by Jennifer Yen
I make a face. “You might want to get back to your girlfriend. She looks pissed.”
“My girlfriend?” James glances over his shoulder. “Oh, Nina’s not—I ran into her at the restaurant. We know each other from school. She was alone, so I offered to walk her home.”
I’m taken aback. James, who can’t be bothered to be nice to a server, offered to walk someone home? He must really like her. Something about that makes my heart twinge, and I shove the thought aside. There are only a few seconds before Nina descends on us, and I don’t want this to ruin my otherwise perfect night.
I look at him pointedly. “You should probably tell her then, because she seems to think otherwise.”
Right on cue, Nina threads an arm through his elbow and tugs lightly at him.
“Come on, James. We should get going.”
I glance over at Jeannie. She takes note of my clenched jaw before turning to the others.
“Us too.”
A small crease appears between James’s brows, but he ultimately nods.
“Good night, Liza. I hope you enjoy the rest of your trip.”
“Good night.”
He escorts Nina down the street, while Jeannie hails a cab. By the time our taxi merges onto the street, they’re gone.
* * *
• • • • •
With two days left before I’m due to fly out, Jeannie and I make the most of the time we have left. After the trip to Patisserie Chanson, I’m inspired to try my hand at something new. She’s all for it, and she takes me to a nearby Japanese supermarket once I settle on an idea—agar jelly cake. We pick up some kanten, canned lychee, and fresh fruit. Since I’m baking, Jeannie offers to make dinner in exchange, and we set up in different areas of the kitchen.
The mangoes, strawberries, and kiwi get diced first. Then I dissolve the kanten powder into cool water. Once the lychee juice is strained, I add it in before bringing it all to a boil. As soon as I pour the first layer of jelly, I spread the fruit evenly through the pan. The rest of the liquid jelly is poured over that. I put the cake aside to set and hop over to check on Jeannie’s progress.
“What are you making?”
“If you must know, nosy girl,” she states while setting the oven temperature, “I’m baking some sea bass and basting it with miso. I’ve already made some stir-fried spinach and a small pot of rice for you.”
“Mmm. Smells delicious!”
She glances back at my pristine station. “Are you done baking already?”
“What can I say? When you’re good, you’re good.”
She narrows her eyes at me, and I laugh. “Fine. It was a no-bake recipe.”
“That’s what I thought. What do you still have left to do?”
“I’m trying to figure out if I want to add a couple more layers to the cake.” I chew on my lower lip. “It’d probably taste even better with some mango and coconut milk.”
“Let’s skip it. Less calories to worry about.” Jeannie catches me mid-frown. “What?”
I grit my teeth. I’ve been trying to figure out how to broach the topic, and it’s now or never.
“Jeannie . . . are you eating enough?”
Her head jerks up. “What?”
“You’ve lost a lot of weight. Plus, you barely had any bites of the dessert at Chanson. I’ve seen you diet before, but this is different.”
For a second, it looks as though Jeannie won’t answer me. Then she puts a hand on my arm.
“It’s not what you think, Liza. It’s my job to look a certain way. Designers expect you to fit their sample size or risk not being booked. Once you’re hired, your weight has to stay the same until the show is done.”
My eyebrows shoot up, and I cross my arms over my chest. She sighs.
“Ask Nathan. He’ll tell you the same. It’s just part of the industry.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I take a different approach.
“Do you even like modeling?”
Jeannie bastes the fish with another layer of miso before turning to me.
“I’ve never thought much about it. Everything happened so fast, you know?” She cocks her head to the side. “I do love the clothes and the traveling. Plus, I’m good at it.”
“You’re good at other things too,” I insist. “You’re way more talented than me.”
“No, I’m not. Not really.” She pauses to stick the bass in the oven. “In fact, don’t tell Mom and Dad, but I still haven’t picked a major.”
I gasp. “But you’re about to be a junior!”
“I know! That’s what I’m talking about. At least you’re passionate about baking. I have no idea what I want to do. I guess that’s why I keep modeling.”
I lean my hip against the counter. “But do you actually want to make it your career?”
Her expression turns pensive. It’s several minutes before she comes up with an answer.
“Honestly? I don’t know. Part of me wants to walk away, but a bigger part wants to stay. I’ve worked really hard to get to this point. Plus, models only have a few years before they age out.”
I reach over and take her hands in mine. “At least swear to me you won’t get hurt.”
“What are you talking about?” she asks, perplexed.
“I’ve seen the documentaries, Jeannie. I don’t want you to do unhealthy things to stay thin. You don’t deserve that.”
Jeannie tugs me in for a quick hug. Her eyes are suspiciously shiny when she pulls back.
“When did you get so mature? You’re like my personal Asian Oprah.”
“Yeah, right. If anyone’s good at listening to people’s problems, it’s you. Besides, you already have all those self-help books lying around,” I joke, waving toward the bookcases.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” she retorts. “I know you don’t always believe you’re good enough, but trust me, you are. Just think about how great a baker you are.”
“Yeah, and what am I going to do with that? Change the world, one cake at a time?”
