Chapter 15
Are you sure you don’t want any?” Pó Po says as she wrestles the cork out of a wine bottle.
“I’m all wined out from last night. Here, let me help you,” I say, reaching for the Pinot Noir she’s chosen. I pull the cork out and pour the bottle’s contents into a stemless glass, the ruby liquid splashing up against the sides.
“What happened last night?” Pó Po asks.
I give Pó Po a sheepish smile. “I was out…at a Singles Scouting,” I lie.
“You expect me to believe that half-assed lie?” she says skeptically.
I cough out a laugh at her word choice. “No, I don’t,” I admit.
My phone vibrates with a text from Nina. “Nina’s not coming!” I inform Pó Po. “She has to do something with her dress and menu planning for the wedding.”
“Too bad. Is she still wearing white?” Pó Po asks.
“Yes, her jumpsuit is still ivory, Pó Po,” I say. “It’s off-white.”
“Aiyah! You know that color is what people wear to funerals. And it’s not even a dress!”
“But in Western culture, it symbolizes purity. It’s traditional for brides to wear white on their wedding day.”
Pó Po shakes her head to the side. “I don’t like it.”
“She’ll be wearing red for the wedding dinner. She’s also making sure to incorporate traditional elements. You may not like it now, but I think you will!” I exclaim, giving Pó Po a stern but loving look.
“Fine,” she says, giving me a face right back.
“Let’s enjoy ourselves. You know I live for these dinners.” I start pulling dumpling ingredients from my parents’ kitchen, relying on muscle memory to guide my movements.
“I’m glad you were still able to make it,” Pó Po says.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I say. And I haven’t. Not one. Our Dumplings and Rom-Dram Dates are the highlight of my month.
Pó Po folds up the sleeves on her lavender linen lounge set. “Have you—”
“—given any thought to Auntie’s latest match? No,” I blurt out.
“I was going to ask if you’ve figured out what you’re wearing to the wedding,” she says patiently. She pours soy sauce over ground pork meat.
“Oh, sorry,” I say as I slice scallions and mince garlic.
She shrugs, moving onto a new topic. “I think you’ll enjoy what I’ve picked for today. In the Mood for Love, directed by Wong Kar Wai. It’s a masterpiece. Very moody. A slow burn.”
“Ooh, moody. That’s exactly what I’m craving,” I say, scooping salt out of a ramekin with a spoon. After last night’s kiss with Bennett, I haven’t been able to think about anything else. “LA is charming in the fall, don’t you think?”
“Aiyah! Stop! That’s sugar, not salt!” Pó Po manages to catch some of the sugar as I pour it over the pork mixture.
“Oops.”
“It’s bright, like every other time of year here, but sure, I guess you could call it charming,” Pó Po says, giving me a weird look.
“Apple and pumpkin picking in sunshine, vibrant sunsets, cooler evenings, sweaters!” I rattle off.
She watches me closely. “What were you saying about last night?”
“Did I say something? I don’t think I said anything,” I tell her.
“You’re red! Are you blushing, or lying, or both? You’re face turns red when you lie.”
I fan myself with my hand. “This kitchen is hot!”
“Let me ask you a serious question, Olivia. Do you take me for a fool?”
I laugh. “You? A fool? That’s the last thing you are.”
“Good. And accurate. So tell me what it is,” she presses. Pó Po stops mixing the dumpling filling and leans against the counter.
“Are you feeling okay, Pó Po?” I ask. “Do you need to take a seat? I can take over.”
“Don’t fuss! I just need a quick break. When you get to be as old as I am, you’re always tired. Enjoy your body while you’re young and healthy,” she says, waving me off. “Besides, you still haven’t perfected the dumpling fold. Pay close attention.”
I watch as she pleats the dough swiftly. Following her lead, I spoon filling into the center of the wrapper and mimic her movements, folding the dough into a half-moon shape. “Whoops, too much filling,” I say, glancing up at Pó Po watching from the stool.
“That one’s yours,” she says, placing a plump dumpling on the plate in front of her. “Let’s not play this game. Tell me. Are you in love?”
“Love?” I laugh. “Come on, Pó Po. You can’t be throwing the L-word around like that. I can’t be happy? My marketing ideas for Lunar Love are starting to show traction. That makes me…joyful.”
Pó Po laughs and wipes flour off her hands with a dish towel. “Very good, but that’s not it. Liv, I’ve spent my life around those in love. I know it like astronomers know the craters of the moon.”
