Chapter Eight
CHAPTER EIGHT
T he owner of Little Chang’s is, in fact, named Gary Lin. As Shang’s mother patiently explains, Gary didn’t think that Little Gary’s or Little Lin’s would go over well as a restaurant name, and so he chose Chang’s. I have to agree with that. Gary, who seems to know the Li family well, greets them warmly, with many arm and shoulder pats and much loud exclaiming over who’s gained/lost weight, hair, and wrinkles. He shouts merrily at us to go to the “usual table” and the big group makes its way over to a massive round table at the center of the room.
To my dismay, I’m seated between James and his mother, Auntie Chuang. I shoot Mushu a look of panic and Mushu shrugs with an Oh well expression. Easy for Mushu to be all chill; she is fortunate enough to be seated next to Shang’s mom and Thomas, whose gaze hasn’t left his cell phone.
“Now, Zhou, how old did you say you are again?” Auntie Chuang says.
“Oh, um, twenty-eight.”
“Oh, my dear, you are getting so old!” Auntie Chuang exclaims.
“Um. Thanks?”
“Twenty-eight is not old, Chuangling,” Auntie Jiayi says. She gives me an encouraging smile. “Why, I didn’t have Shang until I was thirty.”
“Yes, and look where it get you. Just one child only,” Auntie Chuang retorts.
Auntie Jiayi’s smile disappears. My stomach knots. Auntie Jiayi was just trying to make me feel better, and she got smacked down for it. I scramble for something to say to take the attention away from Auntie Jiayi. “Oh, well, I don’t plan on having kids anytime soon, so.”
Auntie Chuang turns her attention back to me. “You don’t? Why not? You are too busy working? Aiya, this is what is wrong with your generation now. You children are too selfish, only thinking of yourselves, not your families.”
“ Mommm ,” James groans. “Do we have to?”
“You are not getting any younger either, James,” Auntie Chuang snaps. “How about you stop fooling around and find a nice girl like Zhou to settle down with?”
I choke on my oolong. “Uh…” From the corner of my eye, I catch Shang watching me with yet another unreadable expression. With those thick eyebrows of his, he always looks slightly angry.
Auntie Lulu, Thomas’s mother, pipes up. “Oh yes, Zhou, tell us, what is your ideal man? Maybe someone like Thomas? Well educated,” she says with a pointed look at James, “loves cooking, don’t you, Thomas?” She elbows Thomas viciously.
He looks up from his phone, says “Sure,” and dips his head once more.
What would Baba say in this situation? Of course, the answer is he wouldn’t even be in this situation to begin with, because he’s a man. Still, I do my best to channel my inner Baba. “I am very flattered by your concern. Thank you. I will take your comments into consideration.” There. That is a very Zhou answer. The aunties smile, looking mollified for now.
Fortunately, the food arrives then, even though there hasn’t been, as far as I know, any ordering. The Li family must have stopped over at Gary’s enough for him to know exactly what they like, and soon, the table is positively groaning under the weight of various Chinese dishes, all of them steaming hot. There’s beef cooked in a numbingly spicy Szechuan sauce, a platter heaped high with honeyed roast pork buns, two whole deep-fried fish covered in sticky sweet-and-sour sauce, a large pot of pork rib and winter melon soup, a plate of spicy cucumber and chicken salad, and a giant pot of rice. Everyone calls out, “Chi fan!” which directly translates to eat rice but means dig in , and so we do.
I’ve been raised well enough to know it is customary to serve those who are older before yourself. Since I’m sitting next to Auntie Chuang, I serve her first, ladling generous portions of the fish and chicken salad onto her plate.
“Aiya, don’t bother yourself,” Auntie Chuang scolds in a merry sort of voice, clearly enjoying my attention.
Shang picks up a spoon as well and takes a portion of braised tofu for his mother, but Uncle Hong barks, “What kind of man serves the food?”
At the sharp tone of voice, there is a momentary silence around the table. Shang looks like he’s about to protest, but his mother places a hand on his arm and he lowers the spoon, looking down at his plate.
“Shang is a filial son,” Auntie Jiayi says with an apologetic smile.
