Natalie Tan's Book of Luck and Fortune(51)

Celia hovered near the doorway. Despite her worried expression, she was radiant in a fuchsia frock with a hydrangea print. Lifting her hand in a half-hearted wave, she took a seat at the table without saying hello. Of everyone that I’d invited, she was the only one whose RSVP I wasn’t sure of. I yearned to apologize again, but it wouldn’t diminish her pain. Even now, Celia busied herself with her phone to avoid any eye contact.

The Chius entered together, but they might as well have come individually: it was clear from their stiff body language and distance from each other that they were still fighting. Mrs. Chiu wore a flattering floral-print wrap dress under a crocheted cardigan, and Mr. Chiu was in a light charcoal sweater and khakis.

Mrs. Chiu embraced me. “How are you doing? Do you need anything?”

“No, I don’t need anything. Thank you for asking,” I replied. “I’m really glad you could come.”

“It’s not a problem, dear. We all loved your mother.” Mrs. Chiu’s gaze turned toward her husband and she frowned. Mr. Chiu was already seated at the table talking to Older Shen. The two men were discussing the real estate market—a topic that now filled me with even greater trepidation.

I squeezed her arm while guiding her to the table. “Please have a seat.”

Her smile vanished when her attention returned to her husband. Mrs. Chiu’s glare could freeze the Pacific Ocean. She took a seat in between Miss Yu and Celia.

The last to arrive was Younger Shen, wearing a subdued shade of navy blue. “Hello, little one!” he boomed. “Thank you for the invitation. I hope I’m not late.”

“Not at all.” I gestured toward the table.

Celia never glanced up from her phone. Her knuckles glowed white, clutching the device tightly. She didn’t want to be here, but I needed everyone to be present for this dinner.

They had to eat the three dishes and everything would be fixed; even Miss Yu agreed with my logic, which gave me hope.

When the last guest sat down, I took my place at the head of the table. The last time we had gathered together was for Ma-ma’s funeral two weeks ago. Now, with the women on one side of the table and the men on the other, their eyes were on me.

I took a deep breath. “Thank you all for being here. I’m so glad you came. When I lost my mother, I thought I had nothing left. She was all I had. But you reminded me that all of you are here with me.

“While I was gone, you looked after my mother. You brought her groceries, kept her company, and helped her remember she was loved. You made her feel she wasn’t alone. I know that she loved you all.”

I motioned for them to start eating.

Everyone at the table tipped their head in acknowledgment before turning their attention to the feast. Celia lifted the stainless-steel lid of the tureen holding the watercress soup. Using the ladle, she served everyone a bowl while carefully avoiding eye contact with me. Mr. Chiu seized the platter of clear soda shrimp and helped himself before passing it across the table to his wife. She accepted the dish with a tight smile. To my left, Older Shen prepared his spring roll with more than a liberal sprinkle of the sugared crushed peanuts to satisfy his sweet tooth.

As soon as the symphony of eating began, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Food possessed the remarkable ability to heal and bring people together.

All would be well. It had to be.

“Don’t eat too many of the prawn heads, Wayne,” Mrs. Chiu said. “You have to watch your cholesterol levels.”

Mr. Chiu dismissed his wife’s warning and continued sucking the sweet prawns on his plate.

“Wayne!” She smacked his wrist. “Stop. There aren’t enough fat blockers in my purse. Dr. Ong will be furious.”

Prawn and lobster brains were considered a delicacy for their rich flavor. The Shen twins and Celia were engaged in the same practice, sipping the heads as if they were miniature cups of mead.

I winced as Mr. Chiu continued to ignore his wife, greedily consuming all the prawn heads he could fit on his plate. Sure enough, Mrs. Chiu launched into another tirade. No one at the table paused or intervened. Miss Yu watched with a wary eye. Older Shen busied himself with the soup I’d prepared. Celia and Younger Shen took turns filling their plates with samples from the various dishes while still not uttering a word of conversation.

Intervening now would bring attention to the bickering couple.

Instead, I glanced over at Older Shen. “When will you be done with the repairs at the bookstore?”

“Everything is almost done. It’s almost ready for sale.”

“I hope you considered what I said. To sell to the right people?” I asked.

“No, I’ve consulted with Melody and she said—”

“You are not to sell!” Younger Shen brought his open palm down against the tabletop. The resounding clink from the cutlery echoed, and the ensuing, invisible shock wave shifted the plates. “If you sell, you’ll ruin us all. I don’t care what that woman says. Our businesses do not have a price. We already settled this, Fai. You’re not selling.”

Older Shen rose to his feet, struggling with his crutches, and for a moment, towered over his seated brother. “It’s my store. I can do with it as I see fit. Melody says I can be a millionaire if I sell now. You can’t tell me what to do anymore.”

Younger Shen rose to his feet and regained his physical advantage. “Yes, I can, because you’re being a coward and an idiot. You have no shame. Our families worked to build this neighborhood.”