Chapter 9 Vin
Chapter 9
VIN
I t’s like being in a garden when Chryssy talks to her family. But in this setting, they talk back.
“Auntie Marigold, you’re looking very pretty today. Here’s a hat for you,” she says to the woman she explained is her first cousin once removed.
Marigold pulls the bucket hat over her curly dark hair. “Oh good, this will keep me shaded. I also need water, please,” she says, stretching out her arms.
“Here. Let me know if you need more,” Chryssy says, handing her a bottle. “You’re growing so nicely.”
Marigold laughs and takes a sip.
We move down the line passing out branded swag to the two dozen Hua women who showed up to the outdoor festival that’s taking place on Lake Union in Seattle.
“Auntie Primrose, what a beautiful shade of magenta,” Chryssy says, handing her a shirt as the woman pouts her lips.
“It really is my color,” she agrees. “I want to look good in photos. This is our year. I can feel it.” Primrose shakes out the pink shirt and squints at the In Full Bloom logo printed across the front. “Sorry I couldn’t invest, Chryssy. I can’t afford it right now. I should’ve had Rose as my lawyer. My ex wouldn’t have gotten half.”
“Is this where the money would’ve gone?” Chryssy’s great-aunt Angelica asks, pushing up her sleeves. She’s decked out in an In Full Bloom hat and shirt and applying sunscreen to her arms. “I thought you needed money for digital things.”
“We did,” Chryssy says. “I worked an event earlier this month, and we used that money on digital ads and to secure a table at an upcoming tea expo.”
A teenage girl comes up to us, her hands occupied with a phone and a paper cup with a whole flower in it. “It’s not going to rain, is it?” she says, glaring up at the cloud-speckled sky. “We live in the twenty-first century. How are phones not waterproof yet?”
“It wouldn’t be Seattle without the threat of rain,” Chryssy says. “You haven’t met Vin yet, have you? Vin, this is my second cousin Poppy.”
“I know who you are,” Poppy says, eyeing me up and down. “You’ve been very popular online lately.”
“Yeah, what’s going on with you two?” Angelica asks. “Is this for real?”
“Is who real?” a woman who introduced herself as “Cami, short for Chamomile,” asks.
“Chryssy and Vin,” Angelica says. “They’re dating, apparently. Haven’t you seen the photos of them?”
“Is that who you were with, Chryssy?” Cami asks, squinting at me. “It was hard to tell with your faces pressed together.”
“Yes, this is who I was with. We’re really here together right now, aren’t we?” Chryssy says, dodging the question. She wraps her arm around me tentatively, patting my shoulder a couple of times. “Vin’s my boy—room… boy.” She shakes her head. “Labels aren’t important.”
“Your boy-room-boy?” Poppy asks, letting out a laugh. “And people think Gen Z has confusing slang.”
“What does that mean, a boy-room-boy?” Angelica asks suspiciously. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“I think Clove had one of those,” Cami says.
“You two are really together?” a woman who looks a lot like Chryssy asks as she approaches. “I didn’t believe the photos, but here you are in the flesh. When did this happen? Why am I always the last to know?”
“We’re… new,” Chryssy says. She gestures toward me. “Mom, this is Vin. Vin, meet my mom.”
“I’m Peony,” Chryssy’s mom says, giving me a once-over.
“Pleasure to meet you, Peony. And it’s true,” I say without overthinking it. “I’m her new… boyfriend.” I place my arm around Chryssy’s waist, pulling her in closer. She doesn’t resist, her body molding seamlessly against mine.
Angelica balks. “Well, if she’s going to be broken up with, it might as well be by the best.”
“Thank you?” I mutter.
“Speaking of breakups, did you hear about Rue’s latest relationship?” Primrose whispers, glancing over her shoulder at another group of women wearing In Full Bloom shirts. “Her girlfriend pulled a ghost. Ghosting. Ghostbuster? Whatever it is when someone just, poof, goes away. Gone. Disappears. I warned her, but my daughter doesn’t listen.”
