Page 62 of Worth Fighting For

My mouth snaps shut and I glare at Mushu, who shrugs and says, “What? I’m just saying. Look, Mulan, you’ve always been so responsible. Even when we were kids, you were always so caught up with making everyone around you happy, especially your parents. It’s so rare to get to see what the real you wants. And in this case, what you really want is obviously that scrumptious hunk of a man.”

“The acquisition is what matters here, Mushu,” I say, trying hard not to laugh.

“If you say so. But you do a million of these things a year, whereas you definitely do not get laid a million times a year, so…”

I can’t help laughing at that. “God, I don’t know how you make me laugh even when everything is so crappy.”

“It’s a blessing to be related to me,” Mushu says.

“It is,” I say, and I really do mean it.

This time around, on the way back to the city, Mushu calls dibs on getting a ride in Shang’s car, which makes me both relieved and terrified. I ride in the uncles and aunties’ trailer, and I actually find the nonstop chattering and invasive questions kind of fun to maneuver. (“What GPA you got in college? 3.9? Aiya, why not 4.0?”Well, Auntie, it’s kind of tough to get 4.0 at Princeton. I was surrounded by actual geniuses and all.“Yes, but you are Chinese, you should be better than these American geniuses.” “How many children you want, Zhou? I think you better have three. Three is good number of children to have. Two boys to take over business and one girl to take care of you when you old.”Can’t the girl take over the business?“Oh, what nonsense, of course not. Daughter job is taking care of parents.”)

My parents moved to America without the rest of their families, so I’m not used to the chaos of a big family like the Lis, but I revel in it. I love their merry atmosphere, the way the trailer is never quiet because everyone is talking over everyone. I love the good-natured arguments between the uncles and aunties, the way they can never just agree with each other and have to debate everything until someone—more often than not Uncle Hong—shouts, “Okay! We settle down now!” And then they settle for about two minutes before they start up a whole different argument. But the entire time they’re laughing and patting one another on the arm or the back with obvious affection, and there is a constant stream of snacks being passed around, all of them homemade.

There are the Chinese Rice Krispies that they had at the campsite, and then there are savory prawn crackers, which I didn’t even know are possible to make at home, though when I think about it, of course they are, because why wouldn’t they be? These ones are far superior to any I’ve had before, tasting of real shrimp and garlic and onion, and they’re utterly addictive. There are egg wafer rolls—paper-thin, fragrant wafers rolled up like cigars, with toasted sesame seeds sprinkled throughout the batter. I lose count of how many I have on the ride. There is bak kwa—Chinese jerky, which isn’t dry like the American version but tender and sticky sweet and savory, the greasy sauce coating my fingers. They are quite literally finger-licking good.

By the time we arrive back in the city, I think I’m way too full to eat, but the Lis stop off at a Chinese restaurant and I find that, actually, I’m now craving some hot dishes. I’m about to enter the restaurant when Shang arrives. We pause at the door, both of us looking frantically at each other.

“Go ahead,” Shang says, opening the door for me.

“Thank you,” Mushu says, blithely stepping from behind him. She goes through the door while wiggling her eyebrows at me.

“Um, thanks,” I say, ducking my head and hurrying through the door.

Inside, the rest of the family is seated, leaving me to sit next to Shang and Mushu. I silently curse the universe as we settle into our seats. The round table is so cramped that it’s impossible not to graze elbows with your neighbor, and each time my elbow touches Shang’s, we both jerk apart as though we’ve been shocked.

The uncles, aunties, and cousins are talking over one another as usual, with Mushu diving right in as though she was born and raised in this family. Shang and I sit in silence, letting the noise wash over us, painfully aware of each other’s presence.

“So—” I say.

“Um—” Shang says.

We stop. “You first,” I say.

“Okay. How was your ride back? Did you get grilled about your college GPA?” Shang says.

I laugh. “I did, actually. How did you guess?”

“I grew up with these people,” he says dryly.

“They were unimpressed by my GPA,” I say.

“Gasp, you didn’t have a perfect GPA?” Shang says.

“Okay, but might I remind you that I did go to Princeton? It’s kind of a little competitive?”

“Oh yeah, how did I forget when you mention it every other conversation?”

I stare at him in mock outrage. “I do not!”

“It’s like that thing people say about Harvard men—how do you find out if a guy’s been to Harvard? He’ll tell you within five minutes of meeting him.”

“Li Shang, you did not just compare me to a Harvard man.”

His dimples appear again and he looks so adorable that my mind is just goingEeeeeeee. I can’t believe we’re having an actual conversation, that we’ve gone right back to our old banter even after last night. Of course, now that I’m thinking about last night, I go back to feeling awkward.

Luckily, the food arrives then, and I, stomach filled with junk food, dig in gratefully. The meal is plentiful but fast as everyone inhales the food. Unlike the other meals, we don’t linger afterward, all of us eager to get home. The group disperses back at Uncle Hong’s house, and Mushu and I drive to the hospital to visit Baba.

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