Auntie Faye leaped from her chair, kissed me on the cheek, and excused herself as she pulled out her phone while heading outside for some privacy—ironic considering she was about to broadcast gossip.
Uncle Michael leaned in and whispered, “Every time that happens, I wonder if it’s painful.”
“It’s uncomfortable. That’s about it,” I replied. A string of happiness danced within me before vanishing like the notes from a plucked harp. They were replaced by a throbbing in my right temple. I hadn’t had a headache in a while. I dismissed it as a sign I was either tired or hungry.
“There’s no guarantee when it’ll happen,” I continued. “Ma and the aunties have tried more than enough times to compel it out of me. Of course, they failed. I’m just happy it’s not something horrible this time.”
“Have you talked to Evelyn?”
Aunt Evelyn was a member of the San Francisco Yus: the more prosperous branch with the tea import-export empire. My limb of the family tree, the Palo Alto Yus, operated the accounting firm that supported the tea business. A respected clairvoyant, she and I disagreed regarding our “gift.” We last spoke after I had invited her to the Andy Warhol exhibit at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. We hadn’t left the lobby before quarreling. She went home. I walked through the museum alone.
“I don’t think she’s happy with me. I spent my whole life avoiding her attempts to educate me. Every time I try to talk to her about it, we argue. You’d think, of all the people in the world, we’d be on the same page.” I sighed, and traced the rim of the empty glass. “All she cares about is the rules and how we need to follow them.”
“I think you two have more in common than you realize. As for this prophecy, it’s going to be complicated. If the ring is what I think it is, Johnny will need to grovel.”
I stifled a giggle.
Auntie Faye returned and sucked in her lips. “Aiyah, this is not going to be easy. What kind of ring again?”
I repeated the description.
She tapped her temple. “We have to find this ring. We know Johnny can’t do better. The girl is a catch, and we can’t let her get away from the family.”
I glanced over to see my favorite uncle attempting to hide his amusement.
“Auntie Faye, maybe you should ask Uncle Michael?”
“Michael, who owns the ring?” she demanded.
“Ning. It was bequeathed to her by Great-Auntie Nancy three years ago.”
Auntie Faye’s indignation peppered the air along with a litany of Hokkien and Mandarin curses. My fluency with the dialect was pidgin, limited to food and numbers. The previous generation’s enrollment in Chinese school cemented their command of Mandarin, while their parents spoke Hokkien at home. The cousins and I were spared language education, but not music lessons. Uncle Michael once joked that if our generation wanted to form a symphony, we could.
“Ning can’t stand him. She won’t give him the ring,” Auntie Faye hissed. “Remember the family picnic at Mitchell Park? She couldn’t stop complaining about him, saying that he has more metal on his face than a Honda Civic.”
Uncle Michael smiled. “The solution is easy. Have him take her out to dinner. Upscale and French. He needs to shave first and borrow something fashionable from Chester’s closet. Also, buy a bottle of pinot grigio in the fifty-dollar range. Ning loves her wines. It’ll help sweeten the pot.”
“Ah, Michael, you’re so smart. This is why I love you.” Auntie Faye patted his cheek, then turned to me. The heat from her focused gaze caused a bead of sweat to trickle down my temple. “Now that Johnny is getting married . . .”
My time was running out.
Two
Yu formal family functions are a symphony of chaos, and weddings were no exception. Nuptials ranged from traditional to Western with a scandalous elopement or two. Every Yu injected a quirk of their own, and Cynthia was no different: she rescheduled the tea ceremony with the groom’s family to after the ten-course reception dinner. Cynthia would have moved the entire wedding ceremony to the evening if her mother, Auntie Gloria, hadn’t threatened to kill her youngest daughter. Only after Cynthia stated that she would be late to her own wedding did her mother agree to delay the tea ceremony. Cynthia did rack up the most tardies despite living ten minutes away from her high school.
I relaxed in the safety of the hotel’s rooftop garden. The dinner reception in the grand ballroom wouldn’t begin for another hour. Uncle Michael and Jack kept me company. Jack, introduced to the family earlier this morning, had been swarmed with affection. The escape twenty floors up was for our mutual benefit.