I half smile. “My mind’s just a little…preoccupied.”
“Go on.” Pó Po looks over at me with an upturned eyebrow. She reaches for an apple pear in the fruit bowl and a paring knife from the knife block. “Could you please get me two bowls?”
“I think I’m just a little in over my head,” I say, my walls slowly coming down. I grab two bowls from the cabinet and slide them toward her. One month in and I’ve done the opposite of proving myself worthy of taking over Pó Po’s business.
She frowns. “How so?” With a few swift turns of her wrist, the skin of the apple pear curls off against the knife’s blade into spiral shavings.
“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” I say. She can probably sense how hard I’m trying.
“You know you can tell me. You’re letting the business get between us. I know how you want to be perceived, especially by me, but I don’t care about business owner Olivia. Right now I care about my granddaughter Olivia.”
Pó Po cuts the skinned apple pear into smaller slices, arranging them into a bowl. She pushes it toward me. Pó Po’s cut fruit is always a treat, calming me in stressful times. I love watching her efficiently and swiftly skin apples and pears, score and cube juicy mangoes, and cut through melons with ease. Fruits always taste sweeter when they come from her.
Frozen in place, I stare at the shiny fruit. Once Pó Po knows the truth, I fear that she’ll regret ever having made me owner. That she’ll be so frustrated that she’ll revoke my status and send me on my way. I’ll have humiliated myself and, worst of all, be a disappointment and bring shame upon the family name. I bite into a slice, crunching the fruit between my teeth slowly. “Thank you,” I say, trailing off.
Pó Po must sense my hesitation because she holds her pinky out toward me. Slowly, I bring my pinky up to hers, and we press our thumbs together.
“I…made a bet,” I say, staring down at the plate of dumplings. “I bet that I could make Bennett, you know the one, fall in love. If I can, which I will, I’ll get great press for Lunar Love. And ten new clients paid in full, which would be huge for us.”
Pó Po slowly sips her wine. “You think you can make Bennett fall in love?” she says, amused.
“I know I can,” I say. We resume our dumpling pleating. “Do you not think I can?”
“He’s a very determined man. And he’s focused on his business,” she says.
My hands stop. “Pó Po, what do you know?”
Pó Po only moves faster, her fingers filling, folding, filling, folding. “I know nothing.”
I give her a look.
She sighs. “During the times I met with him, I noticed he doesn’t like to get too attached. He can be pretty unemotional.”
“Well, yeah, this I know,” I say, conflicted. That kiss last night wasn’t unemotional.
“From everything he’s told me about his mother,” Pó Po says, “well, I suspect he doesn’t want to fall in love with someone only to lose her. I don’t think he can bear to lose someone else important to him. I could be wrong. This is just one old, wise woman’s take on it.”
“You’re probably right then,” I say, distracted. Her words add weight to our wager. I think through Bennett and Harper’s compatible traits. They were a good match, but I guess it didn’t click for either of them. And the last thing I want is for him to be heartbroken again, especially because of the Head Matchmaker at Lunar Love. Heartbreak is the worst-case scenario for any of my matches. “I matched him with someone who was great. I’m sure I can find someone else.”
The thought of another person being with Bennett is discomforting. But kiss or no kiss, and despite blurred lines, the bet is still technically on, and I have to see that through. For Lunar Love’s sake.
I can feel Pó Po analyzing my expression. “I see,” she finally says.
I pour oil into a pan and turn the heat on the stove on high. “What do you see?”
“You like him.”
“Who? Bennett?” I laugh awkwardly.
“No, the mailman,” she deadpans. “Yes, Bennett.”
“No. I can’t like him. He’s maybe not as horrible as I made him out to be when I first learned about him, but he’s still my rival.”
Now Pó Po laughs. “Rival? What is this, high school football?”
“It’s not funny! His app launches in less than four months. You won’t be laughing when Lunar Love’s boarding up its doors.”
Pó Po laughs harder as she rises from her stool. “Lunar Love has been in business for over half a century,” she says, waving her hands in the air. “You don’t think we faced any competition in our days? Our roots are strong. We’ve survived many competitors. You’ll do the same. I know you can handle the pressure.” She takes the plate of dumplings and arranges a handful of them onto the hot oiled pan.
“Exactly. This is me handling it.”