“Why not? You can turn people’s bad days into great ones with a single perfectly baked pastry.” She gestures at herself. “I mean, look at me. I’m happy just thinking about taking a bite of that jelly cake.”
“Oh! Speaking of which, I need to go check on it.”
The top layer sloshes ever so slightly when I give it a nudge. It’s not quite ready yet. Jeannie takes the moment to tend to the fish, so I plop down on the couch and pull up Instagram. My New York pics have gotten a lot of likes, especially the ones from the dessert bar. As I’m scrolling past one of Grace’s memes, a picture of Brody and Melissa pops up. They’re sitting by the pool, her arms wrapped around his waist while he kisses her on the cheek. My heart clenches.
“What’s wrong?”
I didn’t notice Jeannie standing over my shoulder. I toss the phone onto the cushion next to me.
“It’s nothing.”
“Liza. You know you’re a terrible liar, right?” She sits down. “Talk to me.”
“It’s really not a big deal. It’s a pic of my ex with his new girlfriend.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Jeannie reaches over to squeeze my hand. “How long ago did you guys break up?”
“Almost three weeks.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “And he’s already dating someone else? That’s kind of quick.”
“Not if you consider he was cheating on me with her.”
“Oh, Liza.” She presses me against her. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t tell Mom, okay? She doesn’t know I was dating him.”
“Why not?”
I raise my head to look at her. “You know how she is. She’ll just tell me it’s because he’s not Asian.”
“Then why don’t you date someone Asian?”
“Uh, I think I’ll pass. The ones Mom picks are the worst,” I inform her with a grimace.
“Maybe the next one will be good. Keep an open mind. There’s a lot to be said for having the same background.”
Et tu, Jeannie? I scrutinize her face.
“What about you? Have you dated anyone recently?”
She plucks at an invisible thread on her shirt. “Actually, I haven’t dated much since I moved here. I’ve been busy.”
“Busy pining after Nathan maybe?”
Jeannie reddens. “Liza!”
“You know, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” I waggle my eyebrows at her. “I hear oysters and chocolate work really well.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
I make kissing noises at her. She looks ready to throttle me, but the oven dings, so Jeannie leaps up to check on her food. At the same time, the doorbell rings. I grin when I see who’s on the other side.
“Nathan! Are your ears burning?”
Jeannie glares at me from the kitchen. “Stop joking around, Liza.”
I’m serious, I mouth to her. Her eyes nearly pop out of her head. Nathan cocks his head to the side.
“Um, can I come in?”
“Yeah, of course.”
He reveals a bouquet of calla lilies from behind his back. “These are for you.”
“Thanks,” I say, handing them right to Jeannie. They’re really for her anyway. While she moves to give him a hug, I check the jelly cake once more. This time, it’s set properly, and I slice it into six pieces before putting it into the fridge.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d be coming for dinner,” Jeannie bemoans. “I only cooked enough for two.”
He frowns. “I texted you. You didn’t get it?”
Jeannie picks her phone up off the coffee table and checks her notifications. She grins sheepishly.
“I did. I forgot I put my phone on vibrate.”
He throws an arm across her shoulder. “Well, don’t stress about it, babe. I’m actually meeting some people in a bit anyway. I just remember you mentioning Liza was leaving soon, and I wanted to stop by and say goodbye.”
“Are you sure it’s not because you heard I was making dessert?” I joke.
“I had no idea,” he says with a hand over his heart. “But . . . if you happen to have extra, I wouldn’t say no to taking some with me.”
I roll my eyes, but go in search of a reusable container. I transfer two slices of jelly cake and hand it to him. Nathan holds it up and peers through the clear bottom.
“Is this one of your famed recipes?”
“Actually, this is the first time I’ve made it, so I hope it tastes good.”
“Then let’s find out.”
He opens the box and takes a big bite of one piece. I hold my breath as he chews.
“Oh, oh yeah. This. This is amazing,” he moans. “It’s so light, and not too sweet. It’s way better than some of the stuff my mom makes, but don’t tell her I said so.”
“She’s got a gift,” Jeannie tells him.
“Your mom bakes?” I ask.
He nods. “She used to bake all the time but not anymore. She’s too busy with work.”
Nathan gestures at me with the slice of cake in his hand. “Now that I know your secret, I insist you stay for a few more days so I can gorge myself on your baking.”
“Sorry. Plane ticket’s been bought. You’ll just have to come to Houston if you want any more.”
Nathan pops the rest in his mouth in two large bites before nodding.
“Done deal. I’ll make it happen. Especially if I can find an easy class to take while I’m down there.”
“Good. Then Jeannie can show you around,” I say. “Since she’ll be back all summer.”
Nathan flashes a brilliant smile at us both. “Dessert and a personal tour guide? This is sounding better and better.”
Jeannie’s face flushes. I swallow a laugh. Now she knows how I feel whenever Mom tries to set me up.
“Well, I guess this is goodbye for now, Liza.”
Nathan wraps his arms around me. I scrunch my nose at the smoke and sandalwood of his cologne before pulling away.
