Natalie Tan's Book of Luck and Fortune(47)

I ran home through the downpour.

Laolao’s recipes were backfiring, and I had to find out why.





Chapter Seventeen





Meimei greeted me at the door and meowed to be picked up. I had gotten used to carrying her, and it seemed she preferred this mode of transportation to walking. She purred in my arms: soothing, rolling vibrations that traveled under my skin and mimicked the thunder outside. Even after only a short time, I loved her and I couldn’t think of my life without her. She must have given Ma-ma so much comfort and love.

I carried Meimei to the sofa and held her up so we were eye to eye. “What are we going to do about the neighbors? Everything is falling apart and I’m responsible for all of it. I have to help them.”

The cat mewed.

“Because . . .” I sighed. “It’s the right thing to do and they’re good people.”

The cat mewed once more, her musical voice ending on a high note as if she were asking a question.

“They aren’t strangers anymore. They helped Ma-ma while I was gone and stood by me at her funeral. They’re supporting me with the restaurant. They’re my neighbors and I care about them.”

I read over my grandmother’s book feverishly, unable to find any disclaimers. I had followed the instructions to the letter and had seen the immediate results. Those who’d eaten the food had remarked that I’d nailed Laolao’s recipes. What had I done wrong? Was I not a good enough cook?

My fingers lingered on the ragged edges in the book. When reading through the recipes the first time, I had noticed the three missing pages and wondered what they contained. Could the damage be related to the disasters I’d caused? I didn’t know, and I felt a stab of pain as I realized I couldn’t ask Ma-ma and Laolao about it—they were gone.

No matter how many times I checked, there were no clear answers in the book, no recipe to undo what I had done. But if I didn’t find the solution soon, I feared it meant impending doom for Celia. What would happen to her because of my ineptitude?

I spent half an hour peering through the apartment windows, stalking Celia’s gift shop, indecisive. She had mentioned conducting meetings with tour operators. Would she be safe? Someone was arguing outside.

Again.

My stomach clenched, as did my jaw. I moved to the windows to investigate. The squabble grew louder until I could make out the words.

“No, you can’t do this to me!”

Celia.

“I am not obligated to refund your fees.” The stranger in a faded tee and jeans crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s in the contract.”

“That’s five thousand I can’t afford to lose,” Celia pleaded. “This is a scam. You can’t do this.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” He raised his arms in the air and made a rude gesture before walking away.

Celia’s shoulders undulated, bobbing up and down in tandem with each sob. She dashed to her building and slammed the door.

And just like that, my last good deed fell apart. My heart ached for Celia. Something was definitely going wrong with my versions of Laolao’s recipes. The initial effects were exactly as described in the book, but the conclusions were going sour. Somehow, the magic was being corrupted and I had no idea why. I might not have bargained for the aftershocks, but I was the one using the recipes.

I’d done this.

I needed to claim responsibility no matter the consequences. Celia would be blaming herself right now, and that wasn’t fair or right.

Grabbing my purse, I headed to Celia’s, armed with the truth and the acceptance of the censure that would come along with it.

When I arrived, Celia was in the midst of drowning her sorrows in a pile of barbecued pork buns. Judging by the number of crumpled papers, she was working on bun number four. I joined her at the kitchen table. “Help yourself,” she sniffled. Celia’s high standards had demanded one dozen of the best pork buns in Chinatown as comfort food. I picked up a bun, squeezing it with my fingers and watching it spring back against my palm. I bit into the soft, steamed bread, the sweet, saucy filling of minced pork belly dripping onto my tongue. I devoured the rest of the bun and soon another, and another. The palm-size buns vanished into my stomach but failed to assuage the uneasiness in it.

She sniffed. “Is it horrible that I thought I’d get ahead even if it was only for a little while? I was doing so well. The tour operator promised me more than he was able to deliver. I should have gone with the others with better reputations, but I gambled. I was too greedy. He was probably right. I’m old and foolish.”

“You’re not.” I swallowed. “It’s my fault. All of it.”

Celia set her half-eaten bun down. “It’s not like you pushed me into signing a sketchy contract.”

The truth was a tricky creature. It was lauded and respected, yet heartbreak, sorrow, and betrayal were among its followers. I had to tell Celia about my meddling now.

“I used Laolao’s recipes to give you extra luck,” I confessed. “I’m sorry that it turned out so horribly. I know you never asked me to. I thought I was helping you.”

Celia’s face was a kaleidoscope of emotions, shifting from realization to embarrassment to rage. Hands balled into fists at her side, her flushed visage contorted into a grimace.