Natalie Tan's Book of Luck and Fortune(64)

His terms were more than fair.

“I accept your generous offer, Lao Wu,” I replied.

“By the way, I prefer not to be reminded of my age.” A rusty chuckle escaped his lips. “If you want to, you can call me Lao Shi since I will be your mentor.”

Teacher. I smiled and found I was no longer surprised to see his rare smile in return.

The universe unfurled in such unpredictable ways. We all moved in a constant celestial dance. The song ends and the music and our partner may change, but in order to survive we must continue dancing. I would prevail, and I would succeed.

“Qiao was an excellent chef with a long shadow. In order for you to succeed, you need to walk alongside her, not behind her. Cook from your heart.” He glanced at his watch. “I am afraid I must return to the restaurant. I have been gone far too long already. Come by and pick up the check next week. I’m confident that you will find a way to solve the problem with the neighbors.”

I tipped my head. “Thank you, Lao Shi.”

I didn’t know yet how to fix that issue, but I was hopeful that I would figure something out. Working out a solution was easier now that the problem had been identified.

“No, thank you for the wonderful meal,” he said. “You have a gift, Ye Ying, and a vision that is your own. You need both to succeed.”



* * *





?I migrated back upstairs to think about the missing pages. The mystery of what had happened to them was solved: Ma-ma had burned them out of spite. Though I was grateful for the insight, I still had a dilemma. Miss Yu had told me that the fate of the restaurant was tied to cooking from the recipe book. With Old Wu’s help, I could restore what had been lost, but with the book still damaged, I wouldn’t be able to prosper.

The sounds of Meimei gnawing and chewing greeted me. “Meimei?” I called out. “What are you up to?”

I checked the hallway and the bedrooms, but no cat. The sounds originated from the living room. Lowering myself to my hands and knees, I peeked under the couch and caught the furry criminal in the act. I reached out to see what she had in her mouth, inadvertently beginning a slobbery game of tug-of-war with the cat.

Meimei sank her claws into me and I winced, annoyed. This wasn’t like her. After extricating the cat’s needle-like claws, I stretched out what I had managed to grab from her. It was a woven bracelet I’d bought in Boracay, a memento of my first vacation with Emilio. I gathered the edges and contemplated whether it could still be saved. As I separated the loose strands, a memory resurfaced of when I had seen this similar kind of damage.

When I was little, while crossing the street, I’d dropped a cloth doll my mother had made for me. Part of it was run over by a passing vehicle, and one of its arms was torn off. When I came home crying, Ma-ma scooped me into her embrace and calmed me down with kisses and hugs. “Sometimes when something is broken, we can’t fix it. Instead, we can make it anew.” She made a new limb from a fresh piece of fabric, stuffed it with batting, and reattached it. The doll was made whole again. My recollection gave me an idea. What if I wrote down three of my own recipes and added them to Laolao’s book? What if I contributed something brand-new instead of trying to replicate what was already there?

Would it work?

The same blood flowed in my veins; theoretically, so did the same magic. Maybe adding new recipes of my own could heal the heart of my grandmother’s recipe book. This was an educated guess at best, but it was the only solution I had.

My grandmother had created it.

My mother had damaged it.

I would restore it.

I rushed to the book on the kitchen table and opened it to the section where the three pages were missing. I used a scalpel from Ma-ma’s utility drawer to cut away the ragged edges, leaving enough of a margin to attach my addition later.

The instant I finished, an invisible wind stirred the pages, flipping them, releasing all of the aromas of the dishes in the air. I closed my eyes to drink in the unseen feast. When I opened them, the book had returned to its normal state, open to the place I had trimmed.

Was this a sign I was on the right track?

Three of my recipes. No, three of my best recipes.

The tiniest speck of hope arose from the ashes of my failure. My grandmother had learned to stand on her own after crossing an ocean. My mother had raised me alone even while tormented by her lingering demons. I was a product of these strong women. Ma-ma’s final request to follow my dreams was within my reach.

Would my idea work?

Only one way to find out.





Chapter Twenty-four





Sitting at the kitchen table with my grandmother’s book beside me, I wrote out the recipe I would cook for Celia on a piece of paper I’d found in Ma-ma’s stationery drawer. The parchment matched the pages in the book, so it must have belonged to Laolao at one point.

I followed the format of Laolao’s recipes. I wrote down the ingredients and instructions before moving on to the final part of the recipe. What was my wish for this dish? I pulled out a notebook and revised the words until the note conveyed what I wanted.

Writing the recipe was the easy part.

I had to call and invite Celia over. What if she said no? She had been there for me when the fire happened, but that could have been out of duty or common decency. I hadn’t heard from her since.