Vampires Don't Wait Tables

That's not better. I stumble to a halt, astonished at what a mess I've made in only three sentences.

Hong's trying not to grin too openly but it's clear she's enjoying my mortification.

Which is good, right? At least she's not offended or horrified. That thought gives me the courage to try again. "Did you know, somehow? Is that why you started chatting him up?"

She is merciful. She shakes her head, accepting the change of topic. "I figured I could flirt a decent tip out of him, which I kind of needed yesterday, but nothing like this, no. Still, that's the way it works, right? Linearity of expectation."

"What?" Hong pops out with fancy words sometimes. It's all the time she spends reading books instead of screwing around on her phone.

"I mean, if you take enough chances---good chances, not stupid ones---sometimes one of them pays off. But you miss a hundred percent of the shots you don't take." She shrugs. "Anyway, you still feel bad about taking twenty dollars from me?"

"Not a bit. Can I have fifty?" I smile to show I'm joking.

"Can I jack off onto your feet?"

"Eww." I make a face. That really is the grossest thing I've ever heard. "Thanks, Hong."

"No problem."

We close quickly and walk to the bus together. I tell her about the chupacabra in New Jersey and the body off Coney Island.

She laughs at the chupacabra and frowns at the body. "A whole body?"

"I don't know. I guess so. Why?"

"Why wouldn't a vampire rip it to pieces? They're strong enough, right?"

"You mean, you're strong enough?" I tease her.

"Yeah, right. That's totally what I'd do. Easier for the fish to clean up, harder for the police to identify. Plus, if you open the abdominal cavity, it doesn't bloat up, which makes it a lot less likely to float back ashore."

This is what I love about Hong. She thinks it's all nonsense, but she still took the time to think about it. Also, she knows all kinds of trivia, like the not-bloating thing. "Yeah, we all thought it was probably Russians."

"Russians do sound more likely. How'd this guy get vampires?"

"He said the body was bloodless."

"Weird."

After we go our separate ways, I log onto the forum and tell everyone what she pointed out about how a vampire could have covered his tracks better. It makes sense to them too.

Things are quiet for a while after that. The midautumn festival comes, and old Mr. Ma brings us all mooncakes, savory Suzhou style ones with pork in them.

"Free. My cousin gives me," he tells us, speaking his broken Mandarin so he doesn't have to repeat himself for the few of us who don't understand Cantonese. "You want more, just say. Don't pay money!"

"My family likes lotus seed," I reply. "Two egg yolks."

He clicks his tongue disapprovingly. "Sweet Guangdong shit. Tell them no egg yolks this year. Fake!"

"What do you mean, fake?"

"They make them..." He trails off, gesturing vaguely with his hands. "They don't use eggs."

"What could be cheaper than eggs?" someone wonders. Someone else pulls up a recipe for vegan egg yolks using mung bean paste.

"Fucking vegans! Only they could think of such things."

"What's a vegan?"

"No animal products. Like some Buddhists do. But they're not Buddhists."

"What are they?"

"Mostly idiots, sometimes assholes." Rui thinks a lot of people are idiots and assholes.

Mr. Ma waits for the chatter to die down before he makes his big announcement. He's going back home for a month for the New Year. We all congratulate him.

I think about Mr. Ma's trip that night as I work. They'll need someone for the dinner service while he's gone.

"Hey, Hong, do you know who the boss is going to get to cover Mr. Ma?" I ask.

"Hasn't decided yet. You want it?"

"I'm thinking about it. It'll be harder than overnight." And it would mean I couldn't be home to cook for my family, or to pick the kids up or help them with their homework. Big changes for everyone.

But Hong is right. I'm young. Now is not the time for me to be comfortable.

"Do you think he'd trust me?"

"Let him schedule you for lunch for a while to prove yourself."

"Yeah, that's a good idea. Thanks."

I come in early the next day to talk to the boss. I offer to do lunch for a few weeks to ease into it, just like Hong suggested. He grunts and says he'll think about it. But the next time the schedules come out, I'm on lunch.

And overnight. It's not even a double, where at least I'd get all my free time in one big chunk. I'm "clopening" for three days straight before I get a day off.

"I can't do this," I complain to Hong. "When does he think I'm going to sleep?"

"Six hours in the closet between the close and the open," she says in a matter-of-fact way. "Then go home after lunch, shower, nap a couple of hours, and come back."

