Red Envelopes and the Ways We Show Up for Each Other

Today is Chinese New Year.

Last night we did what we often do — we met family at our favorite local Chinese restaurant. It’s become a rhythm for us. We gather there several times a year. Big round table. Shared plates. Passing dishes back and forth.

It was full and warm and familiar.

I went in a little tense. I’ve been that way lately — not heavy, just inward. I had just left the theatre after watching Hamnet, a story of love and loss, and it lingered with me in that quiet way certain stories do.

My husband was not carrying that mood.

He had done research.

He’d learned that families gather on the eve. That there’s big food. That red envelopes are given. That it’s meant to be celebratory.

He showed up in a red sweater.

I don’t wear red. I’d gone looking earlier in the week for something and couldn’t find anything that felt like me. I didn’t say anything. I just came as I was.

Dinner unfolded — delicious food, laughter, grandchildren sharing the ins and outs of their daily lives.

Then he reached into his pocket and surprised the kids with red envelopes.

They lit up.

And then he handed one to me.

Inside was a silver 2026 coin — the Year of the Fire Horse — with the Chinese zodiac etched on the back. He had tucked in a printed description too.

I'm a Fire Horse.

He’s a Fire Dog.

I know who he is. But watching him lean in like that — honoring the eve, gathering everyone, making it thoughtful — caught me off guard in the best way.

And then there were the roses.

On Valentine’s Day, we had a friend over for takeout. He brought two bouquets — one for me, one for her.

We let her choose.

She picked the ones with the purple hue. I kept the orange.

Later that night she texted that when she got home she noticed the name on the tag: Jacaranda.

Her mother, who has passed, loved jacaranda trees. It was one of her favorites.

She would normally have chosen orange.

I love when things like that happen.

Red envelopes at our usual table.
A silver coin pressed into my hand.
Jacaranda roses finding their way home.

I didn’t go into the evening expecting to feel anything in particular.

But I left reminded that love doesn’t always announce itself loudly. Sometimes it looks like quiet research. A red sweater. Two bouquets set down without fanfare.

After all these years, he still shows up.

And that feels like the real celebration.

Kung Hei Fat Choi (恭喜發財)!