We followed Auntie Faye upstairs to the third floor. While the second floor was dedicated to private treatment rooms, the entire third functioned as a venue for bridal parties. I’d been here once, for Percy’s wedding, as a bridesmaid. Ma and I were supposed to be the only ones booked for a treatment. I sensed an auntie ambush.
Auntie Faye and Ma’s conversation in rapid Hokkien kept me in the dark. Cantonese possessed a singsong quality, Mandarin was harsher with crisp R sounds, but Hokkien was in between: more concise than Cantonese, but softer in sound than Mandarin. This was one of the few times I regretted not attending Chinese school.
Since I couldn’t understand what they were saying, I measured the conversation by inflection and tone. The nervous excitement between them was blatant. “Ma, what are you saying to Auntie Faye?” I asked.
“You’ll see.” My mother patted my cheek.
My aunt giggled and led us to the twin doors of the suite. With a flourish, she opened the wrought-iron-embellished, frosted double glass doors. “Surprise!”
The immaculate ivory chamber had reupholstered antique chairs painted in white, and a plush velvet lavender chaise longue. A serene floral watercolor-print wallpaper graced the walls framed by Victorian reproduction wainscoting. Intricate copper tiles covered the ceiling, gleaming from the stray sunlight passing through the large bay window.
Every single Palo Alto auntie was in attendance: Faye, Gloria and her rival Ning, Madeline, Suzanne, Annette, the twins Bea and Belle, Rose, Lulu, Jenny, Tina, and the youngest, Holly.
All thirteen of them, excluding my mother.
“It’s not my birthday,” I said with a forced smile.
Auntie Faye laughed as she took my arm and led me to the high-backed chair in the center of the room. “Sit.”
I obeyed with narrowed eyes.
Auntie Gloria picked up on my mood. “Don’t worry. No naked man will enter the room and dance for you.”
I covered my blushing face as the rest of the aunties burst into laughter.
“We are here to help you, dear niece,” Auntie Faye continued. “Your mother and I were talking about how you are the next one to be married. Linda hasn’t been very successful when picking from the small pool at the firm. Those accounting men are probably not your type, am I right?”
I couldn’t answer. My dear aunt wasn’t done with her soliloquy, or sales pitch.
“We decided to help you. We asked around and got in touch with a matchmaker in New York. She has a very high success rate, but her sister in Shanghai is much better. We want the best for you so we got you an appointment with her. Madam Fong is flying in from China in a week to meet with you.”
I tried to keep my tone even, but the last word ended in a high pitch. “I can’t have a long-term relationship. You all know this, yet you all thought this was a good idea?”
Ma moved to my side and patted my hand. “Her references are beyond reproach. Besides, we never consulted an expert before. She’s renowned in China. If anyone can help, it’s her.”
“Don’t you think we should be helping Cynthia first before you start marrying me off?” I protested.
“We are taking care of her. Evelyn is counseling her, dear. This doesn’t mean that we can’t help you as well,” Auntie Faye explained. “Besides, the down payment is nonrefundable.”
I covered my eyes with my hands. “I can’t believe you all did this. I know I have problems with dating, but this is overkill. You didn’t have to hire a specialist. Most of you are accountants or are married to one. You’re supposed to be good with money!”
“Aiyah, she isn’t happy,” Auntie Gloria wailed.
Ma blushed. She was a senior auditor at the firm. “This is a smart investment, Vanessa. Good matchmaking is a science. Madam Fong’s success rate and statistics check out.”
“Did she have a guarantee clause?” I asked.
“Oh, you can’t ask for that. This is a very complicated process,” Auntie Faye said. She handed her tablet to me. “See. That is her website.”
I frowned. The site appeared professional and the picture of Madam Fong seemed real enough, but the website was in simplified Chinese. “You’re cheating. You know I can’t read this.”
“You trust us.” Auntie Gloria pressed her hand against her chest. “Would your aunties lie to you?”
The room erupted in outraged Hokkien directed toward my mother. The absurdity of this situation would have made me laugh if I weren’t the crux of the joke. I didn’t fault their good intentions: these women would walk through fire for me. Auntie Gloria defended me from a bully at the park when I was in first grade, and encouraged Ma to enroll me in tae kwon do lessons. Auntie Faye snuck me romance novels when Ma banned them from the house.
