Dim Sum, Double Dips, and Daddy Issues

This morning, she woke me up by licking my ear, what the fuck, I thought, but when I looked at her, I remembered last night, and I let her continue. “Baby,” she whispered. My first thought was, why is she calling me baby? This is the second time she’s been at my place, I sighed. “Baby, I love you,” she said. That’s when I remembered all the Chinese girls that had said the same before, and it woke me up. Yes, I was being judgmental, but for very good reasons. I know a red flag when I see one.

“It’s father’s day today, gotta call my brother,” I got out of bed.

She sat up, and stretched her arms, “brother?”

“Yeah, he’s nine years younger than me, but he’s already got a two-year old,” I said. “What about your dad?” She asked. “I’ll call him later,” I said, and picked up my phone. There was a text message from this acupuncturist I had met at my gym two weeks ago. “Wanna have brunch today?” She wrote. I looked at the girl in my bed, then looked at my phone again, “how about Dim Sum?” I wrote back, and jumped in the shower. When I came out, the girl on my bed was now on my couch, all dressed up, ready to conquer the world, “let’s go for brunch,” she said. “Oh, I already made plans,” I said. “You suck,” she said, picked up her handbag, and walked towards the door, “how about botanical gardens in the evening?” She looked at me. “Yeah, maybe, let’s see how the weather turns out,” I said, and opened the door for her.

I picked an authentic Hong Kong dim sum place for brunch, and called the acupuncturist girl to see if she’d like that or something Western, “that’s great, my dad loves dim sum too,” she said over the phone. Is she bringing her dad with her? I imagined the three of us eating dumplings, and drinking tea, in complete silence. I told her to meet me outside the SeaWorld Station Exit D. She came out of the station and gave me a hug, “have you eaten here before?” She asked. I nodded, “It’s pretty good.”

We walked to the restaurant, got seated by the big window, and looked at the menu. We ordered Siu Mai (open-face steamed dumplings garnished with bright orange crab roe), Har Gow shrimp dumplings, a few vegetables, and Chinese congee. She looked over at the table next to us, and noticed a dessert that was not on the menu, so she called the waiter to inquire. He said, it was a Chef’s special, only for that day, served free of charge to anyone who had gotten the second dose of the COVID-19 vaccine. We showed him our green codes on the phone.

“Mǎshàng lái,” (coming right away) the waiter said.

“Oh, we should also order chicken feet,” I said. “Wow, you like chicken feet? I thought all foreigners hated chicken feet,” her eyes widened, “my dad loves it too.” Why does she keep bringing up her dad? And why would all foreigners hate chicken feet? I wondered. “Did you call your dad today?” I asked. “We live in the same house,” she giggled.

Siu Mai and the congee arrived first. I scooped a bit of red chili pepper paste with my chopstick, spread it over the steamed dumpling, and took a big bite. “Hào chī ma?” (is it delicious?) She asked. I nodded, and passed her the chili paste. The waiter brought over custard buns, our complimentary dessert, and she asked him to hurry up and bring the rest of the order. “They’re so slow,” she frowned. “It’s pretty normal for a dim sum place, we haven’t even finished the Siu Mai and the congee yet,” I said. “You’re so patient, just like my dad, I love that about you,” she picked up one of the custard buns with her chopsticks, and brought it to my mouth. “Um, I wanna eat the shrimp dumplings first,” I straightened my spine. “Qīn'ài de jiù chī ba,” (just eat it darling) she shoved the bun into my mouth. What the fuck, I took a small bite, put the custard bun back in the wooden bowl, and wiped my mouth with a napkin.

The waiter brought the rest of the food, and three dipping sauces. I picked the fattest dumpling, dipped it in chili paste, then in soya sauce, and put it in my mouth. It was perfect. Sublime. Heavenly.

She slapped her forehead, “āiyōu, āiyōu, āiyōu.” (a Chinese term to express annoyance or frustration). “Why did you do that?” She shook her head. “Vhat?” I chewed my food. “You put the dumpling in two sauces, I hate when my dad does that,” she said.

I’m not your fucking dad, I wanted to say, but I put my chopsticks down, and waved at the waiter, “wǒmen kěyǐ jiādiǎn jiàng zhī ma” (can we get extra sauce please). He nodded with a smile. I picked up the last piece of Siu Mai, dipped it in all the three sauces, took a bite, then double dipped, and brought it to her mouth, “Qīn'ài de jiù chī ba,” (just eat it darling) I said. I thought she would throw the congee in my face and walk out the restaurant, but she ate it, and said, “can’t believe, you’re just like my dad.”

Before I could respond, a waitress came to our table, and handed me a gift wrapped in red and gold paper. “Fùqīn jié kuàilè,” (Happy Father’s Day) she said, and walked away. I raised my eyebrows and looked at my date, “Surprise,” I laughed.

She put her chopsticks down and looked into my eyes, “so, you’re married?”

“Hell no, why would you think that?”

“Then why did she give you the gift?”

“Um, I don’t know. I guess they give it to every man that comes here with a woman? Who knows?”

That went on for a while. She suspected that I had come to this restaurant before with my wife and my child and had delicious dim sum served by the same waitress. She said no wonder I knew the menu so well, I was a liar, a fraud, and a chicken feet loving foreigner who could not be trusted.

“Let me guess,” I took a bite of the custard bun, “your dad cheated on your mom, didn’t he?” I said.

She got up, took her handbag, “my mom deserves it,” she said, and walked away.

I picked up my phone to pay the bill with WeChat Pay, and saw a text message from the girl who had called me “baby” that morning. It read: “Looks like a rainstorm is coming, so no botanical garden this evening. Can I come over?”

I imagined a sky of mackerel clouds, crimson and amber-tinted. Then a cloud, ominous and black drifting over the mountain and releasing a sudden shower. I wrote, “sure,” but just before I could hit the send button, I saw a young couple with their 6 year-old daughter enter the restaurant. I put the phone in my back pocket, walked up to them, and handed the red and gold wrapped gift to the dad. “Fùqīn jié kuàilè,” (Happy Father’s Day) I said. “Xièxiè nǐ,” (thank you) they said in perfect harmony.

After they got seated, I took out my phone, deleted the “sure,” and took a cab home.

That evening, instead of bolts of lightening raging through the sky, the sun filtered through the clouds and set behind the Nanshan mountain in a sea of liquid gold. Right at that moment, my phone buzzed, and a text message appeared:

“You should call dad, it’s Father’s Day. Love you, Mom.”