Aunt Evelyn wiped her fingertips. “Quite, and so unexpected.”
“I’m shocked you didn’t see it coming, Auntie,” I joked.
As soon as the barb escaped, I wished to cram it back into my mouth like one of my tragic predictions. My aunt’s eyes narrowed, and her elegant brows arched ever so slightly. Had I broken the cease-fire and stirred a wasp’s nest?
“Vanessa, if you wish to discuss our gifts further, I’d be happy to restart lessons at your earliest convenience.”
Uncle Michael flashed me a warning look with his eyes. He turned to his cousin. “Evelyn, I’ll be in Munich for a few months in the spring, maybe I can visit you in Paris?”
“That would be lovely. I’ll send you the address of the shop later.” My aunt returned her attention to me. “Do you have any predictions to make, dear niece?”
“Nothing at the moment,” I said into my wine.
The rest of the exquisite courses came out in a blur: spicy giant prawns, abalone, conch and sea cucumber with pea greens, Peking duck, Wagyu beef, Hong Kong–style fried Dungeness crabs, steamed whole sea bass, yin-yang fried rice, and double-layer milk custard for dessert. The endless parade of food acted as a buffer to the growing tension between Aunt Evelyn and me.
I managed to get into a high-stakes game of prophecy poker. She had been calling my bluff since the second course. Uncle Michael tried to be the peacemaker by steering the conversation back to the exquisite food, but after each course the contest resumed. We must have resembled the men in Francisco de Goya’s painting Fight with Cudgels, trapped in a quagmire of mud, brawling with dull weapons as the world faded away.
“I’d better see how Jack is faring.” He stood up and escaped the table.
“The tea ceremony is scheduled next, maybe you’ll get a vision then.” Aunt Evelyn waved to Cynthia, who was making her rounds to each table.
The bride had performed her second wardrobe change. Out of her Vera Wang wedding gown, she now wore a bright poppy-red qipao with gold embroidery. Cynthia was radiant. She was at a place in her life where I knew I couldn’t go. I pushed my personal sadness aside to revel in her joy.
“You two have to come with me,” she declared as she offered her hands to Aunt Evelyn and me.
We accompanied her to the salon adjoining the ballroom. Sheer white organza was draped over the tall walls of the long chamber. Tiny twinkling LED lights glowed underneath, giving the illusion of captured fireflies. A large vase of white roses and phalaenopsis filled each corner. Forty-two ivory Queen Anne chairs formed a perimeter reserved for the eldest Yu and Ngo relatives. Cynthia and her husband Edwin served tea in red gilded cups from a batch of high-grade pu’erh they brewed themselves. The order of service was dictated by seniority. The ceremony was a joining of relatives and a symbol of appreciation from the happy couple.
As the youngest in the room, I waited where Jack stood beside his portrait studio setup. Uncle Michael and Aunt Evelyn took their assigned seats.
Jack leaned in and asked in a low whisper, “So this is basically another gift-giving event?”
“Yes, the bride and groom will receive a hongbao—the red envelope—from each of the relatives after serving them tea. In our culture, it’s common to dole out cash,” I explained. “This is one of the older traditions we’ve retained. Each generation keeps a set of customs and throws out those they didn’t like.”
“So that’s what Michael was busy with this morning, stuffing an envelope full of hundred-dollar bills.” Jack smiled. “It’s beautiful. I should be taking some shots.”
He fetched his camera and got to work, getting closer to document the ritual. As I watched the ceremony unfold, I felt a pang of envy. I didn’t see this in my future despite what the aunties intended for me.
After the ceremony, Cynthia made her way to me. She glanced over her shoulder at the gaggle of aunties congregating in the far corner. “They’re so ready to pounce on you. They told me that they tried to track you down earlier, but you gave them the slip.”
“I hid. I can’t outrun them. At least three of them run marathons,” I said before pointing a finger at her. “You were supposed to stay single. We had a deal.”
Cynthia laughed. “I fell in love. All bets are off then.”
“All kidding aside, I’m genuinely happy for you and Edwin.”
“We’re going on a foodie eating tour of Asia for our honeymoon. I can’t wait to eat everything from Japan to Singapore. I have to show you all the chefs’ tables we’re planning. There were a few I didn’t think I could get into, but Edwin’s cousin pulled some strings. You know you married into the right family when that happens.” She sipped the last of the tea she was cradling in her left hand.
I caught a glimpse of the bottom of her cup. My stomach churned. I stepped back, reaching for the wall for support.
The prophecy solidified in my mouth, bringing with it the bitterness of raw cacao without the added touch of sugar. I didn’t want to open my mouth. I already knew what I was going to say.
In the past, I had tried to swallow prophecies, but the force of the prediction only moved forward, toward its escape through my lips. My jaw ached and my teeth rattled, but I couldn’t stop it.
I never could.
“You will be divorced next September. He will break his marriage vows with infidelity. The frequent visits to his favorite sushi restaurant is motivated by more than the hamachi nigiri.”
Cynthia dropped her teacup. The sharp shattering sound echoed in the room as it fractured against the floor. She covered her mouth with her hands to muffle her sobs.
“Cynthia, I’m sorry,” I whispered as I embraced her. “I’m so sorry.”
She pulled away from me.
The aunties crossed the room and descended upon the weeping bride in a protective formation. Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Michael rushed to my side, ushering me into the makeshift portrait studio, where Jack was waiting.
Tears streamed down my cheeks. I dashed them away with the backs of my hands, but they kept coming. I drowned in a tsunami of remorse for having ruined my cousin’s wedding and her life.
My right eye pulsed as a sharp pain in my temple intensified. A churning nausea rocked my stomach. I leaned into Uncle Michael and closed my eyes. He held me in his arms and allowed me to soak his beautiful charcoal suit jacket. When sorrow ran its course, I was left hiccupping, drinking in the scent of clean linen, bayberry, and my uncle’s aftershave.
He met my gaze and asked, “Are you all right?”
“No.” The instant answer unleashed all the resentment I thought I’d locked away. “It’s a curse despite what everyone says. Look at what I did to Cynthia.”