Guest List

Guest List

Sam was Lydia and Steven Chin’s first and only American born son, born in the year of the Dragon, which is said to yield obedient boys. His older sister Sherry, on the other hand, was born in the year of the Tiger, which legend holds breeds girls who grow up to be trouble.

Sam, in his mother’s eyes, acted as the perfect son. When Sherry refused to learn to cook, it was Sam who stood side by side with his mother learning her recipes. Sam watched her delicate hands form perfect dumplings and fashioned his movements to copy hers. It was his hands beside hers that savored the singe of hot oil from sizzling woks.

Sam missed his parents, but the last time he had seen them was at his sister’s wedding five years ago and that was barely a cursory acknowledgement. Before then, it had been another five years. However, it was Sam’s wedding this time.

Sam walked through the archway that made up the entrance to Shreve Crump and Low in downtown Boston. He strolled up to the counter and faced the sales associate. She was in her mid-twenties and had blond hair with chunky lowlights. Her gold nametag read Tammy.

“What can I do for you?” she asked cheerfully.

“I just need to pick up my invitations. They’re under Chin,” Sam stated. Tammy looked him up and down.

“I’ll be right back,” Tammy said and she headed towards the back of the store.

She returned and plopped two large brown bags on the counter. “Here they are!” she pronounced, smiling widely. “Wedding invitations! Let’s see. They’re engraved. Oh! And on our ecru royalty size card with hand beveled gold dusting!” She nodded her head in approval, “You have very good taste. Let’s check the text, shall we?”

She began to read out loud, “Mr. David Noah Horowitz and Mr. Samuel Lee Chin request the pleasure of your company at their marriage.” Tammy paused.

“Oh,” she nodded knowingly. “This is a commitment ceremony. I’ve seen them on Bravo. And we have also done many of them here are Shreve Crump and Low.” She smiled and winked at Sam. Sam looked at her blankly--the very same look he had occasion to use last week.

He had been waiting at the Back Bay T-stop when a white woman in her 50’s tapped him on the shoulder and asked, “Do you speak English?” Sam nodded with eyes still closed. “Do you have the time?” she continued. Sam took off one ear piece and told her the time. She then took a short breath of hesitation and asked, “Where are you from?” Sam replied, “I live right around the corner on Clarendon." She continued to pry, “No, where are you originally from?” Sam said, “Well, I was born in Cleveland, and my parents still live in Ohio.” “No,” she emphasized, “Where are your parents originally from?” This was when Sam gave her the look. Sam replied slowly, “Well, my parents came to the US of A from Hong Kong.” She smiled while wagging her index finger at him, “See, I knew we’d get to the end of that mystery.”

Sam focused his attention on Tammy’s vacant smile as she continued to read the date and the place of the ceremony. It was all correct, so he paid the rest of the balance and started to walk home.

Sam was still concerned about the guest list. He had tried to call his parents when he and David set the date. However, for the past ten years, he had only spoken to their machine. Sam had hoped to hear from them once they heard the news, but it had been well over two months since he left the message.

Sam could just imagine the frightful scenario that would unfold if his parents actually came to the wedding. He envisioned the beautiful reception at Club Café turning into the Saturday night scene at Buzz. The combination of sweat, cigarette smoke, appletinis and Georgio would mix in the air. He pictured three boys dancing together rubbing their recently waxed bodies back and forth like an accordion in and out of each other’s space.

Sam could see his mother, dressed in her high collared stiff Chinese silk shirt with matching shoes and bag, open her mouth to a perfectly painted red horizontal oval. Her eyes would be squinting not wanting to see the degradation before her, but yet wanting to see it so that she could complain about it later. Sam’s father would look directly at Sam with a disapproving stare. This was the very same stare that even in imagination created tightness in Sam’s stomach and an ache of guilt in his chest.
Sam’s whole body shook. His father’s stare was just as vivid today as the last time he had witnessed it.

Sam had just told his parents that he wasn’t coming home from college that summer and was instead, staying with a friend in the city.
His mother looked at him directly in the eyes and said, “If you are my son, then you never talk of this day again. You come inside.” She pointed her finger at him. “If not, I cannot help you. You are no longer my son.” At twenty years of age, Sam looked at his mother helplessly. She shut the door. His father was staring at him from an upstairs window. Sam walked away. That was the last time they spoke.

Sherry was only a disappointment to his parents in the beginning. Her sins were forgivable. It was true that she had married an American, but he was a doctor and a Catholic. A priest married Sherry. Because he did not want to cause any commotion, Sam flew to San Francisco only to quietly attend the ceremony. He did not want to risk putting Sherry in an awkward position by attending the reception. Where would Sherry seat him? She couldn’t place him at the family table. How could she explain his appearance to family friends? Speaking of Sam was a subject that was forbidden.

Sam’s parents knew that he and Sherry spoke often, but never once asked about him. However, every time Sam published anything, he would send a copy of it to his mother. He wanted to show her that he was fine, settled and employed. He needed to let her know that he was happy. Sam sent his articles in a plain manila envelope. He never wrote a note or asked for a reply. Over the years, she must have received hundreds of articles.

Once settled in his apartment on the corner of Clarendon and Warren, Sam sat down on his plush white leather couch and looked at the Prudential Tower through the window. The sun was fading leaving streaks of red and orange in a misty haze. Sam felt sleepy.

He opened his eyes to the sound of David’s keys in the door. He stared at David. Sam loved David’s tall profile and the way he moved fluidly and gracefully. Sam watched how the dark curls of David’s hair bounced with each step and how the sunset highlighted the sharp square features of his face.

Sam felt David’s soft fingers on the back of his shoulder.

“Did you pick up the invitations?” David asked.

“Yes,” Sam replied.

“You finally finished with your guest list?” David asked teasingly.

Sam looked down at the guest list, which was now a small square after being folded repeatedly in his pocket. He only had 20 names. Sam reached into his breast pocket, pulled out his pen and in his perfectly symmetrical handwriting added: “Dr. and Mrs. Steven Woo Chin.”

“Honey, are you ready for dinner?” he heard David call from the kitchen. “I’ve made your mother’s stir fry with egg noodles. You want to get the fancy chopsticks from the box in the closet?”

“Sure,” Sam yelled back as he walked to the closet.

David continued to speak, “It’s been a long time since we’ve used them. I’m going to need to practice.”

Sam opened the brown cardboard box labeled “Kitchen Supplies” in black magic marker and pulled out the plastic bag full of chopsticks. He shut the closet door.

Sam thought to himself, me too.