In Saint Petersburg, Florida, behind MJ’s, there is a three-bedroom townhome. I do not know what MJ’s is; it sounds like a store, or perhaps a restaurant. I have never been there. I know it’s there because I always see the sign declaring “MJ’s” on the way to the townhouse.
The townhouse is inside a small, gated community. Bordered by a highway, a bunch of office complexes, and a shopping plaza, it’s a little block of vertically-stacked, narrow houses. I can’t say I would have chosen to build a housing complex here. But apparently the townhouse came cheap, so I shouldn't complain.
In the living room of the townhouse inside the gated community behind MJ’s, I am lying on a couch. My family is here on vacation. This townhouse is too small to comfortably fit five people, and so I have been relegated to sleeping on a couch in the living room. I do not complain, as it’s the duty of a son to sleep on a couch to give everyone else a bed.
On this Wednesday morning, most of the family is out. Only my 82-year old grandfather and 28-year old me are present. I am laying on the couch reading a book, and he has just come back from a walk. There are quiet footsteps against the stairs as he slowly makes his way into the living room. Old, sunken eyes turn to look at me. I look up, suspecting, but quietly dreading what is coming next.
My grandfather says, in Chinese: “it’s time for you to find a girlfriend.”
I put my book down. I do not sigh at my interrupted reading. I say: “Shi.”
In Chinese, “Shi” means, simply, “Yes”. It is a short utterance used when you agree with someone, the verbal equivalent of a nod.
I was born in the US. No amount of teaching by my mom could get me above a kindergarten level of speech. It’s not that I want to be short with my grandpa - I don’t know how to do otherwise.
On the other hand, maybe I do want to be short with him. My relationship status is all he talks about when I come back to visit. In a way, it is a blessing that my vocabulary is so poor that I cannot respond. Otherwise, I’d… well. I’d have to respond.
For instance, I cannot reply with something like: Actually, I started dating someone in Seattle. You might not like her, because she’s a bit older than I am and that’s not traditional, but I really, really like her.
Instead, I just repeat “shi” again. “Shi, shi.”
My grandfather nods. “You know, our family friend, Grace, seems like a great girl. You should talk to her more.”
I dated Grace for a month, then broke it off because I felt no connection whatsoever. I know this has not deterred you from continuing to try to matchmake us, but I don’t think there’s anything there.
“... Shi,” I say instead.
He continues. “She would be great for you. She’s the same age, and she likes our family.”
Grandpa, I know you come from a different generation, and care about different things. Those are things I don’t care much about. In fact, I wonder if your insistence that we date is what caused me not to like her. “Shi.”
He begins saying something more about Grace, but stops mid sentence. He sighs. Sometimes I wonder if he can tell that he’s not getting anywhere. If he thinks it’s a grandfather’s duty to try anyway.
He begins climbing the stairs to the upstairs bedroom, but suddenly stops on the second step. I look at him with concern, thinking he may need help. He slowly turns about. Considers for a moment. Says, “Actually, I forgot, Grace is a year younger than you, not the same age.” And resumes ascending.
My Grandpa and I sit at the dining table, having lunch. The rest of the family is still out, and so it fell to me to stir-fry some meat and vegetables. It is, after all, my duty to make food for my Grandpa.
We sit next to each other as we eat. Old hands shake as they handle chopsticks. Younger hands use a spoon to shovel rice. Silence reigns. The food slowly disappears.
I imagine what this would look like as a scene in a movie. A camera faces straight on, wide angle, with the beige wall behind us as a backdrop. My grandfather and I say not a word. The audience interprets this shot as an indication of how estranged we are.
Suddenly, my grandfather speaks up. “Your dad’s last girlfriend was nice. It’s too bad the pandemic separated them.”
I struggle with this seed of a conversation. Half-formed Chinese phrases swirl in my mind. Yes, she was nice too, and it’s too bad it didn’t work out.
The pieces are not all there. The sentence cannot be formed. I issue a dejected sigh that I hope is interpreted as my comment on the matter, and the conversation ends.
Utensils scrape plates. I’m done with my food. Politeness prevents me from escaping, but I wonder if I should anyway. Before I can, my grandpa tries again.
“If you find a partner in Seattle, it will be hard to move back with the family. Are you going to stay there?”
A thought crystallizes in my head. Oh. Is that what this has been about all this time?
Grace lives close to my family. If I ended up with Grace, my grandpa would be able to see me more often. And that’s obviously a good thing! He’d get to see his grandson more often! And obviously, it’s a grandson’s duty to live nearby, right?
He’d be able to interrupt my reading anytime. I could make him more food. We’d be able to sit in awkward silence more often at the dinner table.
Do I… want to stay away from that? Do I want to stay in Seattle?
I answer the only way I know how: “Shi.”
Later, my grandpa sits with me on the couch and monologues for a while about how matchmaking worked back in his day. It does me no harm to listen.
In this townhome behind MJ’s, at least for this week… I can do my duty.