Lunar Love (82)

I smile to myself about the resurfaced memories as I spread lightly sweet filling over the golden center. The edges of the cake slightly curl, the parchment paper crinkled beneath it.

“All yours,” Mae Yí-Pó says, gesturing for me to do the final roll.

I slowly turn the cake onto itself as filling spills out over the spiraled edges. Colette sprinkles our creation with powdered sugar, and Mae Yí-Pó cuts the treat into slices.

“To June Huang,” Mae Yí-Pó says. We take bites of the Swiss roll. “Mmm.”

“These are always so much better right out of the oven,” Colette says between mouthfuls.

The airy cake comforts me. “It’s the best one yet. Do you think Pó Po would like it?” I ask.

Mae Yí-Pó takes a second bite. “She’d absolutely love it,” she says, wrapping her arm around me. “Never forget that, no matter what happens, your Pó Po is watching over you, just like she always has, and she’s very proud of you, just as she always has been.”

I slowly nod to acknowledge Mae Yí-Pó and what she’s saying. The creamy Swiss roll filling coats my tongue as I swallow down a fresh batch of tears.





Chapter 22





She wants it to be what?” Nina asks, sounding as shocked, sad, and defeated as everyone else. She and Asher have joined us at Mom and Dad’s house, having been able to cancel their honeymoon with a partial refund.

We’re in the thick of coordinating Pó Po’s funeral with Uncle Rupert on speakerphone contributing his thoughts. It’s been a few days since Pó Po passed but there’s a lot of planning to do.

“Fun,” Mom says. “Her words.”

In the kitchen, I skin an apple pear and slice it, dividing the halves into quarters, the quarters into smaller pieces. I set the bowl of fruit and a handful of forks on the table when Auntie joins us bearing two bouquets and a pastry box.

“Mae Yí-Pó dropped by. This one’s for the family,” Auntie says, placing one flower-filled vase on the kitchen counter. “And these are for you. Apparently someone came by the bakery to see if Mae Yí-Pó could get these to you.”

Auntie gives me a wink as she hands me a vase stuffed with pink peonies and the box.

I tentatively accept them.

“It’s from Asshole, isn’t it?” Nina murmurs, wiggling her eyebrows.

“It’s probably from Alisha and Randall or something,” I murmur, even when I know it isn’t. Alisha and Randall brought flowers over yesterday.

I carry the flowers and box to the counter and pluck out the tucked-in card.

Olivia—I’m very sorry to hear about your Pó Po. I know they can’t do much, but I hope these flowers and Swiss rolls (vanilla only, of course) will help provide the slightest bit of comfort. —Bennett



I dig my fingernails into my palm. After pushing him away, Bennett still has the heart to do this. A twinge of regret and guilt forms inside of me. We didn’t get to talk at the pitch, but he saw that I was there. I trace my thumb over his name and then tuck the note into my pocket and return to the table with the rolls.

My mom lifts a piece of paper filled with instructions from Pó Po on how she wanted her funeral to happen. In addition to sketching out a loose timeline, she had three requirements: the funeral needs to be on an auspicious day, she gets to choose most of her paper funeral offerings, and it should be a celebration of her life, which in Pó Po speak means “fun and magical.”

“Mom made it clear in her letter that she didn’t want everyone to be so sad, Rupert. I think we should honor it,” my mother says into the phone set in the center of the table. “She’s had her share of hardship during her life. There will still be traditional elements. This is Mom we’re talking about.”

“Okay, okay. Let’s do it her way,” Uncle Rupert agrees.

“Olivia, you’re in charge of figuring out the music,” Mom tells me.

“The noise signifies the end of the ceremony and the moment for lowering the casket,” Auntie clarifies. “The music has to be loud enough to frighten away spirits and ghosts.”

“I saw in a movie once that out-of-work actors are paid to cry loudly at funerals?” Asher asks. “Is that true?”

“Having someone else loudly crying encourages others to shed more tears, since by that point, they’ve already grieved so much. Traditionally, a lack of tears at funerals makes it look like the deceased wasn’t loved, and this disgraces the family,” Auntie answers. “But funerals are starting to become simpler and more modern.”

I only need to think for a moment before I know. “A saxophone. She always loved the sound because it reminded her of Paris.”

Auntie and Mom nod in approval.

“How appropriate!” Uncle Rupert says over the speaker. “Here’s a bone to chew on: Should we hire a magician?”

We look around at one another.

“She wants it to be magical, doesn’t she?” he adds.

“I think that’s exactly what she would’ve wanted,” I say, breaking the silence.



On the auspicious evening of the funeral, family and friends gather to wish Pó Po a safe journey into the afterlife. There are more than one hundred guests in attendance, everyone wearing various shades of white and cream. In what seems like minutes, the one hundred guests grow to what looks like a thousand, with a line of people forming outside waiting to come in and find their seats.