Chapter Four

Chapter Four

My brain refused to process that comment into coherent speech, leaving me spluttering for a good minute. My grandmother was not so easily rocked.

“Diyos ko, that fool. He’s going to use this as an excuse to kick us out. He’s been trying to for months now.” Lola Flor shook her head, pursing her lips the way she did whenever she saw me tinkering around with her recipes. Such a simple gesture, but it managed to convey just how big of a disappointment she found you.

My godmothers were already gossiping about what they knew of Derek and his family.

“Did you know Derek was still living with his mother when she married Edwin Long two years ago?” Ninang Mae said.

“Of course! Nancy’s health has always been a problem. What was he going to do, leave her all alone in that big house? He may have been an entitled jacka . . . um, jerk, but he was always a good son,” Ninang June said, with a quick glance toward my aunt.

Ninang April straightened up, adopting her “high and mighty pose” as the other aunties liked to call it. “Well, we know that good children stay and take care of their parents, but Edwin Long didn’t agree. Told him he was there to take care of Nancy now, and Derek was an adult and needed to find his own place. Or start paying a larger portion of the mortgage.”

The Calendar Crew all made a tch noise with their lips, indicating their displeasure. Even Tita Rosie was frowning at this information. “That wasn’t even his house to make a decision like that. Poor Derek.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “Poor Derek” was almost thirty years old. I didn’t find it all that unreasonable to have a grown adult start pulling their weight around the house or living on their own and said so.

That was a mistake.

All five wheeled around as one. I don’t know if you’ve ever been stared down by an elderly Asian woman, but It. Is. Terrifying. Don’t be fooled by the cute florals and jaunty visors—these women will end you, wielding nothing but their sharp tongues, bony elbows, and collapsible shopping carts.

“Lila, this is what’s wrong with your generation. All you care about is yourself—your dreams, your needs, your independence. What about your family?”

This was the talk I’d been avoiding for the past few months. Filipinos were all about family. My whole life I’d had the concept of “family first” drilled into my head, and it’s how I’d lived until I went away to college. It’s not that I disagreed with it, exactly. Even someone like me felt utang na loob, that impossible to quantify sense of indebtedness and gratitude, to the people who’d raised me. But where was that magical line between selfishness and independence? Between my family and myself?

“Ninang April, now isn’t the time for that.” I glanced over at Tita Rosie, whose usually lovely golden complexion looked pale and mottled. “Tita, you know Mr. Long better than I do. Was he just grieving and looking for someone to blame? Or do we need to talk to a lawyer?”

She didn’t answer at first, just fidgeted with the glasses that were almost always perched on top of her head and rarely on her face.

I walked over and put my hand on her arm. “Tita Rosie? Are you OK?”

She plonked her glasses on her nose and shook herself. “I’m fine, Lila, stop fussing. And I’m not sure. He sounded serious, but he’s wrong. Derek didn’t have any allergies, so it couldn’t have been my food. It couldn’t have been my food,” she repeated to herself.

Lola Flor cut in. “He was diabetic, though. And he died after eating our desserts. Maybe he wasn’t careful enough about his sugar. He looked a bit ill when we were talking to him.”

Remembering Derek’s pallor and the sweat dotting his forehead, I had to agree with her. “If it was because of his blood sugar, our desserts are not to blame. He knew what he was doing. Mr. Long can’t pin that on us.”

The Calendar Crew exchanged glances. “You obviously don’t know him very well. Isn’t Adeena’s brother a lawyer? Maybe you should call him, just in case.”

My eyes narrowed at this statement. Adeena Awan was my best friend and her older brother Amir was indeed a lawyer. While it seemed like a harmless suggestion from well-meaning family friends, I knew my godmothers well enough to see what they were trying to do. It was a setup. They’ve been trying to get me together with Amir since he first got accepted at some fancy law school in Chicago.

I found this super annoying, since A) it was a legitimately good idea to talk to a lawyer and cover our bases, B) he was a family friend, so he likely wouldn’t charge us for his help, and C) I’ve been crushing on him since high school. Not that anything would’ve happened. Adeena would’ve killed me, and I’d started dating Derek pretty early into my freshman year.

But still, all of these things pointed toward the Calendar Crew being right about something involving my personal life, and I didn’t know if I could bear that shame. Their “I Told You So” dance alone was enough to make me want to embrace the single life.

Though it would be nice to talk to Adeena about what just happened. The fact that I literally watched my ex-boyfriend—my first love—die in front of me, right after I made such a flippant remark, was finally starting to sink in. Where was she anyway? She worked at the cafe next door and had to have seen the ambulance pull up. I couldn’t believe she hadn’t barged in here yet, demanding to know what was going on.

“You know what, maybe I should talk to Adeena. I’m going to run next door to the coffee shop and see if she can take a short break.” I pulled off my apron, then paused, asking, “Is that OK, Tita? Lola?”

My grandmother grunted her agreement and my aunt smiled and said, “Of course. Just give me a minute and I’ll pack you some of my special adobo and rice.”

After she handed me the package, I scooted out the door and walked all the way to the neighboring coffee shop. One of the few good things about coming home was getting to see my best friend every day and work right next door to her.

