This wasn’t a nineties sitcom (obviously—we were all Asian here), but it did feel like Hongbo was no longer a wedge between us. Awkwardness remained in the wake, but, wonder of wonders, Chloe and I had accomplished what I’d come here to do. Perhaps she and her parents could emerge from these ashes stronger.

“Really, these are fantastic,” Mrs. Wang gushed. “I can’t believe you made these from scratch, and so quickly.”

Annnd I realized she didn’t know where they’d come from. Made sense. She’d barely looked at me when everything happened, only coming around after her one-on-one chat with her daughter.

“Hongbo helped with the recipe,” Chloe deadpanned.

“They’re a pain to make, but it’s worth it,” I added, and Chloe bit her lip to keep from smiling.

Mrs. Wang didn’t seem to be listening. She just stared into her bowl. A minute later she said quietly, “I’m going to check on Bǎbá.”

As soon as she left, Chloe whispered, “I think my dad’s sick. Like, sick sick. Will you help me figure out what’s wrong? Because he won’t tell me.”

That surprised me. “Of course.”

She pushed her bowl away. “My mother is either upset about that, or that plus what I did to them tonight. I was so proud at first, but now I just feel like a sack of shit, even if it did work. And even if they did kind of deserve it.”

I squeezed her hand again. There was really nothing else to say, because when people saw the world this differently, there was no winning, no happy ending, no way to feel good.

“They only care about what everyone else thinks,” she said sadly.

I nodded. “The dreaded miànzi.”

“Exactly. Did you grow up in a similar Asian community?”

“I know all about miànzi because of my parents, but…” I hesitated, not sure if now was the right time to tell her this. But since she had asked… “My Asian community was a little different. The kind that brings food over when a neighbor loses their job, takes care of the kids when so-and-so’s grandma is sick—not this Hunger Games version you seem to have, where you’re all trying to murder each other with Rhodes scholarships and doctorates.”

Whereas you don’t even have a college degree, my parents’ voices reminded me. But I couldn’t share that with her, not now. Maybe not ever. After seeing her community (and remembering the Thanksgiving conversation about Jeffrey Forbes 30 Under 30), I felt even more insecure about my lack of higher education, which I previously hadn’t thought possible.

Pushing aside those thoughts, I finished, “Most of the Asians I know came from nothing, like my family, so we had to band together, especially since no one else helped us.”