“Did you all see what’s happening with my daughter?” Cami asks, lowering her own voice. “Clove hasn’t had an official boyfriend yet—ever—because of the fear of the curse. And I’m sure you’ve all seen on the social media what’s happened with Magnolia.”
Poppy seems uninterested in the gossip and takes a sip from her cup. “The tea does taste pretty, Chryssy,” she says.
Chryssy peers into Poppy’s cup. “Nice pick. I’ll give your followers ten percent off if you do a post.”
The whole flowers in Poppy’s cup continue to expand. The chamomile and rose petals unfurl like they’re waking up from hibernation, tinting the water a light shade of pink.
“Chamomile calms the spirit. And rose helps with stress and anxiety,” I say, recalling what Chryssy told me when she tried yet again to get me to drink tea yesterday. I might’ve tried it if my new shipment of Brew Haus beans hadn’t arrived.
I catch Chryssy giving me a curious look. “Good memory,” she mumbles.
“Too bad pretty doesn’t break curses. Isn’t it because of all this herbal stuff that we’re cursed to begin with?” Poppy asks, looking up from her phone.
“Don’t write off herbalism so fast,” Chryssy says. “When 4G ran his apothecary, he helped a lot of people. That’s ultimately where we’d like to be, where every product we put out will also help people. We want to counteract the bad of the curse with our future formulas.”
“How does that help us? Did you find 4G’s blend?” Primrose asks. “Can we take it and break the curse?”
“Well, no, we don’t have the blend,” Chryssy tells them. “And even if we did, I don’t think the curse works like that.”
Marigold reaches for Chryssy’s arm. “Are you going to try to find 4G’s recipe?” she asks. “Re-create it, maybe?”
“An herbal blend from the 1800s? That’s long gone,” Chryssy’s mom says, waving her off.
“We’re starting with teas,” Chryssy says, taking a step back. “People will get to know us first before we add in something more complex like supplements. When we do, we’ll focus on starting with the right blend.”
The Hua women talk among themselves, looking skeptical. “At any rate, we’ll gladly accept your muscles for today’s race,” Marigold says to me.
“What race?” I ask.
“The Dragon Boat Race,” Angelica replies. “The whole reason we’re here. It’s the Dragon Boat Festival!”
“I never celebrated this growing up,” I say, casting a confused look at Chryssy and hoping for answers.
Angelica jumps in. “The festival commemorates Qu Yuan, a Chinese poet and politician who jumped into the river and drowned after learning tragic news about his state’s surrender. He had been exiled and accused of being disloyal, but turns out he hadn’t been,” she tells me. “On this day, we offer zongzi to feed his water spirit.”
“Now the sticky rice is wrapped in bamboo leaves because water dragons intercepted the food at first,” Chryssy adds.
The information comes together in my mind. “That’s what you’ve been making for the past few days,” I say.
“Right,” Chryssy confirms. “Dragon boat racing commemorates Qu Yuan’s death. The paddles splashing in the water and the drumming scare away any evil spirits. Which brings me to why you’re here.” She smiles at me. “Vin won’t be rowing in today’s race. He’s our drummer. Normally, I do it, but—”
“The girl can’t keep a beat!” Angelica says, patting Chryssy’s shoulder.
Chryssy gestures in my direction. “Hence my replacement.”
“Vin’s going to be on our boat? Wait, I need to start streaming this now!” Poppy says, tapping her phone screen and holding it up to me. “Can you say all that again?”
“Vin’s only on camera when he’s in a hat and shirt. Meet you down there!” Chryssy says, dragging me away from her family and behind the tent where there’s more branded clothing.
“What’s this about drumming?” I ask, pulling my black shirt off.
“Oh, I didn’t mention it?” Chryssy asks innocently. “You said it yourself: You’re good at keeping a beat.” She looks at me over her shoulder and I don’t miss the way her eyes widen at the sight of me shirtless. Her cheeks turn as pink as the T-shirts. She sucks in a sharp breath and turns away, holding out the shirt. “Here.”