The closet is actually a big storage room. If I move some boxes around, I can probably fit an air mattress. Or hang my hammock in there. The boss will never notice if I screw a couple of anchors into the walls.

"I guess." I sigh.

"You're young," Hong says encouragingly. "You can suffer a little."

It does work. I prep a bunch of food to make up for the nights I won't be around to cook. My grandparents pick up my nephews, and my cousins help them with their homework. I sleep on a big stack of flattened boxes. It's surprisingly tolerable.

Lunch is much busier than nights. There's no time to fool around on my phone. The orders start coming in at ten, as soon as we open. All I do for three hours is cook, cook, cook, as fast as I can. Then prep, prep, prep for dinner.

The head cook's name is Long. He barely says a word to me the entire time, just keeps his head down and cranks out one dish after another without a single wasted motion. I could probably learn a lot just by watching him, but I'm too busy with my own stuff.

After my first lunch shift, I'm in pain all over. My feet and back ache from standing. My left arm is cramping from moving the wok so much. My right hand is tender where the knife rubs it, even through my callus. My neck feels permanently bent from looking down at the cutting board. And I have a wicked headache from standing in front of a 30,000 BTU burner without a drop to drink.

I fall asleep on the bus and miss my stop. The driver wakes me up at the end of the line and I stand on the street, blinking blearily, until the next bus comes going the other way. I have just enough time for a shower before it's time to get on the bus again.

I really have been coasting.

Overnight with Hong practically feels like a day off by comparison. We sit and chat. She shows me some tricks. To keep a 32oz deli container of water on my prep table and take a swig after every dish. To stir more instead of flicking the whole wok, until I build up the muscles.

"How do you know this stuff?" I ask her. "You're not a cook."

"Ai ya, these little boys think they know everything." She threatens to rap her knuckles on my head like my grandma does and I fend her off, laughing. "I've cooked longer than you. It was all I could do, before I learned English."

It's hard to imagine Hong not knowing English. She speaks it as well as I do now.

"How old are you, anyway?" I ask her.

"No idea. I was born during the reign of King Ping of Zhou." She looks at me deadpan until I realize she's claiming to remember the Eastern Zhou dynasty. Then we both burst into laughter.

She's probably in her early thirties.

The three days pass in a blur. Then it's overnights only for the rest of the week. I spend all my free time in bed, recovering. Everything hurts.

The second week is easier. I realize Long hasn't been talking to me because he's been working flat out to pick up my slack. Now that I'm starting to pull my weight, he has time to watch me and offer his advice.

"Stop walking! Put it where you can reach it!"

"Use the ladle! It's already in your hand!"

"Why are you lifting the pot? You need exercise?"

"Too slow! You're burning it!"

"Sorry!" I yelp.

"Cook first, apologize later!"

It's amazing how fast you can learn with a grumpy old man critiquing your every movement.

By the third week, I'm almost human on my days off---meaning, the days when I only work one shift. I check in on my forums, where they've debunked the chupacabra but found another bloodless body off Coney Island.

When I mention this to Hong, she mutters, "Fucking Russians. Promise me you won't go nosing around in their business?"

"Nobody's that dumb. Besides, it's like two hours away." You have to go through Manhattan to get from Queens to Brooklyn.

After four weeks the boss gruffly tells me that Long will pull doubles to cover old Ma for dinner but I can switch from overnights to lunch if I want. I tell him I do.

"I don't know what I was thinking," I tell Hong that night as we close. "It's more work, and I won't be around to cook or help with the kids."

"It's a step to bigger things."

"I should have at least asked for more money."

"Ask in a month or two, after you've proven yourself. Besides, money isn't the only way you get paid. You're learning, aren't you?"

"That's true," I admit. A little proud, I add, "The boss said Long likes me."

Hong scoffs. "Long likes everyone. He's a teddy bear."

"Long?" I ask, startled. But then I realize how much he's helped me this month. "Shit, you're right. I didn't even thank him."

"Tomorrow."

"Yeah." We lock up and head out to the bus stop. I clear my throat. You miss a hundred percent of the shots you don't take, right? "So, I guess we won't see much of each other at work any more."

"No, I guess not. It was fun while it lasted. I'll miss hearing about your family."

"Yeah. Um, could I get your number? I could call you sometime. We could hang out. Get dinner."

Hong stops walking. Her face is in shadow, but I'm pretty sure she's smiling. Her voice is very gentle. "Jemmy, are you trying to ask me out?"

"No!" I protest reflexively. Then, appalled, I correct myself. "Wait, yes!"