“You know I love you all,” I declared over the din. “I mean, this is sweet in a weird kind of way.”
“Why weird?” Auntie Gloria asked. “We want you to be happy. We’re only thinking about you.”
I sighed. “I know.”
“Remember, no refund. If it doesn’t work out, then we only paid for the round-trip plane ticket and down payment.” Ma squeezed my hand.
The earnestness in their faces made it much harder for me to disappoint them. I was receiving an expensive gift I neither wanted nor asked for. Had this been a sweater, the proper response would be to thank them, wear the hideous garment once in their presence, and then bury it in a closet, ready to be pulled out to refute any accusations it had been tossed or given away. Perhaps one meeting with the matchmaker could be enough to pacify the aunties.
I placed my other hand over my mother’s. “Fine, fine. I’ll give it a try.”
The aunties broke out into triumphant smiles. Of course they’d be pleased: they got what they wanted.
“Does this mean I’m not getting a mani or pedi?” I asked.
“You said yes, so you will be getting one,” Auntie Faye laughed. “I’ll call the staff. Everyone gets treatments today.”
* * *
* * *
On the morning before I met with the matchmaker, I researched everything I could find regarding the lore. It had a long history in China. Some consulted zodiac charts, some numerology, but the best matchmakers were guided by their intuition and memory. Reading about the subject reminded me of how much it resembled fortune-telling. People yearned for romance and love as much as they wanted guidance; that was why both professions hadn’t died out. I was by no means qualified as a fortune-teller, nor had I any intention to be. The Yu family already had one true clairvoyant: Aunt Evelyn.
Ma provided me with the details for the meeting. She had also gone ahead and sent my picture and description to Madam Fong. This might be the only occasion I didn’t mind her interference. Typing up my own bio, measurements, and whatever strange details the matchmaker needed would have been painful.
I spent part of my lunch break traveling from the firm’s location near the airport to Linfield Oaks in Menlo Park. Surrounded by palm trees and beautiful gardens, the hotel’s classic-style brick and shutters created an old Hollywood feel. The aunties had outdone themselves by hosting the matchmaker at a four-star establishment.
After parking my modest, cherry-red, five-year-old Toyota Corolla, I headed to the lobby in search of the lounge. I knew the layout. Every Yu was well acquainted with every hotel in the Bay Area from the countless family functions: weddings, retirements, anniversaries, and birthdays.
The recently renovated lounge had the aesthetic of The Great Gatsby: gold leaf, geometric art deco walls, painted wood ceiling tiles, and interlocking patterned floors. I found the matchmaker in a plush booth third from the back. Given the nature of our meeting, I was grateful for the privacy afforded by her choice.
Madam Fong was a stern-looking woman in her late sixties. Her ears, neck, and wrists dripped with gold and jade. She had the air of a judge of the Diyu with her sharp features and rigid posture. Her goal appeared to be intimidation: potential parents and candidates had no room to question her proposed matches.
She gestured for me to sit across from her. The bracelets at her wrist jingled from the abrupt movement. I took my seat and set my purse down beside me.
She began speaking in rapid Mandarin and stopped when she noticed my look of incomprehension. The matchmaker shook her head and clucked her tongue. Even though I wasn’t fluent, I did recognize the one term of derision she slipped under her breath. Xiang jiao ren. Derogatory for those who looked Chinese, but acted American. I could have called the meeting off, but Madam Fong was only one of a long line of Chinese who had disrespected me for not being fluent, for not being Chinese enough.
The older woman frowned. “English it is then.”
“Thank you.”
“Your relatives enlisted my services to find you a match. Normally, I make matches between families of people I know in Shanghai. Your case is unusual.” She narrowed her eyes. “You are a strange girl.”
Again, this was a variation on something I’d heard from outsiders. I felt normal, but my peculiar talent for spitting out fortunes marked me as an other. I had spent my whole life wishing to be like everyone else—normal.
“I have consulted numerology, astrology, and zodiac charts, but have come up with nothing. You have no match.” Her powdered brow furrowed. “Are you dead?”