The other aunties, uncles, and cousins resume their conversation hurriedly, as though to cover up the awkward atmosphere. I turn my attention to Uncle Hong, who merely grunts his thanks as I serve him. A look around the table tells me that the only other person serving their elders is Mushu. She is moving as quickly as a Chipotle line server, slapping spoonfuls of food down on everybody’s plate while calling out, “Don’t get up, Auntie, I’ll get it for you, there you go, don’t even think about moving, Uncle, you want the fish? I’ll get you the fish, and there’s an extra-large pork bun for you.”
The aunties and uncles seem impressed by this show of respect, all of them smiling and nodding. Auntie Chuang gives James a pointed look. “You see, Son? You see the value of having a good wife?”
I fight back the grimace that’s threatening to take over my face. Growing up, I was always taught to serve my elders at meals, something I’ve done well to remember while working at Facai Capital; we always serve our guests first. I’ve never really thought of it as something a dutiful wife would do, but now it seems obvious, and all of a sudden, I’m filled with resentment. Did my parents mean to instill this sexist practice in me? I wish I could stop, and yet it is so ingrained in me that I can’t bear to see any uncle’s or auntie’s plate remain unfilled, and so I continue serving everyone until their plates are piled high with food before serving myself the remnants of the meal. And obviously Uncle Hong and the rest of the Lis agree that this is a woman’s job. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had to do something purely because of my sex. By the time I spear a piece of fish with my chopsticks, I’ve lost the bulk of my appetite.
I can’t help noticing how Shang is eating with abandon, chatting and laughing with the others, and at the sight of him, I’m once again reminded that I’m here to play a role. How easily Shang shrugged off that awkward moment back there. Now he seems completely at ease sitting back and letting Mushu and me serve the food. He’s different from the guy listening to a feminist story in the privacy of his car, because in front of his family, he’s playing a different role, just like me. What would Baba do? Well, since he would be trying to put the Lis at ease, he would serve the food regardless of his gender. So I’ve played my role well as Zhou. It’s all right, everything is the way it should be. Damn it, I’m so off-kilter because of this new role I’m having to play, and also because of whatever hormone-driven attraction I have toward Shang. I really need to get a grip.
Halfway through the meal, I signal to Mushu to go to the restroom. As soon as we’re out of earshot from the main group, I pull her close.
“Switch with me,” I say.
Mushu stares. “Uh. No thanks? My outfits are all carefully curated to form one cohesive look with my hair and makeup. No offense, but I don’t think you can carry it off.”
“How is that at all inoffensive?” I shake my head. “Anyway, never mind that. I didn’t mean switch outfits, I meant switch seats with me so you go in Shang’s car and I go in the trailer.”
“Oh!” Mushu frowns. “Why? I thought I was doing you a favor by leaving you alone with that hottie.” She cranes her neck, leering at Shang in the distance. “I mean, whoo boy. Look at that bod.”
“Mushu, focus.” I grab her shoulders and give her a little shake. How do I explain to Mushu that I feel this incredible attraction to Shang and I need to put some distance between the two of us to focus on what I actually came here to do? “I just…think it would be good for me to have a chance to talk to the aunties and uncles. Try to get a feel of the business from them,” I say finally.
“Sounds legit,” Mushu says.
Thank god. “So you’ll do it?”
“Sure thing, cuz. Anything for the fam.” With that, Mushu traipses back to the table, jumping into the conversation seamlessly.
When the meal ends, Mushu jumps up and calls out, “Yo, Shang, I’m going to be your road-trip buddy.”
Shang’s eyebrows knot together in confusion. He looks over at me, but I steadfastly avoid his gaze. I can feel his curious stare burning a hole in the back of my head, but finally, he says, “Cool.”
Relief and disappointment course through my veins in equal measure. I follow the big group of aunties and uncles and climb inside the trailer. It’s a behemoth of a vehicle, the inside resembling a fully furnished apartment. There are snacks and fruits piled onto every surface, and the noise level inside is overwhelming as the aunties and uncles shout over one another. Ryan takes the wheel, yelling at everyone to sit down as he starts the engine.
“Zhou, you come sit next to me,” Auntie Chuang calls out. “I will tell you all about James’s golfing trophies.”
Oh no. But before I can acquiesce, Shang’s mother, Jiayi, pats my arm.
“Sorry, Chuangling, she’s with me,” she says.
Auntie Chuang glowers but doesn’t say anything.
