“No. You’re not allowed.” Emoni has popped in silently like an assassin, as is her style. She lives here, too—ever since she was widowed. If my grandparents had their way, the entire family would be shoved into this house. It’s a large Spanish-style villa and they’ve lived here since I was a child, but before I was born they had lived in K-Town, which was just a few short but significant blocks to the south.
This house hosts every gathering. All major holidays, and one very important occasion: my mother’s death anniversary. Which, of course, happens to be my birthday. Emoni’s kids roll into town for it, without fail, every year. I love them for that.
Emoni takes Wally from me, and Sunny and Uncle Stu walk in from the French doors leading to the yard—Sunny holding rose clippings and Stu carrying an empty cooler. Sunny and Stu live a few blocks over in a house that inexplicably looks like the cottage fromThe Holiday.Everything about them is aesthetically pleasing—their home, their handsome labradoodles, and their own physical appearances. Uncle Stu gives me a hug, his thick salt-and-pepper hair voluminous and his peacock-blue cashmere sweater softer than a baby lamb.
“New glasses?” I ask, tapping his tortoiseshell frames.
He grins, his face impossibly handsome with its eye crinkles and glass-cutting jawline. “Never miss a thing, Cass.”
“I follow your every item of clothing like unhinged people follow Taylor Swift’s private jet travel,” I say.
He laughs and throws his arm around me. “That is unhinged, but happy birthday, favorite niece.”
“Only niece.”
When Sunny first matched with Stu, we had all been holding our breaths. She had waited so long to find out who her fated was—was he going to live up to her expectations? This was a woman whoonly stayed in hotels that didn’t allow children and had sheets with thread counts over five hundred.
When she came back from her first date with Stu, I was twenty-four years old and staying up late watching TV with my grandparents. We were trying to act casual while watching a Korean variety show when we heard a car pull up. Halmoni and I made eye contact and she lifted an eyebrow. I knew what she wanted me to do, so I casually walked over to the window and peeked out the curtain.
A car I didn’t recognize was idling on the curb. But I could see Sunny’s face in the passenger seat. Oh, god, was I about to witness a make-out session by my aunt? Luckily, I was spared that, and instead I saw a man get out of the driver’s side and open the door for her. He was handsome and dressed like an old-fashioned movie star—light suit, white shirt unbuttoned at the top on that warm evening. Check and check for Sunny. And the way he took her hand when she got out of the car—impeccable. I felt my heart racing for Sunny as the two walked toward the front step, it was all just soromanticand dreamy in the L.A. moonlight with the white roses blooming along the path.
Then Stu tripped on a step.
And fell into a rosebush.
Still holding Sunny’s hand.
I gasped and covered my mouth. My grandparents were next to me in a second. “What happened?” Halmoni asked, shoving in next to me. Halabuji’s head bobbed around trying to see over us.
“He justfell,” I whispered—mortified for him.
Sunny, in her beautiful Missoni wrap dress, was horizontal on the concrete path and Stu was disentangling himself from the thorny bush. The three of us held our breaths as these two impeccably dressed, dignified humans found themselves sprawled in front of the house.
Then Stu fell back into the bush and started laughing hysterically. Sunny looked paralyzed for a second, sitting up as she stared at the man across from her. He was laughing so hard that he clutched his chest with both hands.Is this guy off his rocker?
Then Sunny’s face cracked into the biggest smile I had ever seen on her—it actually took my breath away. Had my aunt ever been this happy? She got to her high-heels-clad feet, hiked her dress up, and held her hand out to him as she laughed. He looked up at her, and he was dazzled. Actual stars in his eyes. He took her hand and she heaved him up. As they stood next to each other, laughing and trying to catch their breaths, I closed the curtain.
“Let’s give them some privacy,” I said in a hush, pushing my grandparents back to the sofa. But things were changed in the room—we knew Sunny had found her fated. And the sheen of tears in Halmoni’s eyes expressed a relief so profound that it made me reach over and squeeze her hand. This was the power of love.
In present day, Stu squeezes my arm and says, “Welcome to another great decade, Cass.”
After being properly plied with wine and massage chairs, we all sit down to dinner in the backyard. Twinkly string lights drape across the pillars of the stone terrace, and the water feature, a small babbling brook that feeds into their pool and hot tub, is lit up as well. White roses and lavender bloom around us and I feel incredibly lucky for all of it.
Before we dig into the food, Halmoni stands up with a glass of prosecco in hand. “Thank you all for being here. Another year of Cassia.” She looks at me with love, but there’s sadness in her eyes. “And another year without Evette. Let’s take a moment to remember her and feel her spirit around this table with us.”
Everyone quiets and Mar catches my hand under the table and gives it a squeeze.
A beautiful salad of butter lettuce from Emoni’s garden is passed around, bright orange nasturtium scattered on top. It makes the kids giggle at the thought of eating flowers. I watch Marcella’s husband, Logan, pretend to be a cow gnashing at his, and smile. He’s this quiet (literal) rocket scientist who, around his children, becomes a playful goofball willing to put aside all dignity for a quick smile. Ozzie and Mica have their mother’s wild, curly hair and their father’s brown skin and all together they look like an idyllic future of humanity. We should be so lucky, honestly.
Marcella gives herself a heavy pour of prosecco. “And now, a toast to the birthday girl, please.”
“No need,” I say, scooping some salad onto my plate.
“Please.” Marcella scoffs. “You’re turning forty and we’re not going to toast you?”
“Save it for my funeral.”
Indignation erupts around the table, with Emoni crossing herself. I laugh. “Okay, okay. I’ll allow a toast.”
