“And where are you going?” Jade said.
“Lulu’s,” Elizabeth said. “It’s quieter there.”
“Great! You can cover for me,” Lydia replied.
Elizabeth glared at her and rushed out.
Jade collapsed into one of the kitchen seats with a loud sigh. “Nobody in this family ever appreciates what I do.”
Kitty set a hand on her shoulder. “Mommy, we do,” she said. “We just don’t want to hear about it, that’s all.”
2
Every block in the city has its own peculiar landmark that comes recommended with a disclaimer—the laundromat with a mysterious and miraculous free dryer when you need it that only runs short cycles; the liquor store that closes and opens at random; the wandering dumpling cart that only takes cash. Lulu’s was theirs. Drunk after 1 a.m.? Stuck without food on a national holiday? Broke? You already know. The neon sign had long stopped working, though electricity still hissed through it; the paper menu bled ink; the tabletops were sticky and populated with unfilled salt and pepper shakers; and the only people who might be found eating there were employees. But ten dollars for an egg roll, soda, rice, and entrée—what more could you want?—and if you want more, best go elsewhere.
For the last ten years, Vincent (mostly) and family (sometimes) operated Lulu’s. Operated, as in didn’t own. He didn’t complain. A paycheck was a paycheck, and a life was a life. He could learn to chop broccoli and deep-fry chicken just as he’d learned how to read. The youngest Chens dissented. They couldn’t bear the toil or the time, and definitely not the smell—that eau de fry grease that couldn’t be smothered under cucumber-melon body mist. They considered it an affront, the penance they paid for being born into their family. They failed to understand what their sisters and parents did: some things can be accepted because they aren’t worse.
Elizabeth knocked the door open with her hip, the jangling door bell heralding her arrival, and tossed her backpack on the ground as she slid into one of the empty seats. “Ba,” she greeted.
“Floor’s dirty,” he said, without glancing up from the newspaper.
It would be easy, if unwise, to mistake Vincent Chen for a serious man given his looks—thick square bifocals, button-down shirt, slight frame, thinning hair, and ratty sweater. Many often did. It was known he didn’t gamble, didn’t gossip, and rarely chose to leave home. But with a wife like Jade and daughters like Kitty and Lydia, aa, who couldn’t understand a need for peace and quiet? But blink and you might miss the twist of humor in his expression, the slight pout of his lips as he laughed without laughing.
Elizabeth lifted her backpack and dropped it onto an adjacent seat. “Happy?”
“I figured you might be coming,” he said, licking his finger and turning a page of his newspaper. “Your mother seemed very excited when I talked to her.”
Excitement, he left to his wife and daughters.
She unpacked her old laptop onto the table and shoved the Ethernet card into the slot. It whirred and spat dust as it tried to spin its drives to life. “She finally offloaded the rec.”
Vincent’s jaw dropped. “Waaa, already?” he said. “She must have put the nails to the Chieng brothers.”
“The screws, Dad,” Elizabeth corrected.
“Nails, screws, same thing,” he said.
“She’s practically counting the commission,” Elizabeth said. “Never mind what happens to the rec.”
Vincent tucked his newspaper under an arm and joined her at the table with a cold dish of noodles. “Don’t let her hear you say that,” he said.
Elizabeth sunk back into a chair. “All it needs is . . .”
“Fresh paint?”
She rolled her eyes. “Some money. Someone who cares about it. Then it can go back to what it used to be.”
“Instead of Old Lady Tang’s personal gambling hall?” Off her unamused look, he sighed, poking at the wet mass of noodles with his chopsticks. “Ai ya, LB. Things change. Nothing you can do. Try not to worry, la.” He punctuated the thought with a loud slurp of noodles before holding out his chopsticks to her in offer.
She shoveled a large bite into her mouth.
He nodded slowly at her. “Not hungry?”
She rolled her eyes in answer.
“How’s the job hunt going?” he said, retreating to his position behind the counter. “Any offers?”
The bell rang again, saving her from fumbling for a lie. Jade and Vincent might be called easygoing when compared to other parents on the block, but that didn’t mean they understood. Ask the older daughters in your area and they won’t tell you: the truth might set you free, but lying keeps everybody happy. Elizabeth lied about her smoking and drinking, about late nights and dates, about grades, and now, about work. Finding a job seemed so simple—submit résumé, submit to interview, submit to boss—but turned out harder to land in practice. Call it another unspoken rule of the city: from dates to doctor appointments, job interviews to restaurant reservations, nobody ever called back.
A piercing squeal punctuated the silence. “Eeeee, Lizzie! How are you!”
An easy question to answer; she wasn’t—a Lizzie, that is. For the uninitiated and unfamiliar, she might be Elizabeth; for her family and close friends, she was LB; for her parents in fits of pique, she could also be known as 慧欣; or, simply, scathingly, daughter. But a Lizzie? Never. Except to neighborhood darling, Channel Five meteorologist, and Elizabeth’s long-standing personal nightmare Alexa Hu. She was a pale, small-pored, five-foot, and size-zero terror in a Lord & Taylor suit. Her career trajectory, like her hair, her manners, and her accent, betrayed no flaw. For years, her accomplishments bullied every Chinese American girl between Centre and Clinton; now, she was the first of their class of Chinese daughters to marry, triggering a thousand leading questions at a thousand family dim sums.
“It’s so funny to run into you here,” she said, clapping Elizabeth in a short hug.
“At my parents’ restaurant?” Elizabeth replied, lightly returning the embrace.
If Alexa heard, she didn’t understand. “I’ve been so busy I haven’t been able to breathe, but I had to catch up with you. You’re impossible to get hold of, you know.” When she spoke, her voice rose and fell with a trembling whine like erhu.
“I’m always around,” Elizabeth said. “How’s everything with the wedding?”
Her glossy curtain of hair rippled with discontent. “Everything’s horrible. And Bryan, I love him, but he’s so checked out, you know what I mean? Playing basketball with his friends, and whatever else men do.” She yanked her cell phone roughly from the belt loop of her pants, the exterior almost fully covered in hot-glued rhinestones that sparkled weakly under the dim lights. A small jade Buddha charm dangled from the corner.
She flipped it open and scanned the screen, heaving a large sigh. “He’s unbelievable.”
Elizabeth leaned her laptop shut. “Isn’t your mom helping out?”
“You would think, right?” she said, flicking her phone shut. Walking around the side of the counter, she greeted Vincent politely before rattling off her order in breathless Chinese.