Lunar Love (79)

I look out over Los Angeles as the city starts to wake up for the day. It’s the city where people come to make their dreams come true. Where anything feels possible. The place where anyone can freely reinvent themselves over and over again. The town where competition is fierce, but ambition is fiercer. Competition doesn’t stop people from chasing after what they want. It’s not going to stop me, either.

Even Lunar Love is in its own process of reinvention. Maybe it’s not completely unreasonable to think that the merging of traditional and modern can actually do some good in the world.

“I have to go,” I say, checking the time on my phone. I take off running down the mountain. I have a pitch to get to.





Chapter 21





I arrive at the Pitch IRL venue in downtown LA to find Bennett. The venue is small enough where every angle is considered a good seat. On the large screen behind the stage, I see the ZodiaCupid logo displayed. Perfect. I made it just in time to catch Bennett in the middle of his pitch.

Up on stage, Bennett paces back and forth. He looks nervous. This isn’t what I expected when I envisioned him pitching all his past businesses. As he starts to describe ZodiaCupid, he fumbles over data and statistics. He takes a second to drink water.

I approach the stage looking sweaty and disheveled in my leggings and oversized T-shirt. When Bennett places the cup down and looks up, I’m able to catch his eye. I give him a small wave and mouth the words “From the heart,” pointing to the left side of my chest. He returns the smile and quickly inhales before letting out a long breath.

“People are more than just line items in an Excel spreadsheet,” Bennett says. He stands up straighter, his grip on his notecards relaxing. The confidence that was lacking in his voice before is now present and commanding.

“There’s no algorithm in the world that can capture what it’s like to laugh uncontrollably with the person you love or that feeling when you’re sitting next to someone for the first time at a movie and wondering if they want to hold your hand just like you do,” he says, taking deliberate pauses and steps across the stage. “Or when you bomb so badly on a date but don’t care because every second you spend with them is more important than any second you had without them.”

Just when I think he’s finished, he looks up at me and dives into why he started ZodiaCupid. He shares a condensed version of the story he told me about finding his mother’s journals, and how his parents were mismatched yet perfectly matched, and the importance of discovering your culture no matter what age you are. It’s when he speaks from the heart that I notice the young audience shifting in their seats and focusing on him instead of on their phones.

He hits his stride and returns to the data and statistics. He discusses the beta version of the app, who they’ve been able to hire with savings, their marketing plan and how the strategy has been working, estimated expenses and anticipated revenue, and potential user numbers post-beta. At first, he captured their hearts—a feeling I know well—and then he captured their wallets.

As I watch him in his element, I think about all the ways that online dating has benefited me. While Lunar Love lost clients, it made me figure out how to be smarter about the business and our offerings. Without the app, I may never have found Parker to match with Harper. Without ZodiaCupid, I may never have found Bennett.

On my phone, I see my dad’s name light up the screen. I decide to call him back after the pitch, letting his call go to voicemail. When he calls a second time in a row, I can’t ignore it.

“Hello?” I whisper, ducking out of the audience and into the lobby.

“Hey sweetie,” Dad says quietly. “Where are you? Can you talk?”

Through the windows, I watch as Bennett speaks animatedly. The crowd loves him.

“I’m actually in the middle of something.”

“Would you be able to get out of it and come home?” he asks.

“Why? What happened?” I ask, my tone more urgent. “Can you tell me now?”

Dad clears his throat. “I hate to tell you over the phone…” I sense a shift in his voice. I press the phone harder against my ear and search for a private corner.

“Dad, what is it?”

“Pó Po passed away in her sleep last night,” he says sadly.

Everything goes quiet. People in my line of sight blur. I freeze in place but the room feels like it’s spinning around me. A hollow silence hangs between us as I process what I’ve just heard.

“It was very unexpected,” Dad continues. “I’m afraid I don’t have good news to follow this up with. Are you there?”

“Nn-hnn,” I mumble, half listening. My dry throat and eyes burn. “She seemed fine.” My mind jumps to when she fell into the car, triggering a reminder of her feeling tired when we made dumplings. My pulse races. How could I not have seen that she wasn’t well? “Wasn’t she?”

“Honestly, we don’t know. The Huang women have always put on a strong face. If she was sick, she never let on how bad it was,” he says.

I lean back against the poster-covered wall and curl forward, tears streaming down my cheeks onto my leggings. Everything in my body stings. “How are Mom and Auntie? Does Nina know?” I manage to ask. My heart feels like it’s going to climb its way up my throat and out of my body.