“Yímā!” Ju slams into my legs as soon as she opens the door. “You’re here! Come see my coloring!”

I chuckle, allowing the small child to drag me into my parents’ enormous house. Daiyu comes around the corner frantically a moment later, eyes wild. 

“Ju! What did I tell you about answering the door to strangers?”

“But it’s not a stranger! It’s Yímā!” Ju protests.

“Hey, Daiyu. It’s nice to see you,” I half hug my sister as my niece pulls me past her mother.

“Hurry up! Yímā!” 

“I’m coming,” I laugh, following her to the living room. “What did you draw?” 

“The fairy prince!”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful. Is he very handsome?”

“The handsomest! See?” She presents her doodle to me. 

As expected from a five-year-old, her prince looks more like a gelatinous cube than a person, but I still coo, “Very pretty. I like all the glitter. And are you going to be his princess?”

“Silly, Yímā! You’re going to marry the fairy prince! Nainai told me so!”

“Did she?” I grimace. Who was Ma trying to set me up with this time?

“Mei,” my father lays a hand on my shoulder, turning me. “Nice of you to join us,” he says in formal Mandarin. His black eyes show no glimmer of sincerity. His lips purse inwards at the corners, creating a perpetual frown without trying. His smooth skin shows no lines of joy, worry, or even frustration, despite his age. 

“Ba,” I bow slightly to him, my shame burning. “Sorry, I couldn’t make it back for a while.”

“I’m just glad you’re here now,” he says evenly, and I want so desperately to believe him. That my presence is all they want. “Come say hello to your mother.”

“I’ll be right there. I was just in the middle of—” explaining that I’m not marrying anyone to my niece, but before I can finish that thought, said child screeches.

“Ma! Bolin ruined my fairy prince!” 

I whip around to see my toddler nephew holding a bright blue crayon triumphantly, the damage to Ju’s artwork evident in the circular scribbles right over the prince’s “face”. 

“Bolin!” my sister snatches the crayon from him. “Why would you do that?” Bolin immediately joins Ju in crying. While Daiyu tries to convince her three-year-old son to apologize, and Ba stares disapprovingly at his grandchild, my attention returns to the teary-eyed Ju. 

“It’s ok, sweetie. I think he looks even more handsome with blue skin.”

“But he isn’t blue!” she pouts. 

“I’m sure lots of fairy princes have blue skin."

“But Mr. Zixin doesn’t!”

“Zixin?”

“Do my eyes deceive me?” my mother calls from around the corner. “Is it really my long-lost daughter who finally deigns to grace us with her presence?”

I swallow, shoving down my surfacing feelings, and plaster a smile on my face. “Ma,” I approach her with my arms outstretched in an appeasing gesture, “please don’t be angry with me for not visiting. You would not believe how busy summers are for teachers.” I wouldn’t either, but that’s not the point. 

When I reach her she pulls me into a suffocating hug. “No matter,” my mother brushes off my comment as if she didn’t just complain. “All that matters is that you made it this time.” 

I narrow my eyes at her suspiciously, but before I can ask for clarification a frail feminine voice calls from the kitchen, “Is that my little XiangQin?” 

I wiggle out of my mother’s grasp and turn the corner to see the only person in my parents’ house worth my time. (I obviously don’t count my sister or her family, as they don’t live here.) “Gugu!” I gush, feeling instantly more comfortable as I embrace my elderly great aunt. “I’m so sorry for staying away for so long,” I say earnestly this time. 

My father’s aunt, five-foot nothing and spry as a spring chicken, forces me down to her eye level with her considerable strength and whispers right in my face. “Don’t apologize. I wouldn’t come here either if I could help it.”

I chuckle while nervously looking over my shoulder at my mother, but she either didn’t hear or pretends not to, because it would be rude to call out an elder. 

“Come help me with the vegetables and tell me about your recent conquests,” Gugu says. 

I immediately agree, falling into the familiar rhythm of cooking with my great aunt and mother in their kitchen. Da Gugu Ah Lam Huang, my father’s father’s sister, practically raised my Ba after his parent’s death, and she immigrated to America with us when I was just a baby. She's been a constant in my life for as long as I can remember, and she's disliked my mother for even longer, but when it comes to cooking, we move around each other like a well oiled machine, instinctually avoiding each other’s space while simultaneously sensing each other’s needs.

As we work, I tell Gugu about my star student, Sirena Lynx, and how she is helping a shy boy in my class, Adan. I tell her that she likes someone already and promised update me on their weekend together on Monday, but I purposefully leave out the fact that the person she likes is a girl. My tension melts as Gugu listens attentively to every word. 

“Gugu,” my mother interrupts. “I really must insist you stop encouraging my daughter’s juvenile hobby.”

“The tradition of a XiangQin has been in our family for generations, Fen,” Gugu responds tersely “You should be honored to have a daughter with the gift, born in the year of the sheep.” Most people consider that unlucky, but when Gugu says it, she sounds so proud, it makes me flush with pride too. 

“You mean the year of misfortune. I’m convinced all her bad luck is the reason Mei is still unmarried,” Ma says as if I’m not right here.

“Do not create in anger what you lack in reason, Fen,” Gugu quotes the old proverb, making me smile.

Ma purses her lips, obviously trying to keep in her annoyance. “You’ve kept me from burning the Joss paper for long enough, Gugu, but no longer.” She grins triumphantly, her eyes glinting with evil excitement of a secret unshared. “I’ve asked the ancestors for help, Mei, and they’ve finally sent the perfect man for you. He's–”

“Are we not cooking meat?” I interrupt Ma’s hypocritical behavior, genuinely curious what she has planned for the main course. Rice ball, steam vegetables, wontons, but no beef or chicken amongst the food we’ve prepared so far. 