She's laughing at me. Not with me, like she usually does. Definitely at me. "Try again."

I squeeze my eyes shut and say rapidly, "Hong, would you like to go out with me sometime? Like a date."

"Sure."

"Really?" I squeak.

She laughs again. "Okay, little tip? You don't have to be super confident. A little nervousness can be cute. But it's best not to question it when the girl says yes."

I nod miserably.

"So where are we going?"

I haven't thought that far ahead. I admit as much.

"Don't say, I don't know. Say, I'll let you know."

"I'll let you know." A horrible thought occurs to me. "Um, it won't be as fancy as that other guy."

"What other guy?"

"You know. The five hundred dollar guy."

"You mean the pervert I used for his money?" She slaps me on the back of the head, so fast I didn't even see her move. "And then mocked behind his back the next day?"

"Yes!" I try to fend her off, but somehow she sneaks around and cuffs me again. "Ow, stop that!"

"Stop being stupid!"

"Okay, okay!"

"Do you want my number or not?"

"Jesus, are you going to keep hitting me?" I fumble for my phone.

"At this rate? Probably!" She raises her hand threateningly.

I thrust my phone at her.

"You haven't unlocked it." She looks at me in disbelief. "You talk to me for hours every day. How are you fucking this up so badly?"

I want to die. I want to crawl down the storm drain and be swept out to sea like those poor guys they keep finding off Coney Island. Could this possibly have gone worse? I can't imagine how.

I get the phone unlocked. I hand it to her.

She types in her number and gives it back. "Send me a text so I have yours too."

"Okay." I start a new message. What should I write? My mind is as blank as the screen.

"Jemmy. Look at me." She covers my phone with her hand. "Is this the first time you've asked a girl out?"

I nod.

She makes a disgusted noise. "I'm sorry. You're doing fine. It doesn't matter what you write. I've already said yes, remember? Just send me a smiley face or something. Or, hey, this is Jemmy."

I type exactly that and hit send. She pulls out her phone and types something back.

My phone beeps. She's written, "Hi Jimmy believe it or not still looking forward to our date" with no punctuation. I guess her phone auto-corrected my name too.

I smile as I read it. "Thanks, Hong."

We end up getting bubble tea and walking around downtown Flushing. Hong is like a tour guide. I finally learn what the weird diagrams are on the side of the library: they show how a cell divides, apparently. Why Queens Public Library carved that on the side of their building, though, neither of us could guess.

As we stand there staring at the wall, I muster my courage and reach for her hand. She flinches away.

"Sorry." I hold my hands up.

"No, it's okay. But my hands are freezing." She shows me the cup of bubble tea. It's pretty cold out too.

I start to apologize for suggesting bubble tea in December, then decide against it. Instead, I say, "So let me warm them up for you."

It's a cheesy line, but for some reason she likes it. Her face gets very soft. She lets me take her hands between hers.

"Wow, your hands really are ice cold." She's wearing knit gloves, but they're clearly not enough. "Do you want my gloves too?"

"It's fine. I just have poor circulation."

"Here." I slurp up the last of my bubble tea and toss the cup into the garbage. "I'll carry your cup so you can put your hands in your pockets."

She puts one hand into her own pocket and one hand, still holding mine, into my pocket. We walk around that way for a while. Occasionally, she makes me hold her cup to her mouth. She drinks slowly, staring into my eyes as she sucks on the straw.

Finally, it's time for her to head to work.

Before she gets on the bus, she tells me, "You don't have to wait twenty-four hours to contact me. Text me when you get home. Tell me you had a good time and ask me if I did too."

"And if you did?" I smile. "Hypothetically."

"Then you ask me out again." She smiles back. "Hypothetically."

"Okay." We're nearly nose to nose. Nose to chin. Hong is a little shorter than me.

She still has one hand in my pocket and one hand in her own pocket. I reach into that pocket for her other hand.

She pulls me closer, a little smile playing at her mouth. My breath fogs the air between us. Something in the back of my head notices that her breath doesn't, but I'm not paying attention to that right now.

She's so close she has to tilt her head up to look at me. Her eyes are mesmerizing. Bottomless black pools. They seem to suck me in.

Of course, that's when the bus comes. People start jostling forward. Hong turns away.

"Wait!" I don't let go. I ask, "So what do I do if you say you didn't?"

"What?"

"What if I ask you if you had a good time and you say no?"

"Seriously?"