“After Bennett came to me to learn about his parents, he wanted to pair up and work together,” Pó Po says casually.
I smush hardened dough between my fingers. “No…”
“You know my stance on trends and technology. Auntie and I turned him down, so he branched out on his own.”
“You knew ahead of time that he was going to steal your business concept?”
“I didn’t invent Chinese zodiac matchmaking, Liv,” Pó Po says.
“I know, but still,” I say.
Pó Po neatly folds a kitchen towel and places it next to the stove. “I may have told him about you, but he was the one who said no to my idea to matchmake you two.”
“You tried to matchmake him? With me?” I bury my face in my hands.
“As I said, he told me no.”
“Even better,” I groan. “He was repulsed by me.”
“Quite the opposite,” she states. “He didn’t want to lead you on, is what I think he said. He was preoccupied with his business and didn’t want to get in the way of yours. He’s a good guy. In fact, you told me no, too.”
“When? He must’ve gotten lost among all the men you try to match me with,” I say.
Pó Po lifts her eyebrows. “You never listen.”
I dust flour off my hands, the white powder floating down onto the counter. “That’s for the best. We’re both professionals,” I say. As professional as making out in a museum gets. My heart pitter-patters at the thought of potentially seeing Bennett again tomorrow for my second date. I hope he’ll be there.
“As I said before, it’s okay if you like him,” Pó Po says, not dropping her previous statement. Her eyes make the slightest of movements as she looks into mine. I can’t tell if she’s happy or if this is the tip of a soul-crushing iceberg of disappointment. “So do you?”
“It’s not like it matters. We’re incompatible.”
Pó Po narrows her eyes at me. “You didn’t answer my question. When you think about this man, how do you feel?”
“At first, I wanted to hate him. For obvious reasons. But…he’s actually pretty great.”
Pó Po adds water to the pan and covers it, the steam billowing and enveloping the dumplings in the heat. “But how do you feel?” she repeats.
I watch water droplets collect under the glass lid and drop back into the pan. “Like I don’t want him to fall in love with anyone else.” The realization is like a punch to my stomach.
“Okay,” Pó Po says. “You’re incompatible, yet you’ve gotten this far.”
I laugh humorlessly. “Hardly. I can see it now—”
“—Why do you do that?” she asks.
I look at her, my mouth hanging open. “Do what?”
“That ‘I can see it now’ nonsense. Ever since you and that incompatible ex-boyfriend of yours broke up, you’ve used that line followed by a bunch of negatives to get out of ever having to date anyone. I know it’s your coping mechanism, especially after that incompatible match with your friend. You do it all the time with Auntie and her matches. You did it with mine every time.”
“I don’t do that,” I say defensively over the sizzling dumplings.
“You might lie to this man about how you feel, and you might lie to me, but don’t lie to yourself.” She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re a matchmaker, not a psychic. Where’s the fun in everything and everyone being predictable? Where’s the magic in that? You have no clue what’s going to happen with the couples you match. You’re not responsible for every element of their relationships,” she says with vigor.
“I can’t all of a sudden change the way I think,” I explain.
“But you can try. And if that doesn’t work, then just try feeling.”
Pó Po’s words linger in the air.
“I can’t remember the last time I let myself do that,” I concede, remembering what I told Bennett at the drive-in.
Pó Po grabs for my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Then maybe now is a good time to start.”
“Bennett said something to me about how I’ll miss out on good people if I believe compatibility is the one and only way to love,” I recall.
“The man has a point,” she says resolutely.
“Why do you sound like you’re trying to convince me of something?” I ask. “Are you telling me that you are not only supporting an incompatible relationship, but are actively encouraging it? There’s no way.”
Pó Po taps my hand and then lets it go.
Not finished with my thought, I grasp for examples. “What about with Uncle Rupert? When he married Aunt Vivienne, weren’t you mad?”
“At the time, it was a surprise,” she explains. “It was always in one ear, out the other with that boy. But he loves her. What could I do?”
I stare at Pó Po in disbelief. “What could you do? What you’ve done to every other client who came in wanting to test out incompatibility. Tell them no and find them someone compatible.”
Her face remains neutral. It’s as though the roles are reversed.
“I don’t understand,” I add. “You and Gōng Gong were compatible, you started a business around compatibility, Mom and Dad are compatible, all your matches have been compatible. Well, mostly. Your entire life and career are built on compatibility.” I grab two plates from the cupboard.