“Don’t worry, she’ll get over it,” Auntie Jiayi says to me.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Oh, I was saving myself as well as you. Who wants to hear about James’s golfing trophies? Come, I will tell you about Shang’s martial arts medals.”
I pride myself on having a good poker face, but I must’ve shown a flicker of dismay, because Auntie Jiayi roars with laughter.
“Oh, my dear!” she cries. “I am just messing with you. Oh, your expression! No, don’t you worry, I won’t bore you with all that. And Shang would kill me if I did. Speaking of bore, was he very boring in his car? Is that why you choose to sit with us old folk?”
“No,” I say quickly. “He was great. We listened to an audiobook and I really enjoyed it. But I wanted to spend more time with the rest of the family.”
“Ah.” Auntie Jiayi smiles. She gazes around the trailer, her expression tender. “Well, you’ve met everyone. You know Uncle Hong is my big brother.”
Uncle Hong has a Chinese paperback open in his hands, but his head keeps lolling forward as he dozes off. Even when he sleeps he somehow manages to look stern.
“He is a tough nut. But he is how we manage to survive. He was always the one who took care of all of us, even back home in China.”
Auntie Jiayi’s words wash over me, bringing with them a warm glow. They’re familiar words, words of a story I’ve heard many times over from other immigrant families. How there’s always a sibling—usually the eldest—who took on the burden of looking after the younger siblings while the parents worked two or three different jobs. I’ve thought of Uncle Hong as nothing more than a chauvinist, but of course there are so many more layers to him. No one is ever just one thing.
“Now, Uncle Jing is my second brother, and he is the brains of the family. He was the one who thought of all the ways to put us through school, which grants to apply for and this and that.”
I smile and let myself be absorbed into the rich tapestry of the Li family history, and by the time we arrive at the ranch, I see them all in a new light. Maybe this is the first step to understanding why Baba wanted to acquire the company.
But when the trailer comes to a stop, Uncle Hong jerks awake and says, “Ah! We are here! Now listen, ladies. No complaining, no moaning, let us men do our job at the ranch, eh?”
And I suppress an inward sigh. Like Baba always tells me, people are complex, and Uncle Hong can be both a wonderful older brother and, unfortunately, also a chauvinist.
Outside, Mushu waves wildly to me. “Zhou, over here!” she calls out. “How was your ride?”
I avoid meeting Shang’s eye. “It was good. Yours?”
“Could be better. No offense, Shang,” Mushu says in her usual jovial tone.
“Really? What was so bad about it?” Shang says.
“Well, the audiobook—what was it again? The Water Pirates ? It was good, but we skipped the first nine chapters, so I was a bit lost, to be honest with you. I thought they were in San Gabriel Valley the entire time until you told me they were in ancient China, whaaat ?”
“I asked if you wanted me to start at the beginning!” Shang protests.
“Oh, I can’t be bothered with beginnings,” Mushu says flippantly. “Jump in right where the action starts, that’s what I always say.”
Shang pinches the bridge of his nose; then, taking a deep breath, he says, “I’ll help you with your bags.”
Would Baba allow Shang to take his bags? No way. “Don’t bother,” I say, jumping in front of him and yanking at my overstuffed bag. My back twinges in protest, but I ignore it and give a savage wrench. My bag slides out of the trunk and thuds to the ground with a loud thunk and a cloud of dust.
“You sure?” Shang says.
“Yep!” It was supposed to sound cheery, but ends up coming out with a lot more bite to it than I meant. Shang’s brow furrows for a moment; then he shrugs and goes to help his mother with her luggage.
“Is there something going on between you and Shang?” Mushu says as I struggle with the bag.
“I need to show these people that just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I can’t handle my own crap. We need to build confidence in them, remember?”
“Hmm.” Mushu doesn’t look convinced, but luckily she chooses not to dig further.
The Li family ranch and distillery is located in a massive plot of land, almost one thousand acres in size, and the beauty of the land is breathtaking. When we enter the ranch, I see a barn and stables and farmlands, and as we go deeper, the farmhouse comes into view. It’s an expansive farmhouse, a gorgeous structure that is a mix of modern and traditional, with an exterior made from natural stone and cedar. Framing the house are two enormous oak trees, offering plenty of shade from the unforgiving Californian sun.
