She came up to me and asked, “So whadja think?”

“Of what?”

“Grace.”

“I feel sorry for her,” I said. “Having Aunty Winnie as a mother-in-law. You’re not supposed to outshine the bride, you know.”

“Who’s outshining? She’s the one in fucking white.”

Someone started giving out directions to the restaurant where the reception was going to be held, a few blocks away. The guests began surging forward in a mass that disrupted all other foot traffic on the sidewalk. “Why don’t you just stay in Chinatown,” I heard a pedestrian mutter as he was forced to step aside for us. At the restaurant we were ushered upstairs into a windowless red and gold banquet room with dragons wound around the pillars. “How tasteful,” my sister said. There was no band set up or anything, just rows of round tables covered with plain white cloths and modest vases of pink carnations. The food would be the main event. My reception, which was held in the Yale Law School dining room, had featured a string quartet plus a menu of filet mignon and roasted new potatoes, a salad to start, and wedding cake for dessert. Ma told me the Chinese guests had complained bitterly that there hadn’t been enough to eat.

While Ma went to find our table, Marty and I settled ourselves at the bar, scarfing up the honey-roasted walnuts they’d put around in little painted dishes. “How was the lingerie thing?” I asked her.

“Fine, although Mimi had a bug up her ass the whole time.”

“What do you mean?”

Before she could answer there was a burst of applause and cheering—Grace and Xiao Lu were making their grand entrance as man and wife. The bride had changed into a floor-length crimson gown with a matching fringed stole. She lingered by the door, chatting to guests, and I didn’t need to hear her to know that her Mandarin was perfect.

Marty and I had been seated with Ma, Aunty Lilah, Mimi, and old Mr. Lin. I hadn’t even known Mr. Lin was still alive. He was shriveled like a dried shrimp in his chair, with those Coke-bottle glasses they have for people with cataracts.

It was never clear to me exactly how Mr. Lin had made his living. Daddy used to say, “He has beautiful calligraphy,” as if that were enough to grant him distinction, a place in the world.

When a lazy Susan containing hors d’oeuvres was set down in front of us, Ma said, “Look, duck feet!”

“Calling them that is not the way to make people want to eat them,” my sister said peevishly. She began drumming her fingernails on the table.

I decided to be polite to Mimi who was seated next to me and asked her how her dad and sisters were. “How come they’re not here, anyway?”

“My father had to mind the store. And my sisters both moved to the Midwest.” She didn’t need to say married. I tried to remember what she did for a living. Some kind of medical thing. Physical therapy, that was it. I could see it. She had big, strong hausfrau arms and the right kind of incurable cheerfulness.

Aunty Lilah spun the lazy Susan around so the sliced eggs on their bed of cellophane noodles were facing Mr. Lin. “Hey! You take first, huh?” He scrutinized the eggs through his lenses and then waveringly approached his chopsticks and plucked out the biggest slice. Aunty Lilah leaned across Mimi and said to me: “Not too many girls look good in black like you, Sally.”

“Thanks,” I said, trying to figure out the barb inside this compliment.

“Actually I’m surprise you look so good. Your ma-ma tells me you have a bad time with your divorce.”

“I’m fine now.”

“Just remember, most important thing for woman in America is be financially independent. I keep all the books for the store, did you know that? If your Uncle Frank dies I could take over in a minute, no problem.”

They were pouring champagne for the first toast. I got up to go to the bathroom. When I was at the sink washing my hands my mother came in.

“Ma, I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Tell everyone about my life.”

She went into a stall, slammed the door and locked it. Over the noise of her peeing she called out: “Everyone ask. It doesn’t matter. You know how your Aunty Lilah is, so nosy, such a gossip.”

“But I barely know any of these people. Why do they have to know about me?”

The toilet flushed and my mother came out and joined me at the sink. “You’re like a sponge, Sally. You take everything in. Why don’t you let bounce off?”

“I just don’t like it, that’s all.”

“If you want me to talk good things about you, why don’t you tell me good things? Every time you call, it’s something bad. Getting divorced. Worried about money. Might get fired.”

“I’m sorry if I can’t be Marty.”

“You and your sister two sides of the same thing. You complain, even when it’s not so terrible. Your sister says everything’s fine, when I know it’s not so fine.”

When we got back to the table, Marty was smoking in quick, short jerks, and I noticed she was the only one who had emptied her champagne glass. The Peking duck had arrived, sliced and accompanied by pancakes and scallions and sauce. Mr. Lin was constructing a crepe. For some reason he had taken off his glasses to do this. Although his eyelids were now densely wrinkled, I could see that they had once been double.

My mother and Marty were arguing about something. Then Ma reached over to the ashtray for my sister’s cigarette to put it out. “It’s not bothering anyone,” Marty said.

“Bother me,” Ma said.

Aunty Lilah jumped in with one of her non sequiturs. “Bau-yu, listen, you’re still so good-looking. You should get married again.”

Ma gave Aunty Lilah a look—not in front of the children.

Aunty Lilah ignored her. “Lots of eligible men. Widowers.” We all looked at Mr. Lin, who was slobbering over his plate, and then we looked away.

But what Aunty Lilah had said about my mother was true. She was barely fifty, and with her new hairstyle easily looked ten years younger. Her complexion was still as translucently pale as it had been on her own wedding day, complemented by the luster of Nai-nai’s black pearl earrings. She was still that contained aristocratic Shanghai beauty my father had fallen in love with.

“And you girls, if you want meet, just call me,” Aunty Lilah went on. “I know many nice young men, Ivy League, good family.”

Ma said to me: “Sal-lee, you don’t take any kao ya.”

“I don’t want any.”

“This is wedding. You have to eat at wedding.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Mar-tee, what about you?”

My sister didn’t answer.

“Look, I make a sandwich,” my mother said. “You take some.”

“Okay,” I said. “Just a bite.”

“Just a bite for me too, Ma,” Many said.

Using her chopsticks, my mother cut the crepe exactly in half and gave one piece to me, one piece to my sister.

I leaned across the table. “Mr. Lin, remember the duck my father used to make for Chinese New Year?”

“Ah, yes,” he said. “Such a talented man, your ba-ba. And talented daughter too. You still paint pictures?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he said. “You’re a good girl. Obedient to your parents.”

The bride and groom came around to our table. Grace leaned over and said into my ear, “My old boyfriend has the biggest crush on your sister. He wants to know if she’s free or not.” Marty had gone over to the bar to have another cigarette.

“Your old boyfriend’s the usher?” She nodded. “Yes, I guess she’s free.”

Xiao Lu was grinning in kind of a glazed way, so what came out of his mouth shocked me.

“These two Wang sisters were the bane of my existence when I was growing up.”

“What?” I said. Grace frowned, wrapping her red stole tighter around her shoulders.

“It took me years to recover. I don’t think you ever realized how stupid you were. Making fun of me was like making fun of yourself.” Then he laughed, weakly, as if trying to turn what he’d said into a joke.