“You don’t have to be compatible with someone in order to love them, Olivia. There is such a thing as attraction that not even a chart or algorithm can explain. It’s an indescribable science.” Pó Po gives me a small smile. “I’ll say this. Everyone is different and may have varying viewpoints of the Chinese zodiac, whether they use it as something bigger to believe in, a guide for compatible partnership, or to better understand themselves. Take the moon, for instance. Farmers rely on the moon in times of harvest, sea creatures synchronize their biological clocks with the moon’s light and phases, and sometimes the moon is used as a mystical backdrop for spooky nighttime campfire stories.”
“The moon represents something different for everyone,” I agree. “It has more of an impact than we give it credit for.”
“True. When’s the last time you heard someone ask, ‘Wow! Did you see the sun today?’ It’s always ‘Wow! Did you see the moon last night?’ For good reason, too,” Pó Po says. She peeks through the pot lid to check on our dinner. “Speaking of, keep an eye out for the moon next weekend. It’s a rare blue moon. Two full moons in one month!”
“The sun is only pretty when it’s rising or setting, but the moon is always beautiful. It’s bold, bright, mysterious, elusive. We only see it in glimpses, catching it here and there from lucky angles.”
“Ah, you are my granddaughter,” Pó Po says, nodding. “Remember, Liv, our greatest qualities can also be our most inhibiting. You are similar to me in that way. Our stubbornness prevails.”
“Being persistent is one of the traits I’m most proud of,” I declare.
Pó Po uses chopsticks to move the cooked dumplings from the pan to our plates. “My stubbornness has served me well over the years. When I was buying the building Lunar Love is in now, the previous owner wanted to sell it to me for double what it was worth. He thought I didn’t know better. I made him my offer, then in my broken English I told him to take it or leave it. Two days later, he called and accepted.”
“You knew your worth,” I say, scooping mounds of rice next to the dumplings.
Pó Po sighs. “I knew how to bluff. I had a week to get the money together. I had lied and told the owner I had the money ready to go, but that money was beyond my wildest dreams. Luckily, I made some kind friends like Mae and Dale who helped keep my head above water. Anything and everything helped. Don’t misunderstand, being stubborn has helped get me where I am. I was determined to improve my English, put my children through college, and make a new life after Gōng Gong passed.” Pó Po quickly inhales. “But perhaps I’ve been too stubborn in some cases.”
“You didn’t want Lunar Love to fail,” I say.
“And neither do you.” Pó Po rests her hand on my forearm. “But don’t let your stubbornness get in your own way.”
It takes a few seconds to process what I’m hearing.
“The last thing I want to do is disappoint you,” I say.
“What would be disappointing is if you don’t take a chance to try to make Lunar Love your own. If you don’t put yourself out there, even when it means humiliating yourself. Don’t get in the way of your own future,” Pó Po instructs. “Now let’s eat! Our food is getting cold.”
We settle onto the couch in the living room and hit Play on the movie. In a toast, we tap our dumplings together with our chopsticks.
I’m finishing up my third dumpling when a message from Bennett lights up my phone screen. Pó Po is enthralled with the movie, hardly noticing that I’m using technology in the Movie-Screen-Only Zone.
I had a great time with you yesterday, he writes.
I balance my plate on my lap. Me too, I respond. What else do I say? Do I mention our kiss? Do I ask about the date? There are no manuals for what to do when your business competitor turns into your pseudo-client and then turns into someone you kiss.
Another text from him comes through. So your date tomorrow…
I craft my response: What about it…
It’s tomorrow… he replies.
Right… I text.
What feels like an unbearable stretch of time passes before Bennett responds again.
He seems like a great guy and everything is paid for… Bennett writes.
Are we… I start to write at the same time his message comes through. I want to know everything he’s thinking about what happened between us last night. After a few seconds, I delete the message. I guess I do owe you a second and final date. Are you going to be there?
Bennett responds faster this time. Do you want me to be there?
I don’t want you to not be there, I reply.
I watch three dots bounce on my screen as Bennett types. I hold my breath.
Then I’ll be there, he messages.
I grin when I read his response.
“Are you in the mood for love, Pó Po?” I ask, giving her a light nudge with my shoulder.
As the movie plays on the screen, Pó Po pats my hand and smiles. “Always,” she whispers. “I hope you are, too. It’s about time.”