“Feel free to look if you like what you see,” I joke, stifling a grin.
Chryssy’s head spins back to me. “What I’m seeing is someone who knows how to stay in rhythm,” she says. “ That’s what I like to see. This is a big responsibility.”
I pull the shirt down over my torso. “I agreed to an event, not a race.”
We cross over toward the tent where Daisy, Rose, and Violet pass out zongzi and tea.
“The race is the event,” Chryssy says as she places sticky rice on a paper plate.
“Don’t think I’m not noticing your brand printed all over,” I say, looking down at the illustrated flower logo.
“In Full Bloom is sponsoring the Hua women,” Chryssy says. “It’s good exposure for the news coverage this event should get and with Poppy’s stream. I pitched my family on investing, but it didn’t go so well. Some family members are like me and don’t want people outside the family to know about the curse, but for others it’s their entire personalities.”
“Your great-aunt Angelica seemed excited to talk to me about it,” I reflect.
“Give her a stage to talk about our family’s drama, and she’ll whip out a top hat and a cane,” Chryssy says. “It’s Great-Aunt Angelica’s way to get pity, empathy, or compassion, depending on her mood. She’s even been comped meals at restaurants before.”
“Free meals? That changes things,” I joke. “Sorry they didn’t invest.”
Chryssy sighs. “It’s their loss. Last year, the global TCM market was valued at just under twenty-nine billion dollars. In ten years, it’s expected to be around fifty billion.”
“Seriously? How much are you looking for?” I ask.
“I don’t do business with guests,” Chryssy says. “And I thought you were a coffee guy.”
I grin. “Not a guest, and maybe I’m looking to diversify.”
“You wearing that shirt is plenty.” She removes the string and unwraps the bamboo leaves holding the rice together. “You’ll need energy. Fuel up.”
I accept the plate and pair of chopsticks Chryssy hands me.
Five spice and soy sauce burst on my taste buds as soon as I take a bite. It’s a comforting sensation, shortly followed by the sticky texture of rice, Chinese sausage, mushrooms, peanuts, and pork belly.
“Shit,” I mumble. “That’s good.”
Chryssy smiles. “I’m glad you like it, boyfriend .”
“Your aunties are going to ask nonstop questions trying to understand what this is,” I explain. “Better to give an easy answer. They don’t seem to have a lot of faith in us.”
“They know we won’t last,” Chryssy states nonchalantly. “They don’t expect any relationship to. It wouldn’t matter if we were together for two dates or two hundred.” She lifts her shoulders before letting them drop dramatically. “I can just imagine what my mom is talking about with them.”
“I take it she’d talk about the curse?” I guess, recalling Chryssy’s mention of her in the moon garden.
Chryssy’s eyes dart over to me. “Which is why I don’t talk to her about the people I date. I made that mistake with my first crush in middle school. I went on and on about how cute this guy was and how maybe he’d dance with me at the eighth-grade formal.” She laugh-shivers. “Mom told me that I could like him all I wanted, but he’d never like me enough to stay. I’m sure she’d say the same about you.”
Unconsciously, my jaw tightens. “Damn. Weren’t you like, fourteen?” I ask. “Is that how old eighth graders are?”
“I was thirteen. It’s just how my mom is, especially right after the divorce. It wasn’t something I needed to hear as a lovestruck, hormonal teenager, though,” Chryssy says. “What would your mom say about us?”
“She’d be thrilled,” I admit. “She’d be like, finally. Someone who’s not after you for your fame and money. Not for real, at least.” I take another bite of zongzi. “Did you dance with him anyway?”
Chryssy watches me for a moment, her face pensive. “I didn’t go.”
I blow out a breath. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. “If it makes you feel any less alone, I didn’t go to my eighth-grade dance either. I had to practice for tour.”
“I’m sure you had a lot more fun practicing,” she says. “Apparently, those dances are cringey.”
I make a face. “You should’ve heard me practicing Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major.”
