Her English was precise, and her eyes shrewd as she watched me take the bowl. I glanced inside to see little pieces of meat with green onions and peppers. “Toothpick lamb?” I asked.
She looked impressed. “Yes, good job.” She looked me up and down. “But you’re not Chinese. Korean?”
I nodded before picking up a piece of perfectly charred lamb and popping it into my mouth. The taste of cumin and peppers instantly hit.Mmmm. After I finished chewing, I said, “Yes, I am. Well, my grandparents are from there. My parents grew up in Brazil.”
She waved her hand in the air. “That’s nice. How’s the lamb?”
“So good!” I gave her a thumbs-up. “And I’ve had the lamb at Sichuan Dreams.”
“Pft. That place sucks.”
I choked. Hamlet ran across the kitchen to grab me a glass of water. I gulped it gratefully. “Sichuan Dreams doesn’t suck!” I gasped. “Beloved food critic Stephen Fitch loves it, and everyone says it’s the most authentic Sichuan in the city.”
“Are those peoplefromthe Sichuan province? Because guess what, my familyis!” She put her hands on her little hips and glared at me.
I frowned. “Well, it’sstill good.”
“Clara, did your Brazilian parents not teach you to respect your elders?”
Hamlet swiveled toward her. “Oh my God.Nainai.”
She waved her hand at him dismissively. “This one’s tough, she doesn’t care.”
I shrugged. “It’s true. But also, my dad taught me to stick up for what I believe in. And I believe in Sichuan Dreams.”
Hamlet’s grandma rolled her eyes dramatically, turning back toward the stove. “Give me a break, that’s the problem with you American kids. You think all your opinions matter. So annoying.”
I laughed. “Weareannoying.” When I glanced over at Hamlet to see if he agreed, he was staring at me. A small smile hovering over his lips, eyes focused on me and only me.
Was it just me, or was this kitchen getting a bit too warm?
He glanced over at his grandmother then. “Whatever, Nainai. You’re American, too. She was born here,” he said to me.
“You think being born here seventy years ago is the same as being born here sixteen years ago, child? Stop bothering me and go check on Yeye. He wants to clean out the rain gutters with that back and those knees. Rain gutters inJuly!” She poked Hamlet with a long-handled wooden spoon. “Anyway, go tell him a story or something. He needs to rest if it kills him.”
I was still giggling when I followed Hamlet upstairs. His grandfather was lying down in a spacious bedroom with high ceilings and sliding doors leading to a balcony. It was sparsely furnished, with a luxurious Persian rug and two large Chinese landscape paintings.
He was playing video games in bed when we walked in. On a huge TV that could be seen from space.
“Hi, Yeye.” Hamlet bounded into the room and flopped down on the bed, making his grandfather groan and pause his game with a littlebeep-boopsound. “I brought my friend Clara to hang out.”
His grandfather looked up at me with a smile. “Hi, Clara. Fun first date, huh?” Unlike Hamlet’s grandma, his English was slightly accented. “Sorry you were forced to come hereunnecessarily. I know Hamlet was looking forward to this.”
Hamlet kept his eyes on his grandpa, his face a mask ofkeep cool. “Anyway. Why are you insisting on cleaning rain gutters? Nainai’s about to put a tracker on you.”
“You know I like to drive her crazy,” he said with a wink.
Were Hamlet’s grandparentsme?
He continued, sitting up straighter. “It’s not like I’m dying. Our rain gutters arepacked. What if we have a summer rain?”
There was a second of silence before we all cracked up. Summer rain was simply not a thing here.
Hamlet and I chatted with his grandfather for a bit, then got pulled into playing a really creepy video game. It was so scary that I eventually crawled onto the bed next to Hamlet, making for some tight quarters. My knee brushed against his, and we sprang apart.
At one point Hamlet’s grandma hollered at us to come down for dinner. The table was laid out with a platter of that yummy toothpick lamb (given that name because each little piece had a toothpick poked into it for easy eating), bowls of rice, a dark red soup with dumplings, and a pile of steamed pea shoots.
Needless to say, I ate a lot. His grandparents were hilarious—bickering nonstop while placing food on each other’s plates. His grandpa even brushed a strand of hair out of his grandmother’s face, gently and with such love, before launching into a complaint about the dumplings in the soup being too cold.
