Natalie Tan's Book of Luck and Fortune(7)

You are more like your grandmother than I was willing to admit. My mother had seldom spoken of Qiao. For years, I’d yearned for any memory Ma-ma could afford to give. But I’d never begged, for thinking of her seemed to bring my mother pain, and I’d loved her too much to press.

Ma-ma had also seldom mentioned my father, but I never wanted anything to do with him. My mother’s anger toward him had become my own, an inheritance I welcomed as a reaction to his abandonment.

My fingers dug into the cushion, squeezing the thinning foam underneath. And the restaurant. It had been boarded up on the first floor, forbidden to me because it was too dangerous to enter. But now I knew: my mother had lied when she told me it was ruined beyond all repair. My dream had been right beneath her all these years.

She wanted me to follow my dreams.

I broke into sobs, my chest heaving, gasping for breath from the pain of loss. My teardrops formed tiny crystals and fell hard against the linoleum. The ache within my rib cage swelled with every gulp of air.

As I cried, my gaze fell upon the wooden lotus-shaped bowl on the coffee table. Bought at a flea market, the bowl’s subtle wood grain reminded me of melted chocolate. It served as a replacement for the ceramic bowl I had accidentally broken before leaving. I traced its rounded petals before dipping my fingers inside it, into a small sea of teardrop crystals. Ma-ma had collected my tears since birth: first saving them in silk pouches, then graduating to bowls. I hadn’t understood why she’d wanted to keep them. She told me that she always wished to keep a part of me with her, and that there was beauty to be found everywhere—even in sadness. When Ma-ma cried, her tears took days to dry, leaving salt trails in their wake. The fragile salt disintegrated into nothingness.

Where was the piece of her I got to keep with me? Everywhere I looked I saw reminders of her presence, but nothing rivaled the power of her last letter lying discarded on the kitchen floor. I rushed to pick it up, pressing it tight against my broken heart. There was nothing I could do to bring her back.

When I finally stopped crying, I gathered the tiny crystals into my hands, pouring them into the bowl on the coffee table to join the others. A stray sunbeam struck the center, illuminating the ceiling with dancing prisms. I marveled at the display. Ma-ma always found the beauty in unlikely objects.

A soft meow interrupted my thoughts. A powder-puff-shaped creature emerged from the hallway. A pink rhinestone collar sparkled around her neck, complementing her glacial blue eyes. Meimei? I had almost forgotten about Ma-ma’s kitten.

She approached me without hesitation and rubbed herself against my calves, weaving in and out of my legs until I bent down to scoop her into my arms. Her snowy fur was softer than I imagined. I carried her to the high-backed chair. Sitting down, I lifted her to my face so our eyes could meet. She batted my nose in defiance.

“Hello, Meimei. You and I loved her the most, and now we have to start grieving her.” Sorrow swelled in my throat, cutting off my words. I held the cat against my chest and sighed. Purrs emanated from her tiny body, waves of vibrations that washed across my skin like the most comforting of massages. I held her closer and smiled when I noticed she had dozed off.

“Oh, little one. You have me now.”

Perhaps a part of my mother remained after all.





Chapter Four





My mother had given me her blessing, which meant I’d left in search of a dream that was right here at home the whole time. The restaurant. I needed to investigate. The cat batted my ankles as if she concurred with my sense of adventure. I bent down to pick her up and take her with me.

The door to the restaurant was at the base of the stairs leading up to the apartment. I pushed the door open and fumbled for the switch. Light flooded the narrow galley, which was flanked by cupboards and counter space on one side and the stove, oven, and fridge on the other. Just as my mother had said, it looked to be in perfect working order, with enough room for one person—the cook. It was in many ways comparable to the cha chaan teng—tiny counter service restaurants—I’d worked at in Hong Kong.

This was where Laolao had cooked for her neighbors all those years ago. She’d spent most of her life walking up and down this galley kitchen. She was here.

She’d learned how to cook from her own mother and hadn’t gone to a fancy culinary school. If she could do it, perhaps I could too.

This was what I’d always wanted. This could be mine.

The realization settled in between my shoulder blades, in a spot I couldn’t reach or ignore. I’d thought that as long as I kept moving, working in kitchens, and traveling, I had a goal. But Laolao had had true purpose. She had known she wanted to cook, and she’d achieved great things. Ma-ma had had purpose too. She had embraced motherhood and become the sole parent I had needed and wanted.

I had always wanted to cook. What better way to pursue my dreams than to literally follow in Laolao’s footsteps? Could my purpose be right here at home after all? Ma-ma had not only denied me this—she had concealed the restaurant’s condition from me all along. But there was no point in being angry at ghosts.

My skin itched from the stale mustiness clinging to the air. A thin veil of dust covered every surface, reflecting ages of neglect; much like the patina on Ma-ma’s bronze birds. Dust caked my fingertips when I skimmed them across the counter.

My initial excitement was soon replaced by doubts. Most new restaurants struggled to survive their first year. Even with the humble beginnings I envisioned, reopening the restaurant would still cost money I didn’t have. I strolled toward the front of the restaurant, flipping the switches, turning on the pendant lamps. The lights continued to work after all these years, proving there was definitely more than a flicker of life left in this place. The dining area, annexed in part by the stairs to the apartment above, included four wooden bar stools and two square tables.