“Bye, Nathan.”
With a parting smile, he leaves and shuts the door behind him.
“The fish!” Jeannie suddenly exclaims. “Oh no. It’s cold.”
She throws it back in the oven for a few more minutes. Then we sit down and have dinner in companionable silence. When Jeannie scarfs down a whole slice of my jelly cake, I’m thrilled.
“Nathan’s right, Liza. This is stunning. You should make it for Mom.”
“You know what? I will,” I tell her. “She did ask me about some ideas just the other day.”
“See? I know you think Mom doesn’t believe in you, but she does. That’s why I think you should enter the contest. Show her what else you can do.”
I don’t reply, but a seed of hope sprouts within me. Maybe I can do this.
Chapter 12
After having so much fun with Jeannie, it takes me a few days to get used to being home again. I’d forgotten how nice it was to have her around all the time, not to mention having seven wonderful days without Mom’s criticisms. The fact that she bombards me with questions about Jeannie the minute I walk in the door only adds to my misery. I do my best to answer them but purposely leave out the parts about Nathan.
“Tell your sister she should stay longer next time she’s here,” Mom demands, watching me unpack. “Six weeks isn’t long enough.”
“Why don’t you just tell her yourself?”
“I don’t want her to think I’m nagging her,” she answers immediately.
I bite back a retort as I start pulling things out of my suitcase.
“Fine. I’ll text her.”
“Don’t forget.”
Like I could even if I wanted to. Mom probably has it marked on her calendar.
The other thing I don’t tell her about is how much the trip inspired me to bake again. The same day I get home, I dust off my old recipe book—leather bound just like Mom’s, her gift to me—and get to work. Several nights a week, I stay late and practice in the bakery. My hands grow accustomed to working the dough, and my taste buds start to sharpen. When Mom conveniently forgets to hire more help, forcing me to work four days a week, I hold my tongue. If I want her to let me compete, I need to stay on her good side.
Every day of the week, the shop is packed from sunrise to sunset. The secret to our newfound success is the taiyaki. It’s one of the only things on the list I made her that Mom agreed to try. The day after I post a pic of it on our Instagram and Facebook, people start coming in to order it.
Since it was my idea, Mom puts me to work making the fish-shaped waffles. I’m happy to oblige because I’ve always loved the smell of fresh waffles. When topped with ice cream in Asian-inspired flavors—taro, matcha, milk tea—it’s even better.
Thankfully, summer isn’t just about work. I get to hang out with my friends on my off days. Mom even agrees to extend my curfew the whole summer as a reward.
About a week after I get back, Grace brings Sarah by at closing time to try our new dessert. She examines it curiously and then ventures a bite. She squeals so loudly people nearby turn to stare at us.
“Where have you been all my life?” she asks the cone. “And how do you guys come up with all this insanely good stuff?”
“Well, we didn’t,” I clarify. “It’s a big trend in Japan. We just brought it here.”
As Sarah finishes off her taiyaki, Grace leans in with a conspiratorial whisper.
“Have you talked to your mom about doing the contest this year?”
“Not yet,” I answer under my breath, one eye on Mom. “I was thinking tonight.”
�
�Good luck, but I don’t think you’ll need it. That jelly cake was delicious.”
I made a slightly different version of it a few days back, adding a layer of mango mixed with coconut milk like I originally imagined. Grace and Sarah both raved about it, so I sent them home with a slice each before hiding the rest in the fridge. It’s been two days, and I still haven’t drummed up the courage to show it to Mom.
Once Grace and Sarah leave, we lock up and head home while I consider a million different ways to ask about the contest. I’m so wrapped in my thoughts I barely notice Mom pulling the car into the garage. She’s already stepped into the kitchen when I catch up with her.
“Mom! Wait. I wanted to show you something.”
She sighs. “It’s been a long day, Liza. Can it wait until morning?”
“It’ll just take a minute. I promise.”
Mom’s about as enthusiastic for my reveal as I am when she’s waxing poetic about the latest Asian boy. Nonetheless, she decides to humor me. I pull out a chair at the table for her to sit, and then retrieve the jelly cake from the fridge. Putting the prettier of the two slices onto a plate, I grab a fork and place it in front of her.
She stares at it with furrowed brows. “What’s this?”
“It’s fresh fruit in agar jelly. I made it for Jeannie while I was in New York.”
Mom scrutinizes my creation for several minutes. Eventually, she presses the edge of the fork into the triangular tip. It slices through smoother than butter, jiggling happily as she picks it up. I tense as she tucks it into her mouth.
She chews thoughtfully before swallowing. “It’s . . .”
Please like it. Please like it. Please like it.
“. . . delicious. Quite good.”
I pump my fist under the table. One hurdle down. One big one to go.
Mom tips her head to the side. “How did you come up with this?”
“Jeannie told me she’s been eating really healthy for modeling,” I hedge. “I wanted to do something nice for her before I left, so I tweaked a recipe I found on the internet.”
“I’m impressed. This makes for a good summer snack. Light, not too sweet, fun texture.”
