Page 27 of Worth Fighting For

“Oh, um, twenty-eight.”

“Oh, my dear, you are getting so old!” Auntie Chuang exclaims.

“Um. Thanks?”

“Twenty-eight is not old, Chuangling,” Auntie Jiayi says. She gives me an encouraging smile. “Why, I didn’t have Shang until I was thirty.”

“Yes, and look where it get you. Just one child only,” Auntie Chuang retorts.

Auntie Jiayi’s smile disappears. My stomach knots. Auntie Jiayi was just trying to make me feel better, and she got smacked down for it. I scramble for something to say to take the attention away from Auntie Jiayi. “Oh, well, I don’t plan on having kids anytime soon, so.”

Auntie Chuang turns her attention back to me. “You don’t? Why not? You are too busy working? Aiya, this is what is wrong with your generation now. You children are too selfish, only thinking of yourselves, not your families.”

“Mommm,” James groans. “Do we have to?”

“You are not getting any younger either, James,” Auntie Chuang snaps. “How about you stop fooling around and find a nice girl like Zhou to settle down with?”

I choke on my oolong. “Uh…” From the corner of my eye, I catch Shang watching me with yet another unreadable expression. With those thick eyebrows of his, he always looks slightly angry.

Auntie Lulu, Thomas’s mother, pipes up. “Oh yes, Zhou, tell us, what is your ideal man? Maybe someone like Thomas? Well educated,” she says with a pointed look at James, “loves cooking, don’t you, Thomas?” She elbows Thomas viciously.

He looks up from his phone, says “Sure,” and dips his head once more.

What would Baba say in this situation? Of course, the answer is he wouldn’t even be in this situation to begin with, because he’s a man. Still, I do my best to channel my inner Baba. “I am very flattered by your concern. Thank you. I will take your comments into consideration.” There. That is a very Zhou answer. The aunties smile, looking mollified for now.

Fortunately, the food arrives then, even though there hasn’t been, as far as I know, any ordering. The Li family must have stopped over at Gary’s enough for him to know exactly what they like, and soon, the table is positively groaning under the weight of various Chinese dishes, all of them steaming hot. There’s beef cooked in a numbingly spicy Szechuan sauce, a platter heaped high with honeyed roast pork buns, two whole deep-fried fish covered in sticky sweet-and-sour sauce, a large pot of pork rib and winter melon soup, a plate of spicy cucumber and chicken salad, and a giant pot of rice. Everyone calls out, “Chi fan!” which directly translates toeat ricebut meansdig in, and so we do.

I’ve been raised well enough to know it is customary to serve those who are older before yourself. Since I’m sitting next to Auntie Chuang, I serve her first, ladling generous portions of the fish and chicken salad onto her plate.

“Aiya, don’t bother yourself,” Auntie Chuang scolds in a merry sort of voice, clearly enjoying my attention.

Shang picks up a spoon as well and takes a portion of braised tofu for his mother, but Uncle Hong barks, “What kind of man serves the food?”

At the sharp tone of voice, there is a momentary silence around the table. Shang looks like he’s about to protest, but his mother places a hand on his arm and he lowers the spoon, looking down at his plate.

“Shang is a filial son,” Auntie Jiayi says with an apologetic smile.

The other aunties, uncles, and cousins resume their conversation hurriedly, as though to cover up the awkward atmosphere. I turn my attention to Uncle Hong, who merely grunts his thanks as I serve him. A look around the table tells me that the only other person serving their elders is Mushu. She is moving as quickly as a Chipotle line server, slapping spoonfuls of food down on everybody’s plate while calling out, “Don’t get up, Auntie, I’ll get it for you, there you go, don’t even think about moving, Uncle, you want the fish? I’ll get you the fish, and there’s an extra-large pork bun for you.”

The aunties and uncles seem impressed by this show of respect, all of them smiling and nodding. Auntie Chuang gives James a pointed look. “You see, Son? You see the value of having a good wife?”

I fight back the grimace that’s threatening to take over my face. Growing up, I was always taught to serve my elders at meals, something I’ve done well to remember while working at Facai Capital; we always serve our guests first. I’ve never really thought of it as something a dutiful wife would do, but now it seems obvious, and all of a sudden, I’m filled with resentment. Did my parents mean to instill this sexist practice in me? I wish I could stop, and yet it is so ingrained in me that I can’t bear to see any uncle’s or auntie’s plate remain unfilled, and so I continue serving everyone until their plates are piled high with food before serving myself the remnants of the meal. And obviously Uncle Hong and the rest of the Lis agree that this is a woman’s job. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had to do something purely because of my sex. By the time I spear a piece of fish with my chopsticks, I’ve lost the bulk of my appetite.

I can’t help noticing how Shang is eating with abandon, chatting and laughing with the others, and at the sight of him, I’m once again reminded that I’m here to play a role. How easily Shang shrugged off that awkward moment back there. Now he seems completely at ease sitting back and letting Mushu and me serve the food. He’s different from the guy listening to a feminist story in the privacy of his car, because in front of his family, he’s playing a different role, just like me.What would Baba do?Well, since he would be trying to put the Lis at ease, he would serve the food regardless of his gender. So I’ve played my role well as Zhou. It’s all right, everything is the way it should be. Damn it, I’m so off-kilter because of this new role I’m having to play, and also because of whatever hormone-driven attraction I have toward Shang. I really need to get a grip.

Halfway through the meal, I signal to Mushu to go to the restroom. As soon as we’re out of earshot from the main group, I pull her close.

“Switch with me,” I say.

Mushu stares. “Uh. No thanks? My outfits are all carefully curated to form one cohesive look with my hair and makeup. No offense, but I don’t think you can carry it off.”

“How is that at all inoffensive?” I shake my head. “Anyway, never mind that. I didn’t mean switch outfits, I meant switch seats with me so you go in Shang’s car and I go in the trailer.”

“Oh!” Mushu frowns. “Why? I thought I was doing you a favor by leaving you alone with that hottie.” She cranes her neck, leering at Shang in the distance. “I mean, whoo boy. Look at that bod.”

“Mushu, focus.” I grab her shoulders and give her a little shake. How do I explain to Mushu that I feel this incredible attraction to Shang and I need to put some distance between the two of us to focus on what I actually came here to do? “I just…think it would be good for me to have a chance to talk to the aunties and uncles. Try to get a feel of the business from them,” I say finally.

“Sounds legit,” Mushu says.

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