To supplement my argument, I rattled off a list of incidents. “Remember Mrs. Ferguson, my kindergarten teacher? During my parent-teacher conference, I saw the bottom of her coffee mug and I told everyone about her affair. And what about my prediction of Logan’s ruptured spleen during his championship rugby game? His parents were devastated.”
The extended Yu family had grown inured to my unusual talent because of exposure. Outsiders never understood.
My head felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. With each breath the screw tightened.
It hurt. I hurt.
“I don’t want this,” I whispered. “I never wanted it.”
He kissed the top of my head. “I know.”
“I can’t even imagine what Cynthia is going through right now.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Aunt Evelyn said. “I’ll help her assess her options, and she’ll need to talk to her husband. None of this was your fault, Vanessa.”
“Isn’t it?” I said, rubbing my temple. “Aren’t we responsible for our predictions?”
“We are the messengers. We’re not responsible for the content of our prophecies,” Aunt Evelyn explained. “Look around you. No one is blaming you for speaking the truth.”
Uncle Michael added, “Cynthia won’t hold you accountable for what Edwin might do.”
I wrapped my arms around myself. My manicured fingernails dug into my skin hard enough to leave deep, crescent-shaped marks. Despite my family’s platitudes, the weight of my guilt crippled me. In the aftermath of the prediction, only the thread of bitterness and a piercing headache remained, which I clung to like a lifeline. I drifted, lost at sea, not knowing when—or if—I’d be rescued.
Four
When Ma arranged for a mani-pedi at Auntie Faye’s salon a week later, I couldn’t have been more suspicious. Tax season was underway at the firm and I had been too exhausted to decline. She recognized my weak, vulnerable state. I always wondered if Ma’s previous incarnation was the editor hovering over Sun Tzu’s shoulder as he wrote The Art of War.
Ma pulled the salon door open. “This is good for you. I know how stressed you are. Faye suggested it and squeezed us in. She says a good foot massage will take the tension away.”
Great. The two women were conspiring.
Auntie Faye had opened her salon and spa in a renovated Victorian thirty years ago. The interior decor adhered to three colors: eggshell white, sky blue, and buttercream yellow. With Lampe Bergers installed in every room, the usual strong odors from the dyes and nail polish were minimized. The majority of the clientele were loyal Asian customers, and on this Saturday morning, it was bustling.
“Ah, Linda, Vanessa!” Auntie Faye made her way from behind the rounded pink marble counter to greet us. She kissed Ma’s cheek and then mine. “You made it. So happy to see you.”
I smiled. “Hello, Auntie Faye.”
“Since you two are VIPs, I’ll take you to the special room. Follow me.” Auntie Faye’s obvious wink to my mother only confirmed my suspicions. I didn’t know what the two had planned.
Ma had married into the Yu family, but you wouldn’t know it by how easily she blended in. She embraced the aunties with open arms and they, in turn, welcomed her into their exclusive club. Growing up with two brothers, Ma had confided that these women were the sisters she had always wanted.
We followed Auntie Faye upstairs to the third floor. While the second floor was dedicated to private treatment rooms, the entire third functioned as a venue for bridal parties. I’d been here once, for Percy’s wedding, as a bridesmaid. Ma and I were supposed to be the only ones booked for a treatment. I sensed an auntie ambush.
Auntie Faye and Ma’s conversation in rapid Hokkien kept me in the dark. Cantonese possessed a singsong quality, Mandarin was harsher with crisp R sounds, but Hokkien was in between: more concise than Cantonese, but softer in sound than Mandarin. This was one of the few times I regretted not attending Chinese school.
Since I couldn’t understand what they were saying, I measured the conversation by inflection and tone. The nervous excitement between them was blatant. “Ma, what are you saying to Auntie Faye?” I asked.
“You’ll see.” My mother patted my cheek.
My aunt giggled and led us to the twin doors of the suite. With a flourish, she opened the wrought-iron-embellished, frosted double glass doors. “Surprise!”
The immaculate ivory chamber had reupholstered antique chairs painted in white, and a plush velvet lavender chaise longue. A serene floral watercolor-print wallpaper graced the walls framed by Victorian reproduction wainscoting. Intricate copper tiles covered the ceiling, gleaming from the stray sunlight passing through the large bay window.
Every single Palo Alto auntie was in attendance: Faye, Gloria and her rival Ning, Madeline, Suzanne, Annette, the twins Bea and Belle, Rose, Lulu, Jenny, Tina, and the youngest, Holly.
All thirteen of them, excluding my mother.
“It’s not my birthday,” I said with a forced smile.
Auntie Faye laughed as she took my arm and led me to the high-backed chair in the center of the room. “Sit.”
I obeyed with narrowed eyes.
Auntie Gloria picked up on my mood. “Don’t worry. No naked man will enter the room and dance for you.”
I covered my blushing face as the rest of the aunties burst into laughter.
“We are here to help you, dear niece,” Auntie Faye continued. “Your mother and I were talking about how you are the next one to be married. Linda hasn’t been very successful when picking from the small pool at the firm. Those accounting men are probably not your type, am I right?”
I couldn’t answer. My dear aunt wasn’t done with her soliloquy, or sales pitch.
“We decided to help you. We asked around and got in touch with a matchmaker in New York. She has a very high success rate, but her sister in Shanghai is much better. We want the best for you so we got you an appointment with her. Madam Fong is flying in from China in a week to meet with you.”
I tried to keep my tone even, but the last word ended in a high pitch. “I can’t have a long-term relationship. You all know this, yet you all thought this was a good idea?”
Ma moved to my side and patted my hand. “Her references are beyond reproach. Besides, we never consulted an expert before. She’s renowned in China. If anyone can help, it’s her.”
“Don’t you think we should be helping Cynthia first before you start marrying me off?” I protested.
“We are taking care of her. Evelyn is counseling her, dear. This doesn’t mean that we can’t help you as well,” Auntie Faye explained. “Besides, the down payment is nonrefundable.”