This makes Chryssy laugh again. “Only you.”
“I’m really good at it now, I swear,” I say.
The way pink fills Chryssy’s cheeks and how she squeezes her eyes shut as she laughs harder are too damn cute.
“Come on, I’ll show you the boat,” she says, waving me along.
We pass groups of people in company-branded clothing warming up before the big event. I didn’t realize some of these spectators were my competition.
“This one’s ours,” she says, tapping a long purple-and-gold-patterned boat with a colorful carved dragon head on the front and an intricate tail shooting off the back. It rests next to blue, green, red, and orange boats.
“I assume this is where I’ll sit?” I ask, tapping a chair behind the dragon’s head. “You do realize this isn’t the instrument I play, right?”
Chryssy shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t trust you steering, and if you rowed, you’d be among nineteen five-foot-something Hua women. The imbalance alone would throw us off course.” She runs her hand along the painted scales spanning the length of the boat. “Every year, the Hua women compete. And even though we practice and have the best intentions, and ultimately are here for the fun of it, we never place.”
I look over at the group of Hua women, spanning the generations, who are decked out in matching gear, stretching out their arms and hamstrings. “Not once?” I ask. “There are only five boats in the race.”
“Hey!” Chryssy laughs, gently thwacking my arm. “It’s harder than it sounds.”
“I’m all for winning, but why the sudden desire?” I ask. “Is that what your family wants?”
“Do you see what the boat name is?” Chryssy asks, pointing to the gold-painted letters. “It’s called Favorite Mistake , named after a Sheryl Crow song. Love—and loss—is complex. Her song captures that. The aunties who aren’t obsessed with you and Leo are her biggest fans, and the Hua women’s boat name couldn’t not be a breakup song.” She sighs. “I just want them to win—to come first—for a change.”
It doesn’t take much for my competitive spirit to come out in full force. If Chryssy wants a win for her family, then that’s what she’s going to get.
I nod. “You may never have placed, but that changes today.”
“You may have just become my favorite mistake,” Chryssy says with a dramatic wink.
Forty-five minutes later, after a welcome greeting and a chaotic sequence of moving the dragon from land to water, I’m seated at the front of the boat containing two rows of ten women each, while Poppy steers at the very back.
The Seattle skyline sprawls out ahead of me with the Space Needle popping up from behind a building to my right. The clouds drifting overhead are reflected on the surface of the lake, and the thousands of spectators in the distance look like a cluster of musical notes.
I take a deep breath in and slowly release it, letting the act focus me. I’m bobbing side to side in a boat that looks like a dragon and facing twenty-one Hua women, and it dawns on me that this might be the most unique place I’ve ever played an instrument. And here, an entire family relies on me to keep us in rhythm enough to win.
I squeeze the drumsticks. If I can play all of Bach’s cello suites, I can beat this damn drum.
The countdown begins over the speakers. I clear my throat and try to get everyone to focus.
Chryssy and Violet sit directly in front of me, looking up expectantly.
Suddenly, we’re in single digits, and it’s time to get serious. I can’t let Chryssy’s family down.
I yell “Attention!” and add a “Please!” because I can’t boss around these women without manners.
It’s showtime.
“Follow my beat,” I call out so everyone can hear me. “It’s time to scare away some evil spirits!”
Forty-two eyes are on me as the horn sounds and I start beating the drum with both sticks.
It’s an admittedly messy start on everyone’s end, mine included. A true symphony of chaos.
Water splashes everywhere as arms flail. The Hua women elbow each other, trying to get their strokes in as their paddles crash into one another.
It’s a small miracle the boat isn’t spinning in circles or sinking.
My steady beat isn’t inspiring any synchronicity, and I lose track of the rhythm among all the screaming from the spectators and shouts from the other boats, who have easily gained several feet on us.
I need to meet my audience where they are. I only know the chorus, but it might be enough.
