Page 70 of From Beijing, With Love

Daniel made an indignant sound and shoved Poppy. She retaliated by flicking water back at him, making him step backward—right into the industrial-sized rice cooker.

“Okay, children, enough.” Yang crossed his arms, sounding a lot more like his old self.

The three of them clustered around one corner of the table, ingredients piled in front of them. The aunties sat at the other end of the table. In their shared features—straight nose, wide-set eyes turned up at the corners—Daniel saw Yang, and something warm filled his chest. This was his first time meeting the family of a guy he was with. Sure, most of his exes were international students or expats whose family were thousands of miles away, but the truth was that none of his past relationships had quite progressed that far.

Then his thoughts drifted back to his dad, as they often had on this trip. None of his partners would get to meet his dad. The thought brought with it an unwanted melancholy that seemed out of place in this home filled with so much family and love. He pushed it away.

At the head of the auntie-led dumpling assembly line, Dagu rolled the soft dough into a rope and cut it into equal-sized disks. From there, Ergu rolled each disk into a perfect circle the size of her palm. At the end of the line, Sangu and Xiaogu filled each wrapper with a dollop of meaty filling and folded it into a dumpling.

While Daniel was still staring at the aunties, Poppy had dusted the tabletop with flour and started rolling out the dough.

“You know what to do?” The only things Daniel had ever seen Poppy cook were green smoothies and Dutch cheese sandwiches (two slices of bread, one slice of cheese, end of recipe).

Poppy shrugged. “I do this every Lunar New Year with my family.”

“Am I a bad best friend for not knowing this?” Daniel gasped for dramatic effect, though there was a grain of truth to his words. How had Daniel lived with Poppy for years without knowing this? Then he remembered something. “That’s where the dumplings came from?”

When he met Yang’s puzzled eyes, he explained, “Once a year, Poppy disappears for a whole weekend, no text, no call, no explanations, and comes back with five enormous ziplock bags of dumplings that feed us for the next six months.” He turned to Poppy. “How come you never told me that it was for Lunar New Year?”

Poppy shrugged. “Family shit.”

Daniel understood. He knew that Poppy didn’t like talking about her family. From what he could pry out of her, he knew their relationship was complicated. He was just honored to be part of her chosen family instead.

“I get it,” Yang said, a knowing look passing between him and Poppy. “Sorry that you have to make your own dinner. Dagu said Nainai insisted, because I couldn’t make it home this past New Year. Speaking of …”

Daniel followed Yang’s smiling gaze to an elderly woman at the doorway. Her white hair was pulled into an immaculate bun, not a single strand out of place. Everything about her screamed stone-cold matriarch, until Yang shot up from his chair and wrapped his arms around her in a hug.

Nainai looked from Daniel to Poppy. Before Daniel could give her his half-bow/half-wave greeting, she took both of their hands in hers as Mandarin flew out of her mouth melodically.

“She said she’s really glad to meet Yang’s friends,” Poppy translated. “Then she apologized that the home is … what’s the word? Basic?”

“Humble. Not fancy enough for guests.” Yang’s brown eyes met Daniel’s, as if searching for a confirmation.

“It’s perfect,” Daniel said in return. The home was indeed humble, with its mismatched chairs, scuffed walls, and the utilitarian design that left the dining room windowless. The unexpected truth was that he liked it here. He thought about the house he’d grown up in, with its cold modern decor and dinners eaten in silence. Compared to that, this home was warm.

Nainai sat at the head of the table and supervised, occasionally directing a comment or two at the aunties. After making more than a few truly hideous dumplings that were bursting with too much filling, Daniel got the hang of it. He let out a satisfied sigh as he lined up six picture-perfect dumplings in front of him.

Yang scrutinized Daniel’s creations. “They look … surprisingly good.”

“Let me translate that for you. What Yang meant to say was how the hell are you better at this than him—when he’s the one who does this every year?” Poppy chimed in.

“Ignore her. Being mean without provocation is kinda her thing.” Daniel made a face at Poppy. She had always been a litmus test for the guys Daniel liked. An arched brow, a cold shoulder, or a dead-eyed look, in Taylor’s case, all spelled doom. Her making fun of Yang was actually a good sign.

“How do you pleat the edges together?” Yang made a clumsy fold that unfurled as soon as he let go, his cheeks growing pink. “I guess the perk of being the youngest of the cousins is that I never had to do the cooking. Is that embarrassing?”

“Totally,” Poppy said, placing another freshly rolled wrapper on the growing pile in front of them. Daniel and Yang were falling behind on their wrapping duties. She kicked Daniel under the table. “For god’s sake, help the poor guy.”

“I know what you’re doing,” Daniel hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

“Whatever do you mean?” Poppy batted her lashes. “I just want you guys to make the dumplings faster so we can finally eat.”

“Can I?” Daniel asked. Yang nodded after a furtive glance at the aunties, who were paying them no mind. Daniel placed his hand over Yang’s, guiding Yang’s fingertips to pinch and fold the edge in on itself over and over, forming a pleat.

“There. Perfect.” Daniel let go of Yang’s hand, hoping he wasn’t openly blushing at the table. He blamed it on the heat. That and the way Yang stared at the dumpling in his hand like it was made of gold.

From there, they got into a rhythm, the dumplings piling up on the flour-dusted surface in front of them. Batch by batch, their creations were whisked away to be boiled in the kitchen. The moment the cooked dumplings appeared on colorful porcelain plates, steaming hot, the front door swung open and the rest of the family filed in—uncles and cousins galore. Daniel didn’t have a big extended family on his mother’s side, and he hardly ever saw his two cousins living in the south of the Netherlands. He felt like an alien, or an anthropologist, as he watched Yang’s big family. After the first few introductions, Daniel lost track of who was whom, but he kept an eye out for Yang’s dad. He wanted to meet the man who’d raised Yang.

“Where’s your dad?” Daniel asked Yang as he dug into the dumplings, which tasted even better than the ones he’d had in the restaurant in Beijing. They were standing huddled in the corner of the room after the sit-down dinner had become a standing-room-only affair. Their closeness grounded Daniel in this raucous room.