Natalie Tan's Book of Luck and Fortune(5)

Celia emerged victorious and left two crisp twenty-dollar bills on the table before she linked her arm with mine and escorted me out of the restaurant. Old Wu returned to his post without further comment. My heated cheeks remained the sole trace of the old man’s earlier tirade. The details of the incident might fade, but I would never forget the shame.

“I’m sorry about Mr. Wu,” Celia murmured. “He’s set in his ways and he doesn’t understand your relationship with Miranda. He’s probably still stinging from your laolao’s death decades ago.”

Old Wu was of the same generation as Laolao. Ma-ma had seldom spoken of her mother because their relationship had been complicated at best, but I’d always yearned to know more about my grandmother.

“He knew her?” I asked.

“Of course. Your grandmother’s restaurant was once the jewel of Chinatown.”

I unwound my arm from hers in surprise. Information about my grandmother had never flowed freely from my neighbors.

Celia smiled. “Qiao and Miranda loved each other, but both wanted very different things.” She paused. “Miranda asked us not to mention your laolao to you. I have honored her wishes until now.”

Ma-ma. I still couldn’t believe she was gone.

“How did it happen?” My voice dwindled to a whisper. If Celia weren’t in such close proximity, she might have missed it.

“It was the strangest thing. Anita Chiu found her outside your building, collapsed on the sidewalk. I still don’t know why Miranda stepped out.”

A sudden hope swelled inside me, mingling with the shame and guilt. Ma-ma’s agoraphobia had kept her confined upstairs. The building could have been on fire, and if she had to walk across the threshold for safety, she still wouldn’t have been able to. Had something changed over the years I was gone? “Was . . . She’d been able to leave the apartment?”

“No. It was so unlike Miranda. I saw her two nights before when I came for a visit. She looked fine then. A little pale but within the normal range for your mother.”

Why had my mother stepped outside?

I was thirteen, on my way to the bus stop, when I tripped over a crack in the sidewalk across the street, opening a deep gash in my shin. Ma-ma had seen the whole thing, her face plastered against the glass of the window, but she wasn’t able to come down and help me. The combination of sheer panic, anguish, and helplessness on her face was forever burned into my memory.

Why did you go outside, Ma-ma?

“It is a mystery to all of us. But the important thing is that you’re here now.” Celia paused to gather her breath before continuing. “Her body is at the morgue. I can go with you in the morning, and if you want me to, I can help you plan the funeral. Miranda wanted a traditional Buddhist ceremony. We can do a private one and rebuild your family shrine.”

“Family shrine?”

“You had one. I saw it once, but Miranda put it away after your grandmother died.”

Laolao died long before I was born. Ma-ma had only spoken of her as one would a favorite fable, presenting merely the morals of the tale and leaving the details vague on purpose. Guilt gnawed at me for wanting more than what my mother had given, but now that she was gone, the opportunity to know anything about my grandmother was lost. Regret flooded me: I should have pushed harder. Laolao was a part of me too.

“With your mother the way she was, I know you’ve never been to a Chinese funeral. Do you know what to do? Let me help you. It’s the least I can do.”

Celia’s kindness crept in to surprise me. Such was the vulnerability of grief: every act of concern was felt more deeply, for the path to the heart was clear. It mattered not who was offering, this was what I needed now, and I was grateful.

“Thank you,” I said. “I don’t know what to do or how to even begin arranging this.”

She patted my arm. “After having arranged the funerals for my parents five years ago, I know the ins and outs. I’ll be your guide.”

We stopped at the door to Ma-ma’s apartment. Celia gave me a tight embrace. “I’m really sorry about Miranda. Would you like me to come in with you?”

I shook my head. “I need to do this alone, but thank you.”

“I understand.” She nodded. “Oh! And before I forget, beware of the cat.”

“The cat?”

“I’ve been feeding the little piranha for Miranda. She picked it out a month ago. I was both delighted and supportive of her decision until Meimei drew blood. The kitten is very cute and only likes—liked—your mother. Don’t be insulted if she hates you.”

Meimei. Little sister. Ma-ma chose the name well. The idea of my mother having a companion made me smile. She should have done it years ago. My gaze drifted to the faded scratches on Celia’s forearms, which I hadn’t noticed until now. “Thank you for the warning and for everything else.”

“You have my number. Call me when you’re ready.”

Celia returned to her building and left me standing alone by the door to the apartment.

By the time I turned the key, climbed up the stairs, and stepped into my mother’s apartment, I was crying. A trail of sorrow followed me. When sadness made an appearance in my life, it always brought the weight of the ocean with it.

I locked the door behind me and set down my luggage in the foyer.