“Is Mei single?” she asked my mother as if I’d disappeared. A much worse, infinitely more embarrassing direction. Like if I breathed too loudly, I might miss it.īut Mrs. Then, in anticipation of the round of my-child’s-brain-is-bigger-than-your-child’s that usually followed, I held my breath. I replayed my mother’s words in my head, letting the undertones of pride embrace me.

I probably should’ve been embarrassed, but this was the only form of praise I ever heard.

Sometimes I feel her intelligence is a curse.” Ah, if she hadn’t skipped a grade, I would have had one more year to save up money. She just started at MIT this week, premed of course, and her tuition is driving me to an early grave. “I do hope Mei makes money in the future, not for her sake, but mine. “ Aiyah,” my mother said, using the Chinese word of exasperation that, for her, preceded every faux brag. Yes, because people will pay me to see my clown nose? Pan misinterpreted my embarrassment for confusion and explained, “It’s a Chinese superstition-having a big nose means you will have lots of money.” I like my nose just fine, thank you very much, but years of “compliments” about its large size had made me insecure. I pasted on a well-rehearsed smile but couldn’t keep said nose from scrunching. “You got pretty! And look how big your nose is! That’s promising.” “I can’t believe this is little Mei,” Mrs.

When she finished her inspection and let go, I fought the urge to cover my now-sticky chin in pomegranate antiseptic, my trusty little sidekick. My instinct to be deferential (heightened by my mother’s side-eye) warred with my desire to shake off Mrs. Pan, a family friend who used to drive me to Chinese school, came over to our table to say hello, which apparently required grabbing my chin to inspect my face. In my head, I counted to ten in English, then Mandarin. Who doesn’t love the scent of athlete’s foot with lunch? I held a fist to my face, desperately inhaling the pomegranate scent of my hand sanitizer. Even with seventeen years of practice, I didn’t have a fighting chance against a dish named stinky tofu. THE STENCH OF THE RESTAURANT’S specialty walloped my senses as soon as I entered.

American panda by gloria chao