybean milk to go along with the snack. I wanted to join him, but out of shyness I followed my usual protocol: unload the food on the counter, return to the kitchen to avoid gawking at him eating, and then come back to collect payment. However, despite my good intentions, I accidentally caught a glimpse of his first ecstatic bite. Heat blossomed from my neck and my collarbones, exposed above the white crocheted tank dress I was wearing. I reached into the fridge for the pitcher of ice water, downing it in a few gulps as the usual billows of steam rolled off my skin, puffing upward as if from the stack of a small locomotive. How could I go on a date with him without suffering a battery of embarrassing side effects?

Pursuing a romance with Daniel presented more challenges than I’d previously imagined. My former boyfriends had never elicited anything more than a slight wobble in the stomach, replicated easily by eating questionable street fare. Even with Emilio, my longest relationship, I had never reacted this way. But I found myself nearly combusting as I watched Daniel eat—almost as if I were watching pornography. What was it about him that made me feel this way? What if he kissed me? Would I burst into flames?

Maybe this time, I wouldn’t ruin my own relationship. This fear had caused me to run in the past, but I didn’t want to flee from Daniel. I wanted to find out what happened next.

Yes, I was still scared. But I wanted to risk it.

Daniel was finishing up as I walked back into the dining room.

Was he leaving already? Had he forgotten about the date?

“Come on.” He held out his hand.

“What?”

Daniel tilted his head toward the door. “Let’s go for a walk.”



* * *





?I placed my hand in his. I was afraid the contact would result in an incendiary mishap, but nothing out of the ordinary happened. He had a warm, firm grip, banishing the memories of all the clammy, sweaty hands I had held in the past.

We walked underneath the Dragon’s Gate and headed west along Bush Street.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

His brilliant smile showcased either perfect genes or an excellent orthodontist. “I want to take you to the heart.”

He meant the heart in Union Square. In 2004, a heart sculpture had been displayed there to raise money for San Francisco General Hospital. It began with one and multiplied into many around the square and the city. It was one of the things I’d missed while away from home but kept up with online. Seeing a different artist paint multiple hearts every year brought me joy because I saw these sculptures as stand-ins for a real, physical heart—that the beauty within the rib cage could manifest in such riotous colors. I hadn’t seen them yet this year. How did Daniel know I cared so much about this place?

Summer in San Francisco was comfortable compared to other places I had been. August in most countries above the equator was punishing, leaving residents in a viscous state between solid and liquid. But here, the breeze teased the trees, rustling the green leaves and stirring the birds.

A pair of goldfinches trilled overhead, following us, hopping from windowsill to windowsill, until they flew away, ushering in a couple of mourning doves. The carousel of birds continued, species after species, trailing behind as we neared Union Square.