We girls were drawn to the river of yellow gold the bride wrapped in her milky arms, her blushed neck, her black hair. We watched her tread under the weight of yellow, our mouths big pink Os of envy. Our ribboned dresses paled next to her crimson silk qi-pao. Ah Ma pinched our mouths closed, said “This will be you someday,” then complained to our relatives how we were growing whiter by the day, too loud with our mouths and wants.

We watched, our mouths respectfully shut, how the bride and groom kneeled in front of the in-laws to receive the red envelopes with both hands, how they bowed, their foreheads touching cold tiled floor. We girls swore we wouldn’t be kneeling nor wear such outdated red dresses that pinch our hips and bellies. Ah Ma in between pinched lips, whispered to Ah Ba how much money she had to shed because she’s family of the bride, how many grams of 24K gold she had to buy.

We girls dreamed of white weddings with red roses in Paris, trending colored diamond rings in pink gold, none of these heavy sets of cascading old-fashioned yellow gold chains. We girls swore we wouldn’t be living with the in-laws. Ah Ma shushed us, threatened to whip our asses for such nonsense talk.

We girls dreamed of growing up, leaving home, not bowing to our families’ desires. We tiptoed between our dreams and our duty. Ah Ma pulled our ears, pounded into our heads that Ah Ba would disown us if we erased our yellow roots and married white. Our ribboned dresses paled next to our white-angered faces. We tiptoed no longer; we held our wants close to our hearts like yellow gold.

Christine H. Chen was born in Hong Kong and grew up in Madagascar before settling in Boston where she worked as a research chemist. Her fiction has appeared in CRAFT, SmokeLong Quarterly, Time and Space Magazine, and the Best Microfiction and Best Small Fictions anthologies. Find her stories at www.christinehchen.com.