Armed with these questions, I went downstairs to the kitchen, where she was in the process of making lion’s head meatballs. They’ve always been my favorite.

“How would you like to spend your days before going back to school?” grandmother asked as she shaped the ball between her hand and a spoon, the pork smothered in a cornstarch and soy sauce mixture.

I jotted down some notes on my phone about how she dipped the meatball in her sauce mixture and lowered it confidently into the oil. “I don’t think I’ll go back to school this semester,” I said carefully.

“What?” Oil lightly splattered. “Why not? Did you have a bad time? Did somebody hurt you?”

I sputtered a no, that wasn’t the case at all. I just wanted to stay here with them.

“You can’t do that.” Her voice continued rising. The meatball was browning quickly in the Dutch oven. “What about your tuition?”

I told her I could defer it. I didn’t know how that worked, but the most important thing was winning the argument.

“But why?”

“Because—”

It was impossible to say. We don’t talk about that sort of thing, even though she had to know that I now knew, grandfather must have told her, so why could I not say it? That she was losing her memories and needed help, and I wasn’t going to let grandfather do that alone, and I wanted to make sure I learned from her before it was too late, and that I had a list—

Grandmother flipped the meatball over. Sizzling renewed. I don’t know what changed. Whether she thought about the situation objectively, or felt bad for my inability to speak, or merely forgot what we had been talking about. She continued pan-frying the meatballs, eight total, as I took my silent notes.

Eventually, to restart the conversation, I asked a question from my list: What were the happiest days of her life?

“The years I spent raising you,” she said without hesitation.

“Oh, c’mon.” I blushed. “That can’t be it.”

“But it is.”

“What about when you were young?”

“You mean when we were being invaded by the Japanese?”

“. . . After that, then.”

“You mean during the civil war?”

It was clearly my fault for not knowing the history. Or really much at all about grandmother’s past.

“After that?” I attempted.

Grandmother shook her head and smiled.

“I am telling you the truth. It is an easy answer for me. You have always been my greatest joy.”

I did not know what to say to that, so I fumbled through my phone, looking for another question.

“My turn,” grandmother said before I settled on one. She scooped the meatballs out one by one, then filled the pot with napa cabbage, letting the leaves soak in the leftover juice. She pointed her oil-shimmering spatula at me.

“Are you even trying to find a boyfriend?”