“Brace yourself,” Uncle Michael warned, breaking the silence. “Your mother mentioned to me that she has a prospect in mind.”
I winced. My fingers pinched a piece of the embroidered lavender skirt of my cocktail dress. Feeling the fine needlework’s bumps and ridges soothed my elevated nerves. “He’s probably already here. Ma always comes prepared.”
Jack added, “Weddings are always the breeding ground for setups.”
“Cynthia betrayed me. She told me she was going to be the lone old maid to take the pressure off the rest of us. Then she met Edwin. Now Johnny . . . Everyone agreed he would never get married.”
The cousins and I had formed a union where we used our collective bargaining power to negotiate with our parents. Traditions, and which to follow, became the common talking points, while the most intense debates revolved around marriage. As heated as these discussions became, I was grateful that our parents were more reasonable than my grandparents had been with them. Later generations benefited from the earlier generations in America who fomented the seed of rebellion and the integration of Western values.
“Johnny’s prophecy should have stayed hidden,” I groused.
Uncle Michael raised a brow. “Really?”
“No,” I admitted. “I’ve never seen Johnny this happy and I can’t help but share in his joy. I just wish it didn’t involve unpleasant consequences on my end. It’s stirring up the aunties into a froth. My mother doesn’t need more ammunition. I want to date, but I don’t want it to be the precursor to an arranged marriage.”
“I thought you’re fourth-generation Chinese,” Jack said.
“I am, but the whole tiger parenting instinct is hard coded in their genes.” I rubbed my temples. “I know they mean well. A relationship is just not possible until I get this prediction thing under control.”
“I have to admit, it’s an interesting ability, or burden in your case,” Jack said.
“It’s got its downsides.”
He stood beside my uncle in a complementary navy suit. Jack reminded me of a rugged Pierce Brosnan. Uncle Michael wore charcoal gray with a gold tie. They could be on the cover of any men’s fashion magazine. Jack brought his camera equipment and worked the wedding, his gift to the couple. This was his rare break, and I suffered a twinge of guilt for having complained so much.
Before I could apologize, Jack glanced over his shoulder to see the elevators opening. “The women are coming.”
He and Uncle Michael moved in unison to head off the pack of aunties, herding them back into the elevator and disappearing behind closing doors. It was a reenactment worthy of the battle of Thermopylae. I was touched by their sacrifice.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and attempted to let the tension roll off my shoulders. Prophecies accompanied an assortment of drinks I imbibed or that I saw in the cups of others. I avoided tea because it was the most powerful stimulant. Drinking it resulted in vivid visions that even the aunties cautioned against.
I glanced down at my watch. Ten more minutes until I had to make my appearance downstairs. The sky above was a riotous blaze of pinks, purples, blues, and oranges with nary a cloud to mar it. It was worthy of Monet’s Parliament at Sunset. The cool breeze teased the tips of my wavy, dark hair. It was such a beautiful evening to waste on worries I had no control over.
The elevator bell dinged.
I turned around, hoping to see the return of my favorite uncle and his boyfriend.
Aunt Evelyn stepped out from the silver doors, and her dark eyes focused on me. Dressed in a long pastel blue sheath dress and beaded jacket, her long hair swept up to showcase a pair of diamond pendant earrings, she approached me with her high heels clicking against the marble floor.
“Hello, Vanessa.” Aunt Evelyn greeted me with a genuine smile.
Uncle Michael must have sent her to see me. “Hi,” I said. “How have you been?”
We both leaned in for a quick embrace and kiss on the cheek. She smelled of freshly cut peonies and vanilla. In her early fifties, she was still one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. She epitomized elegance and class and never allowed her abilities to see the future to hinder her successes or her life. I envied her.
“Busy. We’re opening a new tea shop in Paris soon,” she replied. “Well done in predicting Johnny’s engagement.”
I swallowed what I wanted to say: that I had no control over any of it and giving me credit was akin to thanking an automatic door for opening and closing. “He’s happy, and Andria is as well. I’m glad it wasn’t someone dying or getting into an accident.”