Only Uni
ZONDERVAN
ONLY UNI
Copyright © 2008 by Camy Tang
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ePub Edition January 2009 ISBN: 978-0-310-29774-1
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Tang, Camy, 1972 –
Only uni / Camy Tang.
p. cm. — (Sushi series; bk. 2)
ISBN-13: 978-0-310-27399-8
1. Dating (Social customs) — Fiction. I. Title.
PS3620.A6845S87 2007
813'.6 — dc22
2007029336
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Holy Bible, New International Version
®
. NIV
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. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.
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08 09 10 11 12
For Mom and Dad
CONTENTS
GLOSSARY OF ASIAN WORDS (CAMY STYLE)
T
rish Sakai walked through the door and the entire room hushed.
Well, not exactly pin-drop hushed. More like a handful of the several dozen people in her aunty’s enormous living room paused their conversations to glance her way. Maybe Trish had simply expected them to laugh and point.
She shouldn’t have worn white. She’d chosen the Bebe dress from her closet in a rebellious mood, which abandoned her at her aunt’s doorstep. Maybe because the explosion of red, orange, or gold outfits made her head swim.
At least the expert cut of her dress made her rather average figure curvier and more slender at the same time. She loved how well-tailored clothes ensured she didn’t have to work as hard to look good.
Trish kicked off her sandals, and they promptly disappeared in the sea of shoes filling the foyer. She swatted away a flimsy paper dragon drooping from the doorframe and smoothed down her skirt.
She snatched her hand back and wrung her fingers behind her.
No, that’ ll make your hips look huge.
She clenched her hands in front.
Sure, show all the relatives that you’re nervous.
She clasped them loosely at her waist and tried to adopt a regal expression.
“Trish, you okay? You look constipated.”
Her cousin Bobby snickered while she sneered at him. “Oh, you’re so funny I could puke.”
“May as well do it now before Grandma gets here.”
“She’s not here yet?” Oops, that came out sounding a little too relieved. She cleared her throat and modulated her voice to less-than-ecstatic levels. “When’s she coming?”
“Uncle picked her up, but he called Aunty and said Grandma forgot something, so he had to go back.”
Thank goodness for little favors. “Is Lex here?”
“By the food.”
Where else would she be? Last week, her cousin Lex had mentioned that her knee surgeon let her go back to playing volleyball three nights a week and coaching the other two nights, so her metabolism had revved up again. She would be eating like a horse.
Sometimes Trish could just kill her.
She tugged at her skirt — a little tight tonight. She should’ve had more self-control than to eat that birthday cake at work. She’d have to run an extra day this week . . . maybe.
She bounced like a pinball between relatives. The sharp scent of ginger grew more pungent as she headed toward the large airy kitchen. Aunty Sue must have made cold ginger chicken again. Mmmm. The smell mixed with the tang of black bean sauce (Aunty Rachel’s shrimp?), stir-fried garlic (any dish Uncle Barry made contained at least two bulbs), and fishy scallions (probably her cousin Linda’s Chinese-style sea bass).
A three-foot-tall red streak slammed into her and squashed her big toe.
“Ow!” Good thing the kid hadn’t been wearing shoes or she might have broken her foot. Trish hopped backward and her hand fumbled with a low side table. Waxed paper and cornstarch slid under her fingers before the little table fell, dropping the
kagami mochi
decoration. The sheet of printed paper, the tangerine, and rubbery-hard mochi dumplings dropped to the cream-colored carpet. Well, at least the cornstarch covering the mochi blended in.
The other relatives continued milling around her, oblivious to the minor desecration to the New Year’s decoration. Thank goodness for small —
A childish gasp made her turn. The human bullet who caused the whole mess, her little cousin Allison, stood with a hand up to her round lips that were stained cherry-red, probably from the sherbet punch. Allison lifted wide brown eyes up to Trish —
hanaokolele-you’re- in-trouble
— while the other hand pointed to the mochi on the floor.
Trish didn’t buy it for a second. “Want to help?” She tried to infuse some leftover Christmas cheer into her voice.
Allison’s disdainful look could have come from a teenager rather than a seven-year-old. “You made the mess.”
Trish sighed as she bent to pick up the mochi rice dumplings — one large like a hockey puck, the other slightly smaller — and the
shihobeni
paper they’d been sitting on. She wondered if the
shihobeni
wouldn’t protect the house from fires this next year since she’d dropped it.
“Aunty spent so long putting those together.”
Yeah, right.
“Is that so?” She laid the paper on the table so it draped off the edge, then stuck the waxed paper on top. She anchored them with the larger mochi.
“Since you busted it, does it mean that Aunty won’t have any good luck this year?”
“It’s just a tradition. The mochi doesn’t really bring prosperity, and the tangerine only symbolizes the family generations.” Trish tried to artfully stack the smaller mochi on top of the bottom one, but it wouldn’t balance and kept dropping back onto the table.
“That’s not what Aunty said.”
“She’s trying to pass on a New Year’s tradition.” The smaller mochi dropped to the floor again. “One day you’ll have one of these in your own house.” Trish picked up the mochi. Stupid Japanese New Year tradition. Last year, she’d glued hers together until Mom found out and brought a new set to her apartment, sans-glue. Trish wasn’t even Shinto. Neither was anyone else in her family — most of them were Buddhists — but it was something they did because their family had always done it.
“No, I’m going to live at home and take care of Mommy.”
Thank goodness, the kid finally switched topics. “That’s wonderful.” Trish tried to smash the tangerine on top of the teetering stack of mochi. Nope, not going to fly. “You’re such a good daughter.”
Allison sighed happily. “I am.”
Your ego’s going to be too big for this living room, toots.
“Um . . . let’s go to the kitchen.” She crammed the tangerine on the mochi stack, then turned to hustle Allison away before she saw them fall back down onto the floor.
“Uh, Triiiish?”
She almost ran over the kid, who had whirled around and halted in her path like a guardian lion. Preventing Trish’s entry into the kitchen. And blocking the way to the
food.
She tried to sidestep, but the other relatives in their conversational clusters, oblivious to her, hemmed her in on each side.
Allison sidled closer. “Happy New Year!”
“Uh . . . Happy New Year.” What was she up to? Trish wouldn’t put anything past her devious little brain.
“We get red envelopes at New Year’s.” Her smile took on a predatory gleam.
“Yes, we do.” One tradition she totally didn’t mind. Even the older cousins like Trish and Lex got some money from the older relatives, because they weren’t married yet.
Allison beamed. “So did you bring me a red envelope?”
What?
Wait a minute. Was she supposed to bring red envelopes for the younger kids? No, that couldn’t be. “No, only the married people do that.” And only for the great-cousins, not their first cousins, right? Or was that great-cousins, too? She couldn’t remember.
Allison’s face darkened to purple. “That’s not true. Aunty gives me a red envelope and she’s not married.”
“She used to be married. Uncle died.”
“She’s not married now. So you’re supposed to give me a red envelope, too.”
Yeah, right.
“If I gave out a red envelope to every cousin and great-cousin, I’d go bankrupt.”
“You’re lying. I’m going to tell Mommy.” Allison pouted, but her sly eyes gave her away.
A slow, steady burn crept through her body. This little extortionist wasn’t going to threaten her, not tonight of all nights.
She crouched down to meet Allison at eye level and forced a smile. “That’s not very nice. That’s spreading lies.”
Allison bared her teeth in something faintly like a grin.
“It’s not good to be a liar.” Trish smoothed the girl’s red velvet dress, trimmed in white lace.
“You’re the liar. You said you’re not supposed to give me a red envelope, and that’s a lie.”