Not exactly what I had in mind when I thought of a farmhouse. This house looks more like the elegant older sibling of the traditional farmhouse. I look down at my ridiculous outfit. It feels even more ridiculous in this setting. This modern farmhouse calls for simple silk dresses and Hermès sandals, not the ULTIMATE FUN TIME DON’T MESS WITH THIS COWGIRL jeans and cowgirl boots. I shoot Mushu a glare, but Mushu is too busy staring in open wonderment at the house.
“Dang, this is nice!” she says.
“I know,” James says proudly, as though he built it with his own two hands. “It’s our little jewel.”
“Did your family build this?” I say.
“Yeah,” James says.
I guess his pride makes sense.
“Uh,” Shang interjects, “not unless you count hiring an architect and a contractor as ‘building this ourselves.’”
James throws him a dirty look. “We came up with the design ourselves.”
“Actually, my mom came up with the bulk of the design,” Shang says.
“Oh, are you two arguing about silly things again?” Auntie Jiayi says. “Come on, Zhou and Mushu, I show you to your room while the boys bicker as usual.”
The inside of the farmhouse is even more beautiful than the exterior, which I wouldn’t have thought possible. But it’s somehow cozy and airy, modern and traditional at the same time. The space is large and filled with pools of golden sunlight streaming in through the large picture windows everywhere, and the natural stone walls lend it a welcoming warmth. There is an open-plan living room furnished with overstuffed couches and a massive kitchen boasting a gorgeous granite island. The dining room is surrounded by windows on three sides, and I can just imagine the numerous loud, merry meals they’ve had there.
The bedrooms are on the second floor of the house. Auntie Jiayi leads us to the second room on the right and says, “I hope this is okay for you?”
It’s more than okay. Large enough to hold two queen beds with ample closet space, and its own en suite to boot. There is a makeup table near the window with a pot of fresh wildflowers on it.
“We hire cleaners to prep the house for our arrival,” Auntie Jiayi explains when she sees me looking curiously at the flowers. “We also have farmhands and workers all over the ranch and the distillery, of course. Now, I will let you two rest a bit and then we will go on a tour of the place, okay? Oh, and I will bring by your sleeping bags for our overnight camping trip in two days’ time.”
“Overnight camping trip?” I say, trying not to look too horrified.
“Oh yes, we do every year. You’ll love it.”
“I’m sure I will,” I say, then add “Thank you, Auntie” with genuine affection. Auntie Jiayi, with her kindness and her honesty, has grown on me.
The door closes gently behind Auntie Jiayi, and Mushu and I fall onto our respective beds with sighs of relief.
“Phew, this place, man!” Mushu says. “I wasn’t expecting it to be quite so large. This is amazing. It’s like Disneyland, but for ranchers.”
“Yeah, it is pretty incredible.”
“Hey, so,” Mushu says, “while I was riding in the trailer with the elders, I kind of got the feeling that they don’t want to sell.”
The back of my neck prickles. “What? How’s that possible? They invited us here.”
Mushu shrugs. “I don’t know, it’s kind of a vibe I got from them. Also, I heard Uncle Hong say, ‘I don’t want to sell the company.’”
A pit opens up in my stomach. I try to make sense of the situation, and fail. “But why would they go along with this if they didn’t want to sell in the first place?”
Mushu chews on her lip as she ponders this. “Maybe it has to do with Shang? He’s the CEO, right?”
I think about the friction between Shang and James. I assumed it’s just regular stuff between cousins, but maybe there’s more to it than that. Annoyance bubbles up inside me. What kind of game is Shang playing?
“Well, I’m not here to have my time wasted,” I say after a while. “They brought us here, and I’m going to do my job, and if their company is really worth buying, then I’m going to make a good case for it.”
“Attagirl.” Mushu props herself up on her elbow and gazes out the window at the expanse. “So all this is owned by the company?”
“Well, the distillery is, and parts of the land, but the farmhouse is owned separately by the family.”
She whispers, “I bet it’s worth a lot of money.”
“Yeah, it’s a large part of their valuation, the land. We need to assess how much it’s worth.”
“How do we do that?”
“Mushu, how do you still not know this stuff after working at the firm for as long as you have?”
“Okay, well, this sounds like a you problem,” she says.
I can’t help smiling at this. “Mushu, never change.”