“Yuchen is grilling outside,” Gugu answers as if telling a great joke. 

“Yuchen grilling?” I lift an incredulous eyebrow at the thought of my brother-in-law who could burn water attempting anything culinary. 

“Actually, he’s being taught by–” 

My poor mother can’t catch a break today as she is interrupted yet again by a man I’ve never seen before entering through the kitchen side door with a platter of steaming short ribs. Rounded face, slightly turned up eyes, tawny skin. I immediately recognize him as one of those “good Chinese boys” my parents are constantly forcing on me. Too bad for him, as he is actually quite handsome, with his rippling biceps and sharp eyebrows. I can also see why Ju called him a fairy prince. Shoulder length, perfectly voluminous and silky smooth hair pulled back into a half bun on top of his head, reminiscent of a traditional top knot.

“You must be Zixin,” I say through a tight smile, gripping the knife in my hand tightly. 

“I see my reputation precedes me,” he smiles with a too perfect smile, as if he’s practiced it a dozen times in front of a mirror. Nothing like Mr. Wright’s carefree smile. 

“Oh, good time, Mr. Zhang,” my mother switches to her heavily accented English. “Please, meet my daughter, Mei Huang. Mei, this is your father's friend, Zixin Zhang.”

He approaches me with his hand outstretched, stopping just out of reach when he notices the knife separating us. But I can’t seem to put it down, using it as a shield as if I can ward off the impending confrontation. He drops his arm and smiles wider. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mei. Your family has told me so much about you.”

“Strange, I’ve heard nothing about you, Mr. Zhang.”

He laughs as if I said something funny like some school girl trying to flatter the boy she likes. My stomach churns uncomfortably. “I hope you don’t mind me intruding on your family dinner. Like your mother said, I’m a friend of Mr. Huang from work.”

I lift a single brow skeptically. “Meaning you’re one of his clients.” One of his stupidly wealthy clients. 

“I see, you're just as clever as Yuchen claims. Yes, Mr. Huang has been an enormous help sorting out my restaurant’s finances. I know nothing about taxes, so I would be lost without him.”

I suppose this is the part where the starry-eyed protagonist gasps something insipid like, “Oh wow! You own a whole restaurant?”, but I just stare at him flatly, not interested in the slightest in this man who no doubt owns ten restaurants by my estimates, just based on the Bonobos dress shirt he’s sporting while grilling. 

“You see, I’m a bit of a chief,” he fills in my silence. “I hear you like to cook too.” He glances down at the knife still stretched between us as if to say cutting up vegetables constitutes cooking. 

I smile, seizing the opportunity. “Yes, and I admit, I’m quite bossy in the kitchen,” I say as I flick the knife, twirling it around my fingers. “I honestly don’t think I could ever marry a man who cooked too. I would surely claw his eyes out in the first week if I had to share my kitchen.”

“Stop speaking nonsense,” Ma chastises as Zixin shows the first signs of discomfort. 

I really dislike being explicitly rude, but if I’m going to ward off this suitor by the end of the night, I need to be as clear as possible as early as possible.

“Zixin!” Yuchen calls as he steps into the kitchen carrying his own platter of short ribs. “I’m not sure if these are done, but– Oh, Mei! When did you get here?”

I sigh in relief at the excuse to separate myself from Zixin, putting down my protective knife and rushing to my brother-in-law’s side. “Just a half hour ago. Those look delicious!” I lean over the platter, inhaling deeply. “Don’t worry about undercooking them, because beef only needs to be seared to be safe to eat.”

“Oh, right,” Yuchen blushes, rubbing the back of his head. “I forgot.” 

“If you’re done grilling, come help me set the table,” I pull him away towards the butler’s pantry where the fine dishes are kept. 

“Oh, sure,” he shrugs helplessly at the company we are leaving behind, including the glaring Ma and bewildered Zixin.

“Ma has gone too far this time,” I hiss as soon as we’re alone. “Inviting him to our family dinner. Introducing him to your children. Do you know she told Ju I was going to marry him?” I try to contain my temper so I don’t chip the plates as I pull them from the cabinet. “What am I supposed to tell her?”

“I know, I know, Mei,” Yuchen raises his hands in a placating gesture. I shove the stack of plates at him. “But it’s even more serious than you think. Zixin has been coming to Sunday dinners all summer.”

“All summer?” I groan as I follow behind him, adding silverware next to the plates he lays out on the dining room table.

“He’s not just going to go away, because you’re rude to him, Mei. Not this time.”

“How could you let this happen?” I accuse, even if I know it’s unreasonable of me to expect him to stand up to my parents. 

“Maybe if you had been here–” he starts to shoot back, but stops himself. He breathes in deeply, closing his eyes, then breathes out, and meets my gaze. “No, this time, you’re wrong Mei.”

“What?!”

“Listen, Zixin is a really nice guy and the kids love him. He’s rich enough to satisfy Ba, but a self-made man, so he’s still really down to earth. You have so much in common, not just cooking. I think… I think you should give this one a chance, Mei.”

I mimic his calming ritual, trying to believe my ears. “Didi,” I address him affectionately to get myself in the right mindset. “If I have not made myself abundantly clear before, I apologize. It’s not that I haven’t found the right one yet or that no one is good enough for me. I am not interested in marrying. At all. Ever. No, it’s more than that. I have absolutely zero interest in a romantic relationship now or ever.”

…

Again.