Chapters (77)
- Cover
- Dedication
- 1
- 2
- A Series of Screw-ups: The Chisaki Joan Katsuyama Story, Part I
- 3
- The History of My Beef with Brynn Foer-Preston
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- The History of the Katsuyama Family, Part I
- 8
- 9
- A Brief History of Chisaki Joan Katsuyama’s Romantic Learning Opportunities, Part I
- 10
- 11
- 12
- A Brief History of Chisaki Joan Katsuyama’s Romantic Learning Opportunities, Part II
- 13
- The History of the Katsuyama Family, Part II
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- The Complicated History of Chisaki Joan Katsuyama’s Imaginary Relationship with Her Nonexistent Dad
- 20
- 21
- 22
- A Brief History of Chisaki Joan Katsuyama’s Romantic Learning Opportunities, Part III
- 23
- 24
- 25
- A Brief, Backward History of the McAllister Family, as Paraphrased from the San Jose Mercury News
- 26
- 27
- 28
- A Quick and Eerily Relevant History of Asians in America
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- A Brief History of Chisaki Joan Katsuyama’s Romantic Learning Opportunities, Part IV
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- A Series of Screw-ups: The Chisaki Joan Katsuyama Story, Part II (Or Maybe It’s a Prequel)
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- 53
- The History of the Katsuyama Family, Part III
- 54
- A Note from the Author
- Index of Flowers and their Meanings
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Praise for This Time Will Be Different
- Books by Misa Sugiura
- Back Ad
- About the Publisher
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll text you later.” And she disappears out the door.
By four o’clock in the afternoon, we’re putting the finishing touches on the arrangements at the Feda mansion, which is on five posh acres of premium real estate in Los Altos Hills. Even Mom was impressed when Hannah told her she was doing this wedding; Obsaa Feda came from Ethiopia as a child with virtually nothing, and now runs a hugely successful AI software company.
Hannah fusses with the flowers on the enormous wedding cake on display in the foyer while Owen and I stroll around the grounds with a checklist. My peony garlands adorn the banisters of the grand staircase inside the house. The view from the covered walkway to an enormous heated tent on the back lawn is partially obscured by more garlands of red chrysanthemums hanging like fringed curtains along the sides. Under the tent, eucalyptus runners stretch across long banquet tables, punctuated by the arrangements of calla lilies we did last night and this morning. Rose petals float in a nearby fountain, and specially procured water lilies bob serenely in the black-bottomed swimming pool.
The bride and her attendants are having their pictures taken, and everyone looks so excited and happy that I can’t help hoping that this marriage works out. I catch Owen watching them, too, after he counts the table arrangements and checks them off on his tablet. He’s got a goofy little smile on his face, as if he’s caught whatever contagious optimism is in the air. Though let’s be real: he hasn’t caught it. He is optimism incarnate.
He turns and catches me watching him, and suddenly I am aware that I have a goofy little smile on my face. It’s not for you! I want to shout. It’s about you and how ridiculous you are! But it’s too late. He grins back and bows like the big doofy doofus that he is, and I shake my head but I can’t stop smiling because, okay. Okay. I might think he’s a little bit cute, with his ridiculous, unintentionally punk-rock hair and his stupid square jaw, and funny-looking ears, but that’s it. That is it. Really.
Thankfully, this line of thought is cut short by a text from Emily:
E: Golf and movie were 
Just chilling rn
It’s going well. Flower magic doing its job
I type back, Lol 
Owen comes over just as I send it. “What’re you smiling at?” he asks. I show him the text.
“I thought you didn’t believe in flower magic,” he says.
“I don’t. But Em does.” I adjust a basket full of flax stems and heather on the altar, which is overflowing with symbolic plants. “I guess I figured it couldn’t hurt to give fate a little nudge in the right direction.”