I take a deep breath in and scream-shout the first line of the chorus of Sheryl Crow’s “Soak Up the Sun,” quickening the beat. Luckily, I know the lyrics. The Grammys afterparty we went to one year had a hard-to-forget-even-if-you-tried karaoke portion. This song was the favorite of the night.
Dun, dun, dun, dun, dun.
This gets everyone’s attention, though I can’t be sure if it’s my singing or the song they’re most caught off guard by.
“Keep my beat!” I shout, then sing the next line, and then the next.
Chryssy and Violet join in, and before I know it, we’re gliding through the water and gaining on the other boats. I could be flying right now as the wind rushes past the back of my head.
I hold my beat steady, watching for small cues from Chryssy’s family in the same way I would watch Leo and play off him onstage. Speeding up where his momentum gained and slowing when he needed to catch up. I’ve missed this feeling.
Everyone I’d met earlier is focused, determined, and now singing at the top of their lungs. I can hear Chryssy’s voice the loudest. It motivates me to stay the course.
The rows are in sync. The lyrics are, too. The tune’s slightly off, but it hardly matters.
We’ve bypassed the blue dragon by a few feet and are coming up on the others.
We might actually win this thing.
It’s a premature thought because, as it crosses my mind, we’re interrupted by a wake.
I watch for signals from Poppy in the back, who can see what’s ahead of us. She takes a break from simultaneously steering and livestreaming to reorient the direction of our boat. I slow my drumming until we’re balanced back out.
The interruption allows the orange boat to recover. On my left, the team sponsored by a local dentist closes in on the gains we had made. We’re dragon head to dragon head, edging back and forth.
“One more time!” I shout at the top of my lungs before joining the chorus of Huas.
We make one final sprint to the end to beat out the competition, our dragon boat powered by rowing Hua women singing “Soak Up the Sun” all the way to the finish line.
When the horn blows, I hold the drumsticks against the barrel, panting in anticipation.
A man’s voice booms over the speakers. “Taking third place is… Bright Smiles !” he shouts.
Next to us, the orange boat erupts in applause. The sounds of their happiness are amplified on the water, their shouts so loud they might as well be coming from our boat.
It’s when I look back at the women in front of me that I realize the shouts of happiness are coming from our boat. Everyone’s… cheering?
Violet has tears streaming down her cheeks, but she looks happy. Chryssy’s family screams as they high-five and hug each other, smiles dominating their faces.
“We got fourth!” Violet says, pumping her fists in the air.
I frown. “We didn’t even place.”
“But we didn’t get last!” Chryssy says, reaching for me and shaking my shoulders. “We did it!”
We didn’t do it, though. We placed four out of five, and the entire thing was streamed for everyone to see.
I tuck my head into my arms. The moment is way too jovial for how we should all feel. We lost.
Chryssy rests her hand on my forearm. There’s a tingling sensation that I want to blame on the drumming.
“Vin, we placed!” she says, breathless.
I look up at her. “We aimed for gold, and we got… nothing.”
A light pressure point on my forehead startles me. There’s another. A single raindrop rolls down Chryssy’s cheek. Drops plop over our heads and into the boat, disappearing immediately when they touch the water. The Hua women don’t seem to care about any of it, as the rain blends in with their tears of joy.
“And we’re rewarded with rain,” I mumble, holding my palms out.
“But it was fun, right?” Chryssy asks. “This was the best race yet, and you kept such good rhythm! Honestly, cello who?” She gives me the biggest grin I’ve seen from her yet. “We did it!”
The sight is almost enough to shake off my thoughts. Her enthusiasm is undeniably contagious. For some reason, my stomach flips with nerves.
There’s that feeling again.
Time is suspended as Chryssy and I hold each other’s gaze for a few long seconds.
“Yeah,” I finally admit, feeling my features relax. “It was fun.”
Suddenly, the light sprinkle turns into a full-on rainstorm. Behind Chryssy, her mom squints up at the sky and frowns at the unexpected change in weather.
“Cursed,” Peony mutters under her breath just loud enough for us to hear. “Every last one of us.”