Chapter 11: The Wedding Banquet (The Descent)

Sara arrived at the Jade Palace Restaurant two hours before the banquet, Canon EOS R5 in hand, Sennheiser MKH-416 shotgun mic already mounted. The professional videographer — some guy in his thirties with a three-camera rig — was setting up near the stage where the bride and groom would sit. He barely glanced at Sara. Good. She didn’t need to coordinate with him.

The banquet hall was massive: twenty round tables, each seating ten, red and gold decorations everywhere, a small stage at the front with a projection screen. Traditional Chinese wedding setup. Sara did a sweep of the room with her camera, getting establishing shots, checking lighting. The chandeliers would work. She could shoot handheld, ISO 3200 if needed.

Mrs. Chen had been there since five, helping her sister with last-minute details. She found Sara setting up near the back tables. “Sara! Perfect timing. Did you see the flowers? My sister spent so much — well, Michael’s family contributed, they’re very generous. Make sure you get shots of the centerpieces. And the cake! It’s from that bakery in Monterey Park —”

She stopped mid-sentence, looking toward the entrance. “Oh! There’s Paige.”

Sara turned.

Paige stood near the doorway, alone. Pale pink dress, knee-length, modest neckline, hair pulled back in a simple bun. She looked different. Hollow around the eyes, shadows that makeup tried but failed to completely hide. But still beautiful — maybe more so. The kind of beautiful that comes with damage. Skin luminous against the pink fabric. Collarbones sharp. When she moved, heads turned.

Their eyes met across the room.

Paige’s expression: blank.

Sara raised her camera slightly. Mouthed: You okay?

Paige’s tiny head shake. No.

Mrs. Chen was already moving toward her daughter, arms out. “你怎么自己来的?” (Why did you come alone?) “Where’s your father?”

“He’s parking the car,” Paige said quietly.

Mrs. Chen nodded, already distracted by relatives arriving. She drifted toward a cluster of women near the entrance, voice bright. “Ay! 好久不见!”

A few minutes later, Mr. Chen entered. Dark suit, white shirt, burgundy tie. His face had that same hollowed quality as Paige’s — drawn, tired — but he wore it differently. Sharp jawline more pronounced. Salt-and-pepper hair catching the light. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept, who’d been drinking more than usual. But still handsome. Distinguished, even. The tie hung loose around his neck. He headed straight to the bar without looking at anyone.

Sara filmed all of it.

The guests began arriving. Extended family, mostly. Sara recognized some faces from other Chen family gatherings she’d attended over the years — aunts, uncles, cousins she couldn’t name. Everyone speaking Mandarin and English interchangeably, the volume rising as the room filled.

Then: Jennifer.

The bride was twenty-five, tall, hair in an elaborate updo, wearing a traditional red qipao that had been modified to accommodate her belly. Five months pregnant, maybe a little more. The bump was obvious, impossible to miss. She moved carefully, one hand resting on the curve.

A man walked beside her — late twenties, sharp suit, hand hovering protectively near her lower back. Good-looking in that generic successful-Asian-guy way. Hair perfectly gelled. Rolex on his wrist.

Sara filmed their entrance.

Then panned to find Paige.

Paige was staring at Jennifer’s belly.

Her face: frozen.

Sara zoomed in. Caught the moment Paige’s hand moved — unconsciously — to her own flat stomach. Pressed there for just a second.

Not longing. Recognition. Like she’d just understood something she hadn’t let herself think about directly.

Then her hand dropped.

Two women in their fifties approached Mrs. Chen near the entrance. Sara’s mic picked them up:

First aunt: “Amy! Jennifer looks so beautiful! So happy!”

Mrs. Chen: “She does, doesn’t she? Michael is a good man. Very responsible.”

Second aunt, lowering her voice: ”怀孕了才结婚.” (Pregnant before marriage.)