Page 5 of Dial A for Aunties

But the last time I went on a date was...

Last summer? Last fall? Christ on a cracker. Has it really been that long? And don’t even get me started on the last time I gotlaid. As my best friend Selena likes to remind me, “Girl, you need to get some before that thing closes up shop for good.” I look down at my lap, at that “thing.” Why can’t Selena just say “vagina”?You’re not gonna close up shop for good, are you?

Okay, I have just started talking to my vagina. Maybe Ma’s right. I desperately need to go out on a date. And so what if it’s been set up in the weirdest, most awkward way ever?

“Must go, ya,” Ma is saying, unaware that I’ve quietly talked myself—and my vagina—into agreeing.

“Must not cancel,” Big Aunt says. “If you cancel last minute it so offensive, you know.”

“Sooffensive,” Second Aunt says. “But we know you not do that. You are nice girl.”

“You’ll jeopardize the wedding weekend,” Fourth Aunt says. “You must go, be your lovely, sweet self. He’ll fall in love for sure.”

I stare at my mother and my aunts. They stare back at me, smiling and nodding in that way cats do when they’ve cornered a mouse.

“Fine.” I sigh. “Tell me everything I’m supposed to know about my date tonight.”

2

Sophomore Year, Seven Years Ago

“You are NOT putting cut-up hot dog and kimchi in yours,” I say, wrinkling my nose.

“Oh right, you can put that panda thing in yours, but I can’t put hot dog and kimchi in mine?” Nathan says, stirring his bizarre mug cake batter.

“Pandan is a legit cake flavor, you caveperson. What kind of mug cake has hot dog and kimchi?”

“The best kind,” Nathan says easily. “You know mine’s gonna come out tasting way better than yours, and then you’re just going to end up eating it all.”

“Not. Possible.”

Ten minutes later, I give a cry of frustration when my spoon hits the bottom of his mug. “Is that all there is?”

Nathan laughs. “Told you. Although I have to admit, panda is delicious.”

“It’s pan-DAN. We’re not eating the animal. It’s a plant.”

“OH! This whole time I thought we were eating, like, a secretion from pandas’ glands or something.”

Now it’s my turn to laugh. Seriously, this guy. “You are such a dork. Oh my god, I can’t believe—which gland?”

“Obviously anal.”

“Gross.”

He gives that grin, the one that makes his eyes almost fully close. The one that makes me want to throw up. Just to be clear, it makes me want to throw up because it’s so cute it does weird things to my stomach, not because it disgusts me. When I told Selena about the nauseating grin, she said, “Well, you either have stomach flu or you’re in love. Either way, stay away from me. I can’t afford to get sick.”

In love. I watch as Nathan gets up and heads to the fridge to make another hot dog and kimchi mug cake for me, and I know, of course I know, that I’m stupidly, annoyingly check-my-phone-every-half-minute in love with him. Ever since we got to know each other during freshers week, Nathan and I have become fast friends. It feels meant to be. We’ve even got the same last name: Chan. What are the chances of that? Okay, so it’s the most common surname in Hong Kong, which is where his dad’s from, and one of the most popular surnames in China, which is where my granddad’s from, but it feels like fate. We hang out almost every day and do lots of random stuff. We’ve located the best spots to nap in the library, we’ve found the best ice cream sandwich combo at Diddy Riese (white chocolate macadamia nut cookie with butter pecan), and today, he came over to my dorm’s common room to make mug cakes. It’s like my friendship with Selena, except with stomach-turning attraction on my part. On his part—

Well, I don’t know. Sometimes I think he’s attracted to me too. Sometimes I catch him watching me with his eyes all soft, whichmakes my stomach lurch (thank you, stomach). But then he’ll do stuff like rest his elbow on the top of my head when we’re waiting for the red light to change, and then I’m pretty sure he sees me as just a friend. Which I’m totally cool with. I’m down for platonic friendship, yeah. I’m chill. Totes chillax.

Nathan places a hand on my shoulder and I practically leap out of the chair. “Whoa, you okay?”

I snort. “Duh, of course, why wouldn’t I be?” It’s not as if I was interrupted mid-daydream about his abs, which I swear are visible through his UCLA hoodie.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“What?”

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