My mother sets down her chopsticks, then dabs her mouth with a napkin. “If they refuse to see you, then I refuse to see them,” she says in a soft voice.

Ba reaches over to fold his large hand over my mother’s slender fingers. Leans over to kiss the corner of her mouth.

I am five years old, and I am happy.

We never moved from the small, humble apartment that my father’s construction job could afford, but after he was killed on-site in a freak accident, she opted to spend all the allowance my grandparents gave on my education. I was privileged to be taught by some of the best Mandarin and English teachers in Taipei, the best in the arts and sciences. At least, until she died. It was only then my grandparents in California tried to contact me.

I rejected their overtures. I knew nothing about them, but I suspected they were wealthy. The one thing I knew for certain was that they had cast my mom aside, and I was the only one by her bedside when she died.

Lingyi touched my arm and brought me back to the present. “Are you okay?”

My heartbeat thrummed. I cleared my throat, then lifted a corner of my mouth up in my trademark nonchalant smile. “My English name is perfect. I’m game.”

Victor and Arun grinned at me.

I hadn’t fooled Lingyi, however. We were close, but she never pried unless I was ready to tell, and I returned the favor. I unzipped from my new you suit, placing it back in the pod, busying myself as my friends chatted.

Somehow guessing I was more affected by the use of my English name than I’d let on, she clapped her hands together and said, “Let’s take a break and eat.”

It didn’t take more than that to convince us. Lingyi was a fantastic cook, and we boys seemed to be perpetually hungry. Soon, our headquarters began to fill with the mouthwatering aroma of stewed bamboo and tofu. “It’s the perfect weather for tofu rice bowls,” Lingyi said while stirring the pot, then sipping from the ladle to test its flavor. Victor stood beside her, cooking an eggplant dish, his height dwarfing Lingyi’s. “I’ve stocked up for the typhoon,” she said. “We should probably all stay here until it blows through.”

Arun and I were helping to set the table, and I clamped down on my protest. If I couldn’t stand being locked in for a few days, it was better just to slip out rather than argue with Lingyi. Because from experience, that had never worked in my favor. Victor ladled large bowls of savory bamboo and tofu over rice for all of us, while Lingyi brought the eggplants in oyster sauce and sautéed water spinach with garlic to the table. Arun was vegetarian, so that’s what we mostly cooked.