Java Jo’s was a relatively new cafe that, despite its generic, lowbrow name, fulfilled my admittedly snobby coffee needs. Their pastry selection was boring and the quality subpar, but their drinks were first-class, thanks in large part to Adeena, barista extraordinaire. She worked there part-time to help pay for pharmacy school—which she’d put on hold temporarily—but was already threatening to drop out and follow her dream of opening her own cafe.

I advised against it since, although I had long ago joined the Disappointment to the Asian Community Club (DACC for short), pharmacy was the one thing keeping Adeena respectable in the eyes of her family.

It was bad enough that I had left our small town instead of staying to help Tita Rosie with the family restaurant. Bad enough that I had moved in with a boy without being married. But to return home without at least a degree (or a man) to show for it? Ultimate disgrace. I didn’t want Adeena to have to deal with that.

I banged into the cafe and without preamble, yelled, “Kevin! I really, really need to talk to Adeena right now.”

Adeena, working at the espresso machine, turned startled eyes to Kevin Conoway, owner of Java Jo’s. He took in my appearance and the wild look in my eyes and said, “As long as you leave some food for me, sure. Go on to the backroom.”

I followed my friend to the back and thrust my aunt’s offering at her. “There’s the chicken one your brother loves, but she came up with a new vegetarian recipe for you. Let me know what you think.”

Quite a few Filipino recipes involve pork, and pork adobo was one of the most popular dishes. Adeena was a vegetarian and her family were Pakistani Muslims, so my aunt loved coming up with new variations to share with the Awans. Adeena watched with concern as I started rambling about how young jackfruit was the best meat substitute ever instead of telling her what was going on.

“Enough with the food. I can tell when you’re dodging the subject.” The familiar tinkle of her golden bangles comforted me as she took my hand and tried to sit me down on a rickety folding chair.

When I refused to sit, she asked, “Is this about the ambulance we saw earlier? I tried to go check on you, but Kevin dragged me back and said I was still on the clock. Told me to mind my own business and leave you in peace till you were ready to talk.”

I drew in a shaky breath and decided to get it all out. “Derek’s dead. He passed out while eating one of our desserts. Mr. Long went with him to the hospital, but I guess he . . . I guess he didn’t make it.”

Her eyes widened in horror and she pulled me into a hug. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. That must’ve been terrible.”

“That’s not even the worst of it.” I paused, realizing how that sounded. “OK, I mean technically that is the worst since someone dying is bigger than my problems, but Mr. Long is blaming us for his death. Lola Flor thinks he’s going to try and shut down the restaurant.”

The shock finally started to wear off and reality seeped in. I had watched a man die in front of me. A man I knew and had once cared about. Had even loved. And loathed. Both of which were facts that everyone knew. And now his stepfather was accusing us of causing his death.

Collapsing into the chair next to her, I began to cry. What if he was right? What if Derek had an allergy we didn’t know about, or his medication caused a weird reaction to one of our ingredients? We knew he was diabetic, but he was always eating sweets. What if our desserts pushed him over the limit? It’s not like we did it on purpose, but we’d still be branded as killers.

We could lose the restaurant! Maybe even go to jail. And then where would we be? Tita Rosie had been running that place almost my entire life. And it’s not like she and my grandma could start over again. The only thing the Macapagal family knew how to do, and do well, was cook.

While all these thoughts ran through my head, one of Adeena’s hands clasped mine as the other rubbed my back in a soothing rhythm. Slowly, my sobs ebbed away. She got up to grab a box of tissues, which I used to mop up my face. Based on the smudges of black on the tissue, I was wearing more mascara on my cheeks than my lashes.

Adeena bit her lip and said, “Why don’t you go to the bathroom and clean up? I need to make a call.”

Grateful to be alone for a moment, I grabbed my purse and headed to the bathroom. Using the small jar of coconut oil I carried everywhere with me, I took off my makeup and splashed my face with warm water to get rid of some of the blotchiness. I dried my face as best I could with the rough paper towels, then headed back out.

Adeena quickly ended her call. “You, uh, you going for the no-makeup look?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, why not? I’m probably going straight home after this, so no point in reapplying.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You put on a full face of makeup to go grocery shopping. I’ve seen you put on lipstick before heading to the gym.”

“First of all, it’s lip gloss, and I only put it on because my lips chap very easily,” I said, crossing my arms. “Second, what are you trying to say? That I can’t go out with a bare face? That I need makeup to look good?”

She rushed to reassure me. “No, honey, of course not. It’s just, I know how you are and figured you’d want to look your best at a time like this.”

Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“There might be a news van waiting outside the restaurant.”

“What?!”

A small, please-don’t-hate-me smile spread across her face. “Also, I called Amir. He’s on his way now to talk to you and your family in case you need legal counsel. He said not to talk to anyone till he gets there.”

“I have to talk to other people? While I look like this?” I pointed to my red, swollen eyes and blotchy face.

“He’ll be here in ten. Go make yourself camera-ready. Knowing my brother, he might have you make a public statement.”

I hustled off to the bathroom again, calling over my shoulder, “You’re lucky I need to put on my face, or there’d be two dead bodies to deal with!”