Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-eight

I thought about swinging by Adeena and Amir’s place to go over what just happened, but Bernadette’s remarks about my aunt played over and over in my head. She’d spent her entire life taking care of people, and it was my job now to pick up the slack. After all, wasn’t that why I had come home?

Well, one of the reasons, anyway.

I called my aunt’s cell to see where she was. “Hey, Tita Rosie. Are you still at the restaurant?”

“Oh hi, anak. No, I dropped off Marcus at work and now I’m at the grocery store picking up a few things for dinner. Do you want anything?”

“No, I’m OK. Just make sure to have at least one vegetarian option for Adeena, please. Oh, and no pork dishes since the Awans can’t eat it.”

She chuckled. “You act like this is the first time I’ve cooked for them. I’m not your lola, I remember these things.”

I laughed, too. My grandmother, old school to the core, wasn’t very sensitive or receptive when it came to people’s dietary restrictions. I’d had to swoop in more than once when I knew she was pushing a dish on a customer that they couldn’t or wouldn’t eat. I should’ve known my aunt would understand.

“Thanks, Tita. I’ll call Lola and ask if she needs a ride, then come home to tidy up a bit. You just focus on the cooking, OK?”

After we hung up, I called my grandmother. I figured she’d still be at the restaurant, so might as well play the filial granddaughter and offer her a ride. I lucked out—when she answered, she informed me she was already at home, which meant I didn’t have to endure a car ride with just the two of us.

“OK Lola, I’m heading home to help clean. Tita Rosie should be back from the store soon, but do you need me to pick anything up?”

“No, just come home and start cleaning. This place is filthy!”

My grandmother’s idea of “filthy” was the same as Marie Kondo’s idea of “impeccably clean,” but I hurried home anyway. I knew better than to question her.

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•   •   •An hour later, the house was gleaming, my grandmother’s desserts were cooling on the counter, and the house was blessedly quiet since she wanted to nap before dinner. My aunt had called earlier to say she had another errand to run and was going to be back late.

So the kitchen was all mine, just the way I liked it.

My lola had made a few jars of her specialty, matamis na bao, or coconut jam, to spread on our pandesal and kakanin. The fragrant smell of coconut cream, caramelized sugar, and pandan leaves wafted through the room, the intoxicating aroma of the dark, sticky jam making my mouth water.

I scanned the contents of the fridge, waiting for inspiration to strike. Whatever I made had to be small and snack-y, so as to complement but not draw attention from my grandmother’s sweet, sticky rice cakes.

Maybe some kind of cookie to go with our after-dinner tea and coffee? Coco jam sandwiched between shortbread would be great, but sandwich cookies were a little heavier and more fiddly than what I was looking for. Maybe if they were open-faced?

As I thought of a way to make that work, my eyes fell on the pandan extract in the cabinet and everything clicked into place. Pandan thumbprint cookies with a dollop of coconut jam! Pandan and coconut were commonly used together, plus the buttery and lightly floral flavor of the cookies would balance well against the rich, intense sweetness of the jam.

I had just removed the butter from the fridge when I heard the front door open and someone stomping in the hallway.

“Tita Rosie, is that you?”

“Lila, come help me with these bags!” was the response to my question.

I hurried out into the hall to bring the grocery bags into the kitchen while my aunt went back to her car for one more load. From the looks of things, she’d bought enough food to feed the entire neighborhood, let alone the dozen or so people expected to show up tonight. Her greatest nightmare was holding a party and not having enough food for everyone.

The horror.

After putting all the perishable items away into their respective compartments, I started washing and peeling the vegetables my aunt planned to use. “So what’s on the menu?”

“Amir said he wanted soup and there’s snow in the forecast, so I thought sopas would be a good starter since it’s his favorite.”

The creamy chicken soup with macaroni noodles was pure comfort in a bowl, yet light enough to leave room for more courses. Great choice, but . . .

“No soup for Adeena?”

“I’ve been experimenting with meat substitutes, and I actually found a great replacement for chicken. I also have some vegetable stock in the freezer. You won’t even notice the difference. Just don’t tell your lola, ha?”

Whoa, I knew she was conscientious, but I had no idea she was spending this much time making sure my best friend had something to eat. “Thank you, Tita. That’s very thoughtful of you, and I’m sure we’ll all love it. Everything you make is fantastic.”

My aunt smiled and continued with her menu. “I’m also making lumpiang togue, adobong tokwa, pinakbet, and monggo guisado.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Perfect.”

