“I’m all wined out from last night. Here, let me help you,” I say, reaching for the Pinot Noir she’s chosen. I pull the cork out and pour the bottle’s contents into a stemless glass, the ruby liquid splashing up against the sides.
“What happened last night?” Pó Po asks.
I give Pó Po a sheepish smile. “I was out…at a Singles Scouting,” I lie.
“You expect me to believe that half-assed lie?” she says skeptically.
I cough out a laugh at her word choice. “No, I don’t,” I admit.
My phone vibrates with a text from Nina. “Nina’s not coming!” I inform Pó Po. “She has to do something with her dress and menu planning for the wedding.”
“Too bad. Is she still wearing white?” Pó Po asks.
“Yes, her jumpsuit is still ivory, Pó Po,” I say. “It’s off-white.”
“Aiyah! You know that color is what people wear to funerals. And it’s not even a dress!”
“But in Western culture, it symbolizes purity. It’s traditional for brides to wear white on their wedding day.”
Pó Po shakes her head to the side. “I don’t like it.”
“She’ll be wearing red for the wedding dinner. She’s also making sure to incorporate traditional elements. You may not like it now, but I think you will!” I exclaim, giving Pó Po a stern but loving look.
“Fine,” she says, giving me a face right back.
“Let’s enjoy ourselves. You know I live for these dinners.” I start pulling dumpling ingredients from my parents’ kitchen, relying on muscle memory to guide my movements.
“I’m glad you were still able to make it,” Pó Po says.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I say. And I haven’t. Not one. Our Dumplings and Rom-Dram Dates are the highlight of my month.
Pó Po folds up the sleeves on her lavender linen lounge set. “Have you—”
“—given any thought to Auntie’s latest match? No,” I blurt out.
“I was going to ask if you’ve figured out what you’re wearing to the wedding,” she says patiently. She pours soy sauce over ground pork meat.
“Oh, sorry,” I say as I slice scallions and mince garlic.
She shrugs, moving onto a new topic. “I think you’ll enjoy what I’ve picked for today.In the Mood for Love, directed by Wong Kar Wai. It’s a masterpiece. Very moody. A slow burn.”
“Ooh, moody. That’s exactly what I’m craving,” I say, scooping salt out of a ramekin with a spoon. After last night’s kiss with Bennett, I haven’t been able to think about anything else. “LA is charming in the fall, don’t you think?”
“Aiyah! Stop! That’s sugar, not salt!” Pó Po manages to catch some of the sugar as I pour it over the pork mixture.
“Oops.”
“It’s bright, like every other time of year here, but sure, I guess you could call it charming,” Pó Po says, giving me a weird look.
“Apple and pumpkin picking in sunshine, vibrant sunsets, cooler evenings, sweaters!” I rattle off.
She watches me closely. “What were you saying about last night?”
“Did I say something? I don’t think I said anything,” I tell her.
“You’re red! Are you blushing, or lying, or both? You’re face turns red when you lie.”
I fan myself with my hand. “This kitchen is hot!”
