Chapter 8
Wayward exited the Malibu compound, holding his new puppy in one hand and a large kennel stuffed full of starter dog supplies
gifted to him from Roses.
Letting the tail-wagging puppy down to pee, he sat down on the bench on the front porch and took out his Sunfang phone, opening
a once-vibrant group chat that had fallen into silence for the past three years.
“Hey fam,” he dictated into the phone. “I was thinking we could all go out to the desert right before Lunar New Year, just
like old times. I can pull the old RV out of storage, Sunbern can bring his turntables, April, please curate our meals and
drinks, and Lola if you could supply party provisions per usual. Just us cousins. Felicia, do you think you can make it? It’s
been too long since we all hung out, but it would be great to reconnect with y’all.”
He reread the message a few times before sending it. As his phone whooshed, he felt better. Once upon a time, the Sun cousins
had been thick as thieves, and maybe this bizarre situation he was in could be turned into an opportunity to unite them once
more. He could certainly use their friendship on the journey ahead.
“Pardon me, brother, but is this the residence of Mrs. Sun?” a velvety voice with an elegant British accent called out, startling Wayward.
Wayward looked up and standing behind the front gate was a holy man dressed all in white robes, except for the many colorful
bead bracelets that adorned both his forearms. The youthful man was very short and strongly built, perhaps in his mid-twenties,
with golden skin and a cropped Mohawk.
He was also bewitchingly pretty, his dark bedroom eyes and pouty lips framed by the pleasing angles of his goateed face.
Wayward was wondering what sort of Asian he was—perhaps Malaysian or from southern China—when he realized he had not answered
the question yet. “Sorry,” he said, walking over. “And who is asking?”
The man in white tilted his head respectfully toward Wayward. “My name is Galahad Chu. My grandfather sent me here to assist
a Mrs. Roses Sun. I just arrived from London this morning.”
“I see,” Wayward replied. He must have been gazing intently upon Galahad, because the younger man then arched an eyebrow suggestively.
Wayward cleared his throat, feeling a bit warm. “Yes, Galahad, this is Roses Sun’s house. I’m just leaving but she is home.”
The holy man smiled at him with an understanding between certain men. “Many thanks, friend. And you can just call me Gal.”
Wayward was about to respond when he heard a soft whine. He looked down to see the puppy waiting at his feet and quickly scooped
up the little runt.
Galahad chuckled. “Why, look at his little bindi!”
“What’s a bindi?” Wayward asked, lifting up the kennel as well.
“It is one of many names that is given to the third eye,” the holy man replied. “Evidently, a lucky dog. You should bring
him with you to the desert.”
Wayward did a double-take. “Excuse me?” How did this stranger know? Did he overhear him somehow?
But Galahad only smiled back.
Wayward cocked his head, bewildered, but then walked onto the street. The holy man gave him a small wave as he inevitably
glanced back one more time. Wayward climbed into his car and drove off.
Once Wayward had disappeared around the block, Galahad walked to the front door and rang the doorbell. His mind was afire
with everything Wayward.
Wayward had not introduced himself, but Galahad already knew who he was. In fact, Galahad already knew Wayward intimately,
even though they had never met.
He knew about Wayward’s difficult relationship with his mother, he knew about the turmoil with his ex-boyfriend Jamaal Golightly,
and he knew about Wayward’s struggles with addiction.
Such were the holy man’s remarkable abilities.
Roses answered the door. Instantly Houyi the pit bull was at her side, barking at the stranger.
Galahad Chu bowed deeply.
“Mrs. Sun, shall we get started?”