It’s a warm evening in the summer of 1965, and the golden hues of dusk bathe the quiet suburban neighborhood. The cars lining the street are classic sedans and station wagons with chrome trims that gleam in the fading light. Sun Wukong, under a human disguise, adjusts the collar of his sharply tailored suit. He smooths his hair—short and slick, perfectly in line with the styles of the time—and takes a deep breath. Meeting his girlfriend’s parents is a big step, and even for someone with his centuries of experience, there’s a nervous excitement tingling in the air.

Her house is a charming two-story home with a neatly trimmed lawn, the kind of place that radiates a comfortable and stable life. As Wukong approaches the front door, he’s greeted by the warm, inviting scent of home-cooked food wafting through the air—a mix of roasted chicken, seasoned greens, and fresh cornbread.

The door swings open before he can knock, and there she is—his girlfriend, radiant in a vintage polka-dot dress that cinches perfectly at her waist. Her smile is wide and genuine, but there’s a glint of fire in her eyes that makes his heart skip a beat. He’s always admired her no-nonsense attitude, especially when it comes to matters of respect and dignity. As she ushers him inside, he can hear the low murmur of voices from the dining room and the clinking of dishes being set.

Inside, the house is a blend of mid-century modern and cultural touches that feel uniquely her family’s—bookshelves filled with literature by James Baldwin and Zora Neale Hurston, vibrant paintings, and family photos on every surface. The vibe is cozy but alive with history and pride.