The Many Daughters of Afong Moy(56)

She watched Sam take out his phone. For a moment, she thought he might text a friend, or take a selfie with his food, or look for more viable dating options right there in front of her, as one disappointed dinner date had done. Instead he pressed play and Ol’ Blue Eyes began singing “Both Sides Now” through a portable Bluetooth speaker.

Greta looked around, smiled, then got comfortable and unwrapped a set of chopsticks. She felt the heat, smelled the Szechuan peppercorns in the broth. She sipped sparkling water and their eyes met as she listened to the crooner sing, “It’s love’s illusions that I recall, I really don’t know love, I really don’t know love at all…”

In that moment Greta realized she had such terrible luck at dating because she’d always imagined that there was someone out there looking for her, someone who’d understand just her, someone worth waiting for.

She stared at Sam, wishing she’d read his file. “Who are you?”



* * *



Greta left work early and went directly to her parents’ house. She could smell her mother’s cooking, hoisin sauce, five-spice powder, and sesame oil, even before she walked in the door. Inside, her father was in his favorite chair, chin tucked to his chest, fast asleep as the second game of a Mariners double-header was in progress. An untouched cup of tea sat cooling on the table next to him. Greta’s mother waved and smiled from the kitchen, where she was chopping vegetables. She didn’t look surprised.

Greta removed her coat and tossed it over a chair on the way to the kitchen. “Who is this guy?” She stared at her mother.

“Who, Sam?”

“Yes, Sam!”

“Lower your voice, I don’t want to wake your father. He hasn’t been sleeping well,” her mother said as she chopped green peppers, onions, and smashed garlic. “I take it you went on your lunch date. How was it? Is he as nice as we’d hoped?”

“You tell me. He seems to know everything about me and I know nothing about him.” Greta took a lid off a pot that was simmering on the stove. Brisket, ginger, and peppers, with a hint of sesame oil. She spied an empty can of San Marzano tomatoes. Her mother was making Chinese chili, another one of Greta’s favorites.

She knew I’d come here.

Greta’s mother slipped by her with the small cutting board and brushed the vegetables into the pot with the edge of a cleaver. “Would you stir that for me?”

Greta shook her head and stirred the pot while her mother washed her hands and then dried them on a kitchen towel. Greta thought about Sam and wondered if she could find his folder in the recycling bin at work. “He’s gwaa gong, isn’t he?”

“Oh, they’re all leftover men, dear,” her mother said.

Even before Greta went to work for Syren and became a specialist on dating culture, she knew that China’s one-child policy had successfully curbed the booming population. But it gave the country thirty million more baby boys than girls.

“So yes, in case you are wondering, he’s a bare branch on his family’s tree,” her mother said as she rested a hand on her hip. “That’s nothing so unusual.”

“Then why did you choose him?”

“Do you not like him? Was he unkind to you?”

“No, that’s not it. He’s the opposite of that. He’s kind and charming and conscientious and self-deprecating,” Greta said. And beautiful.

“He’s a widower,” her mother said, and Greta fell silent. She stopped stirring the pot. “It’s hard enough to get married in China these days, but somehow he managed it. He and his bride went to the Maldives for their honeymoon.”

“Wait, he was married?”

Greta’s mother nodded. “Then they came back and she fell ill at a family dinner. She was sick for weeks before they found out that she had ovarian cancer.” Her mother shook her head. “She was gone in less than six months. That was three years ago. Sam hasn’t dated anyone since. I suppose initially that was because he was in mourning, but in reality, no one will marry him now. He doesn’t have a typical job. As you can see, he is mixed, which is not popular with traditional parents. And now he’s seen as a beacon of bad luck. That’s why his parents were desperately shopping him around. I’m sure he would have told you eventually. That’s hardly something to discuss on a first date.”

“But why me?” Greta asked. She thought about his smile, his sense of humor, his generosity of spirit. Being with him was like spending time with an old friend. She found herself genuinely interested. That’s when she realized what she was really asking was Why does he meet your approval?

Greta’s mother filled a pot with rice and began rinsing it. “It was at the Marriage Market that the matchmaker determined that Sam was perfect for you. I must confess, it was surprising, even to us. But your father and I would never doubt her.”

“She’s just some mei po,” Greta snapped. “A superstitious octogenarian with a power trip and too much time to kill. How can you put my fate in the hands of some stranger?” Even as she said those words Greta knew how she must sound. After all, millions of people were now putting their romantic fates in the digital hands of Greta’s algorithms. “I’m sorry, Ah-ma. I know that probably sounds hypocritical.”

Her mother sighed. “The reason we never doubted her, jyu dim, is because she was the matchmaker who arranged for me to marry your father.” She smiled and touched Greta’s face. “You, my perfect raindrop, are proof that she was right.”