Cece Daise is originally from Hong Kong but is currently studying in the UK. Most of her works have a darker edge to them, and she usually writes YA and adult fiction. She loves board games, crime and dark fiction, mainstream pop music, and sweet treats. You can find her on Instagram @cecedaise.

A Chinese Family Gathering

Cece Daise

“你在大学过得怎么样？” Auntie Cherry asks. Everyone else at the table turns towards me curiously, loving smiles on their faces.

I nod a few times and shove the shrimp dumpling in my mouth. It burns.

“Good.” I reply in English.

My mom gives me the look she usually does when I lie. I haven’t really lied. University is fine. It’s just not something I want to talk about with them. I’m an eighteen-year-old in a sea of people in their sixties.

My mom says something back that I don’t understand, something I can’t understand.

There’s oohs and ahhs from everyone. I just smile and nod a couple of times, and reach for another shrimp dumpling.

The conversation continues in Cantonese (as it always does), a language that I half-understand but i'm barely able to speak.

I poke a hole in the dumpling wrapper and blow a couple of times before eating it. It doesn't burn as much.

“You good?” Daikaufu asks.

His English isn’t very good but I appreciate him trying. I smile and nod. He grins toothily and tells me in Cantonese to eat some more as he shoves tofu on my plate.

I hate tofu.

I still smile gratefully and eat it, making sure to keep the smile on my face even though I want to spit the tofu back onto the plate.

Uncle Christopher starts talking to him about something so he looks away.

I grab the napkin and wipe my mouth, discreetly spitting up the tofu.

Auntie Cynthia asks me if I’m celebrating the Mid-Autumn Festival this year. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do that when I’m convinced that my small Australian university hasn’t even heard of the Mid-Autumn Festival.

I give my usual answer. A short laugh and a “maybe.”

Uncle Rufus, Auntie Cynthia’s husband, asks if I want any lanterns or mooncakes to take back to Australia with me. “We have plenty of extra.”

I know they do. They bought them for their daughter Rainbow, who hasn’t come back home this year. We all know they’re disappointed but they haven’t said anything. Uncle Dan makes enough side comments about the new generation not “following their duty” as is.

I grab some noodles. “Umm, maybe.” I shove them in my mouth.

Daikaufu turns back to me. “吃多豆腐。”

I shake my head, I don’t want to eat any more tofu. If I do, I might vomit all of the food back up.

“吃多些。” He insists.

“我吃饱了。” The lie slips off my tongue. I’m not full, nowhere near it.

My mom, who’s sat on the other side of me, nudges my shoulder.

She nods at me to lean in. I do.

“Do you want to go home?” I’m surprised. My mom never lets me go home early, I’m usually stuck here for hours and hours on my phone while everyone else chats away in Cantonese.

I grab my phone. “Dad said he’d pick me up.”

My mom sighs. She knows I’m lying. Dad’s too busy at work to come to Mom’s family dinner, to come pick me up from anywhere.

She says something in Cantonese to the rest of them.

Everyone sighs dramatically and starts saying their goodbyes. They tell me to say hello to my dad for them so I assume my mom told them that he’s picking me up.

Both Daikaufu and Auntie Cherry stand up to give me a hug. It’s warm but suffocating.

Daikaufu even insists I take food with me, taking out a tupperware box he keeps on him and filling it with custard buns that have just arrived at the table.

“I’ll see you all soon.” I say as I leave. This time, I am lying. I won’t see them again before I head back to Australia.

As I leave, there’s a girl sitting at one of the tables next to the aisle. She's around fourteen and sat among a group of people who are dressed quite formally.

She looks exactly like I do when I’m eating dinner with my mom’s family. I can tell by her blank eyes that she has no clue what’s going on. She’s got an awkward look on her face and her hand keeps sneaking to her phone, like she wants to talk to someone but she has no way of doing so, but she can’t because someone, who I assume is her mother, keeps sending her glares.

I know exactly how she feels.

I pity her.

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