Tonight I was a “future lawyer and art enthusiast” currently studying political science at Stanford, by the client’s request. (Since I was the first boy she was bringing home and she wasn’t sure what her family was looking for, she’d requested a Renaissance man to cover all the bases.) As I chatted about art history (yay), the Du family and I enjoyed a lovely dinner at a fancy Chinese fusion restaurant that served foie gras dumplings, Peking duck, and whole steamed fish, as well as the fancier loose-leaf tea that made me want to wrap my hands around my mug. Then, because Mr. Du claimed that the dessert at the restaurant was “just dreadful—all show and no taste,” we decided to drive across town to get dessert boba. This hadn’t been a planned part of our itinerary, but apparently Mr. Du’s disdain for fancy dessert was a recent development that his daughter didn’t know about.

I got the all clear just as we were parking. Because the evening was crisp and calm, we took a leisurely stroll around the lit-up shopping square before making our way to the best boba café in Palo Alto, and also one of the few that was open late.

As we neared the café, I was laughing at one of Mr. Du’s jokes when I heard, “Oh shit,” from a distance. I’d know that voice anywhere.

Don’t look. It wasn’t too late yet. I tried to pick up my pace, leading the Dus toward a fountain and away from the voice and café. It was almost an out-of-body experience as I pulled something out of my ass about the fountain’s historical significance.

As I yammered away, I glanced behind my shoulder to assess the situation, and Chloe’s frantic eyes met mine.

Chloe

Holy cannoli baloney guacamole. I swear, my mind fuzzed out for a moment, my vision blurring and my brain shutting off from overheating.

I knew Drew was on a job tonight, but they were supposed to be having dinner far from here, at a place we would never set foot in because it was “like flushing money down the toilet,” as my mother liked to say.

I tried to steer my parents into the closest shop, which was… a baby store, shit. And it was closed. Joke’s on me today, Universe—hope you’re getting a good laugh.

My mother pointed toward the café we’d trekked here for. “I need more buns, remember?” she said. “Kuo Ǎyí told me this place is the best.”

“You have so many buns already!” I motioned to her backside to try to get her to face away from Drew and his client. “See? Buns of steel!”

She chuckled and swatted my hand with hers. “Definitely not!” my mother joked back. “I’ve always been embarrassed by how small my buns are!”