My aunt was kind and loving and nurturing, but she had no head for finance. Her love of feeding and entertaining people usually rang up one heck of a grocery bill, but tonight’s menu was not only delicious, it was downright frugal and vegetarian to boot.

The egg rolls were time-consuming to make, but the bean sprout filling was cheap and tasty. Besides, a party just isn’t a party without lumpia. Fried tofu braised with soy sauce, vinegar, garlic, and peppercorns wouldn’t exactly break the bank, and neither would the bitter melon and vegetable stir-fry. The mung bean stew was traditionally made with pork and topped with chicharon, but knowing Tita Rosie, she’d use some kind of pork substitute and leave the pork rinds on the side.

As I prepped the veggies for the stir-fry, she got started on the bean sprout filling. It needed plenty of time to cool, or else the spring roll wrappers would get soggy before we even fried them.

“So, Tita, you dropped Marcus off at work, right? Did he tell you anything more about the case?”

She stiffened, then went back to pulling the strings out of the bean sprouts as if I hadn’t said anything.

I laid the knife down. “Tita? What did he say?”

She finished the bean sprouts and moved on to chopping the garlic and firm tofu. “Can you get the patis? I forgot to set it out.”

I grabbed the bottle of fish sauce, one of the few strictly non-vegetarian things Adeena allowed herself, and handed it to her. “Tita Rosie, what did you talk about? Was it about the vandalism? Does he know more about Derek and the drugs?”

“Ay, Lila, stop worrying so much. Amir will handle everything when we go to court. It’s fine.”

I dropped the large piece of kalabasa I was peeling back onto the cutting board with a clatter. “Tita, we are not fine! I’m not a child anymore. You asked me to come back, you wanted my help with the business, fine. I’m here. The least you could do is tell me the truth.”

My aunt stepped back, shock written all over her face. I never talked back. Even when I was a teenager, my biggest concession to a rebellious phase was perfecting my eye roll and heavy sigh. Oh, and my fashion choices, but that was more to bother Lola than her.

My stomach churned with guilt, but I stood my ground. I upended my life to move back home and save our family business (Which, OK, wasn’t going so well, but still. My point stands.) Maybe I shouldn’t have raised my voice to her, but I couldn’t help out if I didn’t have the truth.

My aunt seemed to have reached the same conclusion. “I don’t appreciate your tone, but you’re right. If I want your help, I have to be honest about our situation. But we can talk and work at the same time.”

I picked up the squash I’d dropped onto the cutting board and finished peeling it before moving on to the carrots. “How bad is it?”

“Marcus told me he’d been talking to Joseph.”

“Well, they are brothers. What’s wrong with that?”

“They were talking about you getting arrested and Joseph told him about our financial situation.”

“Oh.” I forgot Joseph was also our accountant. “Is he allowed to do that?”

She shrugged. “Does it matter? Not like anything is a secret around your ninang. Anyway, our finances were already in trouble, but the bail money was supposed to cover this month’s rent, and with Mr. Long after us . . .”

I did some quick mental math. “OK, we’re about three months behind, but if I halt my student loan payments, we should be able to pay him off—”

“Lila, he wants everything paid in full by the first of the month.”

It was already the eighteenth. “Oh my god, are you serious?”

Tita Rosie slammed her hand on the counter, making me jump. “In this house, we do not take the Lord’s name in vain!”

“Sorry, Tita. But if we can’t pay him back by the first . . .”

She nodded. “We lose the restaurant, even if you win your court case. The only reason we’ve been able to hold on to it so long is because his wife wouldn’t let him kick us out. But I doubt she’s going to intervene on our behalf if she thinks we killed her son.”

My heart clenched. “Mrs. Winter thinks we killed Derek?”

“She’s Mrs. Long now,” she reminded me. “I don’t think she knows what to believe. But she’s grieving and her husband is insisting we’re to blame. She’ll probably take any explanation as to why she’s lost her only child.”

Oh man, I totally forgot Derek was an only child. It was one of the things we’d bonded over, though he didn’t have the extended family that I did. I should probably visit Mrs. Winter, I mean Long, at home later to pay my respects. Or would that be awkward? Maybe I should just wait for his funeral? What was the etiquette when you were suspected of killing someone’s only child?

“So what are our options?” I asked.

“Get the restaurant open ASAP and earn enough money to pay him back. There are no other options.”

“That’s not very encouraging, Tita.”

“It’s only a problem if we fail. And we’re not going to fail because we have you now, diba.”

Oh great. So calling me back home was our Hail Mary play?

Yeah, no pressure.