I shrug. "Might as well ask now, right? So I know what to do either way."

She huffs and pushes me away. "I guess you wish me well and never talk to me again."

With that, she's gone.

I watch her bus drive off. I miss her already. As the bus turns the corner, I pull out my phone. "Hey, I had a great time. How about you?"

She texts back almost instantly. "I said when you get home, not ten seconds after I leave," she scolds me. "Now you just look desperate."

I bite my lip, then tell the truth. "So what? I really want to see you again."

She doesn't answer. I stare at the phone for a couple more minutes before sighing and putting it away. She did try to warn me.

My phone beeps. I jerk it back out so fast I almost drop it. "Lucky for you that I like my little boys desperate."

I laugh out loud. "Is that a yes?"

"I don't know. Try being a little more pathetic. It turns out I'm really into that."

I send her a string of big pleading eyes. "🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺"

"Good boy."

Feeling warm all over despite the chill in the air, I start walking toward my own bus stop. Life was good.

Hong does let me take her out next week, before work, and again after that. We walk around Flushing Meadows park until nearly dawn, holding hands the entire time. Hers are freezing, of course, and mine aren't much better. It's getting too cold for outside dates.

"Hey, do you want to come to my place next time?" I try to sound casual. My heart is beating so loudly she can probably hear it.

"Don't you live with your whole family?"

"Well, yeah. So?" She knew I did. We talked about them all the time.

"So you'll have to introduce me to your parents if you bring me home."

"Well, my parents are working in Ohio, remember? But you can meet whoever is around, if you want." I switch to Mandarin, because English kinship terms are too vague. "My father's parents, and my sister's children, maybe my elder sister if she gets back early enough, and probably my mother's elder sister and her children."

I realize what I'm saying. It's a lot of people. It's a big step. I backpedal. "Or we could go to your place. Do you have room-mates?"

"No, no room-mates."

That catches my attention. "Really?"

"It's really small," she says quickly. "Really, really small. We should go to your place. I'd like to meet your folks."

So next week I bring her home and introduce her to my grandparents. They love her, of course. The clincher is when she asks them where they're from.

"Shanghai," says Grandpa.

"Ah, so," and Hong switches to Shanghainese. My grandparents are besides themselves with delight. My aunt and uncle are the only ones in the house who understand it, and even they answer in Mandarin. For all I know my grandparents haven't heard Shanghainese from anyone except each other since they came here.

Hong and my grandparents chatter away for a few minutes while the rest of us stand around awkwardly. Then Grandma turns to my aunt. "You see? That's how it's supposed to be pronounced. Say, 'me.'"

Reluctantly, my aunt says it.

"Now you," Grandma orders Hong.

Even I can hear the difference. Hong's is much more nasal. Apparently "the youth" (which includes my aunt) all have Mandarin accents, but Hong doesn't. She speaks Shanghainese like it was spoken decades ago, before the government started pushing Mandarin in the schools.

My grandparents insist she have dinner with them. I sit quietly at the table, listening to them reminisce about the old country. They tell the same stories they always do, but the new audience makes all the difference. Hong knows, or at least has heard of, the places they're talking about. She laughs and gasps and exclaims at all the right places.

Dinner stretches on for hours as they ply Hong with pot after pot of tea. It's the happiest I've seen my grandparents in ages. Their faces are red with laughter. Hong's face stays her usual perfect porcelain, but her eyes sparkle like I've never seen before.

Finally, Grandpa suggests breaking out the liquor.

"Oh, no, I have work tomorrow," Hong says.

"See?" Grandma asks me. "She is so diligent. You could learn a thing or two."

As if I were partying all night instead of working and taking care of my nephews and cooking for the whole family.

Hong comes to my rescue. "Jemmy just got promoted. Didn't he tell you?"

"Oh, yes." Grandpa leans in. "Tell me, was that before or after you started seeing him?"

"He did it himself," Hong says. "I didn't have anything to do with it."

My grandparents nod knowingly at each other. "Well," Grandma says, as if coming to a decision, "you seem like a very nice girl. How old are you?"

"Grandma!" I cry. I know where this is going.

"What? A woman wants to know what to expect!"

"When to expect," Grandpa snickers under his breath. Then, to us, he says, "No, no, you are young. You have plenty of time."

We never do manage to get up to my room. Eventually, Hong starts making her excuses, and half an hour later my grandparents finally let her out the door. They stand at the door shouting their hopes that she'll be back soon, loudly enough for the entire street to hear.