At 5:48, Katie’s uncle finally shows up with his family, and she instructs me to call them “Uncle” and “Aunt”. While the aunt goes into the living room with her two children, Mr. Brighton enters the dining room to talk to his brother—and me.
“So, Seth. How old are you?”
I stare at Katie, she has instructed me to just smile and nod earlier, but isn’t that rude? Katie’s facial expression serves like a waitress chewing bubblegum while listening to her iPod. I’d rather have my girlfriend’s father believe that I’m dumb than to piss off my girlfriend. So I smile idiotically and nod.
“Pa-pa,” Katie begins. “Seth was born in the year of Dog.”
Wait, Papa? Did Katie just say Papa? Madonna’s voice singing Papa Don’t Preach enters my mind, but I can’t get rid of the image of Ozzy Osbourne in my head. Yuck. Mr. Brighton smiles and nods at me. Apparently my quiet plan works quite well. He then mutters something in Chinese to his brother, who laughs loudly like the thunder, with a roaring “HA HA HA”.
“What did he say?” I whisper to Katie.
“He said the same thing my mom said to me when we were setting up the table.”
“Which is?”
“That you look old. He said: This foreigner looks much older than Crispy-Tofu.”
Huh? I look old? No I don’t. Just because I happen to be tall and skinny, so I don’t really stand up straight like I should. Just because I lack sleep so there’s bags under my eyes. Just because I laugh a lot so I have crow’s feet, but I look young! Compared to most men my age, I look young. “I look young,” I tell Katie.
That woman just smiles and nods. What the hell? “Come on, Katie, if I looked old, you wouldn’t go out with me! I look young! I could still pass for twenty-five! Last time I went to a pub they checked my ID before letting me in! Katie, I don’t look old.”
She looks embarrassed. But I guess old age just make us rash and not wise, because I keep on asking Katie the same question: “Tell me I don’t look old.”
I follow her into the living room; she pretends not to hear me and hugs her two young cousins. Ms. Lynn looks genuinely worried, but doesn’t say anything. I tug at Katie’s arm, and demand her to tell me what I want to hear. Katie picks two oranges from the basket and hands them to her cousins, “look what Uncle Seth got for us.”
She purposely said it in English. She refers me as Uncle Seth and it kills me. She walks into the den, knowing I will follow her. “Does it matter to you, Seth?”
“Yes, it does. I need you to tell me that I look young.”
“You’re incorrigible. Seth, you look old. Accept that.”
I don’t know what to say. So I said nothing. I want to leave, but then I have to tell the whole gang I’m leaving. I know it’s childish to leave, but I can’t help it.
“Seth, You look old.” Katie walks near me and says in a whisper.
“I heard you the first time, Katie, ” I bite on my lower lips so hard to the point I taste blood.
“You look old, “ she pauses for a millisecond. “But I don’t love you any less.”
She leaves me. I think about being in love, loving someone, being loved, whatever. Then I think about accepting things in the world. I’ve learned to accept that children in Africa have nothing to eat. I’ve learned to accept that world is harsh and life is not fair after being alive for almost one-third of a century. Yet I find it difficult to accept the fact that I look old.
I walk into the dining room and almost run into Mr. Brighton. I politely smile and nod at him, yet he blocks my way, “ Seth, you’re easily provoked.”
“Yes, I am. Mr. Brighton.”
“Much easier than Crispy-Tofu. But I like you. You bring Katie joy.”
Wait, who the hell is Crispy-Tofu? Perhaps a soft, greasy white boy who used to date Katie? I hesitate for a moment then reply, “Thanks, Mr. Brighton.”
“Have you met him? He’s in the kitchen.”
I look at Mr. Brighton, who’s a little chubby, but John Ritter chubby, not Jason Alexander chubby, with a head full of black hair, too. Katie has the same pair of sparkling eyes behind his glasses, with a friendly yet intelligent vibe. I walk into the kitchen accompanied by Mr. Brighton.
“Christopher, this is Seth, Katie’s boyfriend.” He announces.
To my surprise, actually, my surprises, Mr. Brighton introduces me with a sense of pride like I’m his son. My other surprise comes from meeting Crispy-Tofu.
Crispy-Tofu, I mean Christopher walks toward me and holds out his hands, “Hey there, I’m Topher Evans.”
“Seth Appleton. Nice to meet you.”
We each pick up a dish and enter the dining room. Ms. Lynn looks at all of us, “Seth, Seth, everyone’s Seth!”
I hurry to her side and she looks at me strangely. “Seth! Everyone Seth!”
It took a while for my brain to register that she was saying sit, not Seth. Then the unthinkable happened. Uncle accidentally drops a glass, and everyone except me cries out in joyous chorus, “Sui sui ping an!!”
“What’s going on?” I look nervously at Katie, “he’s not drunk, is he?”
“That’s a ritual. One of the elder family members drops something so it’d break, and everyone screams Sui sui ping an, because it breaks away the bad luck.”
“Let’s eat!” Mr. Brighton announces, but somehow I feel he’d just said, ”food fight!” Thank god we don’t need to stare at the food and say grace.
“Remember those eight dishes I told you earlier?” Katie whispers in my ear. “Eat those, everything else might taste funky.”
I smile and nod. But I still make a mistake by taking a scoop of an egg dish that tastes like a quiche baked with sand. It was Egg Foo Yung with some undissolved salt. I like the beef, enjoy the dumpling and fish, and love the shrimp with pineapple. I don’t care for the rice cake. We joke, eat and laugh, it almost feels like Christmas; well, sort of like Christmas with Granny Appleton minus the drinking and bickering.
After dinner, we each get a white, soft, silver-dollar size object called “Rice Ball” as dessert. Emma had made two special rice balls filled with red dates; and whoever got the red date will be extra lucky next year. Suddenly it’s like Christmas morning all over again; with full of hope, I bite into the soft ball and a sweet, black paste oozes out. I got the plain, regular one filled with sesame paste. Damn it.
Mr. Brighton calls me into the kitchen when everyone goes into the living room.
“Happy Chinese New Year, Seth. This is for you,” he hands me a red envelope and smiles kindly. “Don’t tell Katie about it.”
He then calls his wife into the kitchen; apparently the feast isn’t over yet.
“How was this Chinese New Year’s eve?” I ask Katie as I sink into the sofa next to her. “On a scale of 1 to 10?”
“Chaotic. Purely Chaotic. ”
“Aww...”I look down at her eyes, wondering whether I will see a tear drop or not. “I’m sorry it was chaotic. I was immature.”
“Oh, Seth, Seth. All Chinese New Year’s Eve celebration is chaotic. If it were not chaotic, it’s not Chinese New Year. This year’s probably a 9.”
“Really?”
She assures me that this year is going to be a good year. She smiles, “Seth, my parents want you to come to Emma’s wedding. You have to come.”
“Sure, I’m honored.” I smile and nod.
“Wait, have you ever been to a Chinese wedding?” Katie looks at me like I’m the butt of the joke. “It’s ten times as chaotic as Chinese New Year.”
I begin to suck on my upper lip without noticing. Just what have I gotten myself into?
*圖片 from : http://www.urbandictionary.com/images.php?imageid=24891*
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