We pass Yang Bubble Tea shop, closed for the evening.
“Best popping pearls in town,” I inform him.
“I have no doubt.”
Finally, we reach my parents’ building.
I point out the second-floor windows above us. “That’s their place.”
He nods.
As always, I wonder what’s going through his head. If he’s nervous, he hides it well.
I expel a breath. “Ready?”
“Are you?”
“Let’s find out.”
Two flights of stairs and a knock. The door swings open at once as if someone had been waiting on the other side.
I bet he was.Dad’s eyes dart past me to Antoine, and then to the TV crew behind him with their mics and cameras angling for a close-up.
I plaster on a smile. “Bàba, remember Antoine?”And, please, don’t be as rude as at the wedding!
“How could I forget?” He sighs.
“Antoine, I’m sure you remember my dad, Zhou.”
“Monsieur Yang, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” Antoine extends his hand.
After a moment’s hesitation, Dad shakes the offered hand. “Please, come in.”
Inside, my mom hurries forward, wiping her hands on her apron. We greet each other with a kiss on the cheek.
“Thanks for having me, Madame Yang!” Antoine offers another handshake. “Everything smells amazing.”
“It’s spicy,” she says, ignoring his hand and his compliment. “I hope you can handle it.”
Her tone leaves no doubt that she thinks he can’t.
“Oh, I love spicy food,” Antoine assures her. “The spicier, the better.”
Her eyes narrow, like she’s testing his sincerity. “We’ll see.”
Aunt Mei arrives, and we go through another round of awkward greetings.
“Come on, dinner’s getting cold.” Dad motions everyone to the living room. “Let’s eat.”
He leads us to the dining table. We sit and I brace myself. The table is packed with Szechuan classics—mapo tofu, spicy fish fillets, and stir-fried green beans glistening with chili oil. It looks and smells delish, but I know better than to interpret it as a good sign. This meal is a trap.
“For dessert, I made chilled osmanthus jelly,” Mom says. “It’s cooling in the fridge.”
Her tone is so menacing that I wonder if she’s spiked Antoine’s portion with a laxative or something worse.
Nah, she wouldn’t do such a horrible thing, would she?
Antoine smiles politely. “That sounds amazing. I’ve heard of osmanthus before—delicate and fragrant, right?”
